I’ve been on such a crazy journey,” says Lykke Li, the 24-year-old Swedish pop maestro whose 2008 debut, Youth Novels, was a lyrical odyssey for the indie set. Since then, she’s collaborated with Kanye West and Kings of Leon, and has even written a song for The Twilight Saga: New Moon’s soundtrack. “I’m always desperate to do something new, to continue the journey,” she says. Li’s most recent detour has her promoting Wounded Rhymes, her second full-length offering, which was born from a personal crisis. “Something,” she says cryptically, “was on the verge of breaking.” But if the album’s first single, the self-assured and sexually voracious “Get Some,” is any indication, everything appears to be operating just fine.

Over coffee at Manhattan’s Cafe Mogador, Li pulls a scrap of paper from her bag on which she’s scribbled nine guilty-pleasure tracks (eleven if you count Busta Rhymes’ “Touch It,” which she wrote down, crossed out, wrote down again, and then crossed out again). But before handing it over, she says, rather defiantly, “I don’t think any song is a guilty pleasure, because if it’s good then there’s no shame in listening to it. These aren’t the most intellectual songs ever—but if a song is good, it’s good.” If anyone would know, it’s Li.

Notorious B.I.G.’s “Juicy.” This has been my anthem since I was a child. I remember going out with my friends when we were 15 or 16, and when this would come on, we would go wild.

Phil Phillips’ “Sea of Love.” It’s on those cheesy love compilations from, like, 1992, but it’s way older than that. It’s short enough that I can put it on repeat when I’m jumping out of the shower and have to get ready, or do shit that I don’t feel like doing, like brushing my hair.

Dolly Parton’s “Jolene.” I’m Swedish, so I don’t really know what actual country music sounds like. It hasn’t been a part of my life at all, but if Dolly Parton is country, then I love it. This doesn’t go so well with my gothic, emo image, but it’s a great song. I think the songs I’m choosing have something in common. They’re all very melancholic, about a love that goes sour.

TLC’s “Creep.” This is another ’90s anthem, and it can’t help but put me in a good mood. Back when I was a teenager, I used to go to discos. They would have dance battles, and I would always join in and win. This was the song I danced to. It had a revival this summer when I played it 10 times in a row.

Tommy James and the Shondells’ “Crimson and Clover.” As soon as the guitar starts, you know what song this is, and I think that’s a good sign. I heard somewhere that “crimson and clover” means something about losing your virginity, which I can relate to. Can’t we all?

The Shirelles’ “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.” I really connected to this song in the spring, when I was feeling down. I used to think it was such a happy song—I was always dancing to it—until I started to listen to the lyrics and realized it’s the most tragic song ever written. I really understand that situation, when you know you’re in it for the long run, but maybe the other person is only in it for the night.

Brenda Lee’s “I’m Sorry.” She’s so intense. She’s this white girl—a young housewife, really—from the ’50s and ’60s, but she’s got the craziest voice.

Salt-N-Pepa’s “Shoop.” When I was on vacation from school, when I was like 15, I would try to rap this song with my Swedish pals. I don’t even know how I heard it because it wasn’t on the radio in Sweden, but I think we must have had a good DJ at our house parties.

Roy Orbison’s “Crying.” Orbison’s poetry and the soundscape of this song were groundbreaking for their time. It’s an inspiration to me, that monotone darkness. I’m obsessed with Mulholland Drive, and in it Rebekah Del Rio sings a Spanish version of “Crying,” and it’s like… wow. at’s one of the reasons I decided to be in Los Angeles. I needed some mystery in my life. I needed to drive around listening to Roy Orbison and smelling the jasmine.