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Steve Aoki is obsessed with numbers. Itâs why the Grammy Award-nominated producer and mega-DJ has a seven-page rider specifying the exact weight and dimensions of the sheet cakes he hurls into the delirious crowds of fans who flock to his shows holding signs that say, âCAKE ME!â Itâs why, despite an âIâll sleep when Iâm deadâ tattoo on the back of his neck, he knows per one epigenetic measure that he has slowed his aging process down to 0.8 out of 1 thanks to a rigorous biohacking regimen that includes tracking how much REM sleep heâs getting on his WHOOP watch. And itâs why, when asked why he wants to live so long in the first place, he equates life to winning the lottery and quotes the statistical probability of simply being alive on this earth as 1 in 400Â trillion.
But there is one number Aoki prefers not to know: the amount heâs getting paid per show. He worries that knowledge might subconsciously affect the energy he brings from one massive outdoor stage to another, that it might cloud the sacred union he feels between himself, the lucky lottery winner, and his fans, who tend to embody the rollicking frenzy of a punk show that Aoki has injected into electronic dance music (EDM).
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Itâs a high that he says he has grown Âaddicted to, which explains why he DJâd 209 shows last year and holds the 2012 Guinness World Record for most traveled musician in one year, and (though theyâve since been broken) the 2014 records for longest crowd cheer and most glow sticks lit simultaneously. Itâs fitting, then, that on this Wednesday evening in April, Aoki is Zooming with me from a lounge at the San Francisco International Airport as he prepares for a flight to Australia, where heâll DJ five shows in 48 hours before headlining the Siam Songkran Music Festival in Bangkok. At 46 years old â or 36.8, if you take into account his 0.8 aging rate according to TruDiagnostic, an epigenetic testing company â Aoki has little interest in slowing down.
âI still have the thirst,â he says. âI still have the enthusiasm, and with music, thereâs no greater energy force. Thereâs no greater high than playing your records at your show in front of a crowd that knows your music and everyoneâs just fâking lit up. Like, thereâs nothing greater than that.â
Whatever you might make of his persona as a fist-pumping, hair-shaking, Takis-munching, EDM-spinning, sheet cake-throwing party bro who seems to have perpetually lost his shirt, itâs hard to dispute that over the last two decades, Aoki has firmly established himself as a pioneering figure in the world of dance music. That he has done so globally and exuberantly â despite the reserved Asian American stereotypes he grew up absorbing â is a testament to his unabashed confidence, unrelenting work ethic and entrepreneurial instincts, which extend far beyond music.
For starters, thereâs the all-electric race boat team he recently purchased to compete in the UIM E1 World Championship against competing owners Tom Brady and Rafael Nadal; the Hiroquest graphic novel he published in April with comic book legend Jim Krueger, about a genetically augmented meta-human who journeys into the multiverse 400 years into the future; and his various forays into science and tech, from investing in brain research through his Aoki Foundation to ventures in cryptocurrency, esports, non-fungible tokens and cryogenics. In 2022, Japanese billionaire Yusaku Maezawa selected Aoki as one of eight civilians to join his SpaceX moon trip, with a yet-to-be-determined launch date.
âThereâs always a new thing every year, and the whole team kind of shrugs their shoulders like, âOK, letâs go learn how to do this,â â says Matt Colon, Aokiâs business manager of 20 years and the global president of music at talent management agency YMU.
âHe embodies that spirit of innovation and entrepreneurship that is so inspiring,â says Paris Hilton, a friend of Aokiâs since she was 16 who released her first-ever collaboration with him late last year. âEvery venture he takes on, he does it with a sense of style and purpose. He has turned his artistic vision into an empire, and thatâs something that I deeply respect and connect with in my own business endeavors.â
Balenciaga hoodie and jacket.
Jessica Chou
Colon sees it as his job to foster his clientâs excitement â even if he admits that roughly half of Aokiâs business ideas âget dismissed kind of out of hand because once you get into the details, they donât really make sense.â Still, Colon notes that it was that out-of-the-box thinking that allowed Aoki to break into the industry in the first place, by way of Dim Mak Records, the Los Angeles-based label he founded in 1996.
In the early â00s, Dim Mak became a tastemaker by signing acts like The Kills, Bloc Party and Gossip. But perhaps more significantly, Aoki became godfather of the scene that coalesced around Dim Mak Tuesdays, the indie sleaze Hollywood party he threw from 2003 to 2014 to promote the label. With then-rising acts like M.I.A., Lady Gaga, Kesha and Justice clamoring to perform and buzzy guests like the Olsen twins all enshrined by the famed nightlife blog The Cobrasnake, the party took on a life of its own.
Aoki only started DJâing to fill the time before performances at Dim Mak Tuesdays, and in the beginning, âhe admittedly was not a great DJ,â Colon says. But Aoki attributes his success today to his willingness then to keep trying, to fail in public, sweat bullets and then ask for help. âI donât have any kids, but if and when I do, thatâs one of the most important things I want to share: You need to have that shamelessness,â he says. âItâs such an important rule of thumb.â
âHeâs an early adopter,â Colon adds. âItâs in his blood, and itâs often because he doesnât have the shame of being afraid to ask. Most people just wait until itâs offered to them. Steve will always ask.â
Despite his far-reaching business interests, Colon says DJâing remains Aokiâs primary revenue stream, both internationally and in Las Vegas, where he lives and maintains residencies at three venues. As a producer, he has proved agile at working deftly across genres, collaborating with everyone from Linkin Park and Hayley Kiyoko to Lil Jon and Diplo.
âWhen youâre on the road that much, you come across new people, new trends and new sounds,â Lil Jon says. âHeâs just really easy to work with. Heâs not overly pushy in the studio â he lets me do my thing but still has input. Neither of us half-ass anything.â
Versace shirt.
Jessica Chou
Aokiâs reach also spans continents, having worked with South Koreaâs BTS, Mexicoâs Danna Paola, Japanâs Kyary Pamyu Pamyu and Colombiaâs Maluma. This hodgepodge has bolstered Aokiâs international appeal; he says his global fan base is particularly receptive in Central and South America.
He plans to release his ninth album this summer, featuring collaborations with Big Freedia, a rework of Lil Jonâs âGet Lowâ (called âGet Lowerâ) and a lead single with Ne-Yo called âHeavenly Hellâ â a phrase heâs quick to point out inspired the title of a chapter heâs working on in the sequel to Hiroquest, which also happens to be the name of his last two albums that also spawned a line of trading cards meant to bolster his graphic novelâs intellectual property (IP) across platforms.
This is the way Aokiâs mind works â seemingly at its best when it has at least seven tabs open, all the better to connect the various dots that compose the Aokiverse. Itâs an impulse he attributes to his father, Rocky Aoki, the wrestler turned powerboat racer turned founder of Japanese restaurant chain Benihana, who died in 2008 but remains Aokiâs North Star, a larger-than-life figure who seemingly did it all.
âHe would just fly in like Superman, coming in to pick me up and take me on an adventure, and then drop me off [at] the humble abode of my momâs house,â says Aoki, who was raised by his mother, Chizuru, whom he calls âmy rock,â in Newport Beach, Calif. âSo when I was with him, I just experienced all these things that he was doing. Like âOh, my God. This life is crazy over there.â â
I was in college while you were coming up in the early aughts, and it felt kind of shocking to see someone who was Japanese American, like I am, take up so much space so aggressively in alternative culture. Were you thinking about ideas of representation back then?
Iâm not going to go down memory lane too deep, but I remember when I first got into music in high school, the first thing I did was sing. You just didnât see Asian singers. You just didnât see Asian people in music, period, and if you did, they were really quiet, like the singer of Hoobastank, whom I looked up to. Actually, I am reworking [the Hoobastank song] âThe Reason.â I guess we can announce it here: Thereâs a Steve Aoki-Hoobastank record coming soon. But it was cool to actually work with that guy [singer Doug Robb] because I remember looking up to him when I was in high school.
The other main artist I looked up to big time was Chad Hugo from The Neptunes. This is when I first got into production, around 2003. I was in L.A., and I remember hiring someone on Craigslist to teach me how to use Pro Tools because I just started dabbling on the computer. And I was like, âChad Hugo, thatâs my hero because heâs Asian, but heâs also quiet.â Iâm always like, âWhere are the loud ones?â I wanted to see someone Asian thatâs just loud and in charge and commanding audiences.
Balenciaga hoodie, robe, jeans and shoes.
Jessica Chou
Did you become that character because you wanted to see it, or did that exuberance onstage come naturally to you?
One of the really important things that music gave me was a voice because I really, truly felt invisible. Growing up in Newport Beach, the statistic was 96% of the population is white â this is in the â80s and â90s. So Iâm already kind of out there, Iâm already different, and Asians, generally speaking, donât rock the boat. Japanese people are quiet. My momâs quiet.
Your dad wasnât quiet.
No, he wasnât, but I was raised by my mom. I mean, Iâm sure I was inspired by my dad going, âHoly sh-t, my dadâs doing his thing and is successful, and itâs not bothering him that heâs Japanese, heâs just connecting with the world.â That is what I loved â the idea that it shouldnât bother you.
But when I was a kid, I was bothered, and thatâs where music gave me the voice. You could just belt your sh-t out. A lot of it was just understanding who I was, finding my identity through the music and allowing me to be unabashed about it. I grew up in the punk hardcore scene, and they thrive off that. Itâs thriving off these underrepresented voices. Thatâs how the culture grows. So I was in the right place to foster this kind of attitude to be heard.
As someone whoâs known for being a prolific collaborator, how do you connect with other artists? Do you still reach out to people?
It goes both ways for sure. In some cases, if we meet in person, the energy of that meetup ends up becoming something. When I met up with BTS in 2016 at a house in L.A., we just hit it off really well, and in 2017, I ended up remixing âMIC Drop,â which later led to [the BTS collaborations] âWaste It on Meâ and âThe Truth Untold.â But sometimes I just do cold DMs. Iâve always been very unabashed about that. Whoever I want to work with I just send a DM, and if it hits, it hits.
Whatâs your success rate?
I would say my success rate is pretty low. You know, of all the collabs Iâve done that are out, Iâve reached out to far greater [than have reached out to me], like 80%.
How does that make you feel?
Itâs like a game of baseball. Thatâs how I see it. I donât have a problem as long as I hit the ball and I get the home runs, you know? Like the best baseball player in the world hits the ball three out of 10 times. So if you hit the ball two out of 10 times, youâre actually above average. If you hit the ball once, youâve made the cut. If I can make a record thatâs meaningful to culture, meaningful to my fans, meaningful to what Iâm doing, what my purpose is, then itâs worth it and Iâm excited. I never lose my excitement on this stuff. I think that question would provoke a different answer if I was tired. If I was jaded. If I wasnât really into what I do. When you love what you do, you still fight for it. You still have the hunger.
Balenciaga hoodie, jacket, pants and shoes.
Jessica Chou
What do you like about collaborating with such a wide range of artists? I think some producers would find that really challenging.
It is. Itâs extremely challenging. Itâs challenging on many different levels, too. Itâs not just challenging on the creative side, but itâs challenging to your fans. Like whenever I started collaborating in a different space, I would get a lot of hate; I get a lot of criticism.
Whatâs an example?
When I started working with hip-hop artists in the early 2010s, there was a lot of negative criticism, even when I did Kolony, which was an entirely hip-hop album that I produced in 2017. You know, Iâm a sensitive guy. I donât like seeing negative sh-t just pile up.
Do record sales matter to you?
Honestly, no. In the beginning, it does matter, when you have your first hit, when you have something thatâs just catching steam. But then, going back to your question about collaborating across different genres, I canât think too much about what the world thinks. Of course, itâs incredible if I have a song that breaks 100Â million streams on Spotify. Thatâs pretty fâking cool. But I canât put my emotional place there. That would probably make me jaded. That would probably hinder my creative spirit, 100%. Itâs more about, âHow does it penetrate the culture? Do the fans at the festivals and the shows sing along? Are they connected to it?â
It sounds like the measurement for your success is more experiential than data-driven. How else do you gauge that?
Yeah, it is something that grows over time. You could sort of gauge it on some level of metrics, but then thereâs a lot of other layers. You canât just type in âWhatâs Steve Aokiâs biggest song on the festival circuit?â If you type that in, you might not get the correct answers. [Artificial intelligence] cannot generate that. For example, âNo Beefâ is an old song of mine that I made with Afrojack in 2011. That was before streaming was actually a big deal, but everyone knows the vocals to that at my shows.
As an artist, what are your thoughts on AI?
Iâm still a novice in the usage or utility of AI, but I use it mainly for lyric generation. It has actually helped me quite a lot. If I have an idea of what lyrics I want to put down on a record, Iâll work that out with AI, and if I have a songwriting team in my house and we get stumped, we can always use AI. As far as sampling, Iâve used AI to get a particular female sound using certain words, and that has been fantastic.
What about the fear of it replacing producers and DJs entirely?
See, of course thatâs the conversation topic because the possibilities are endless. But when that happens, Iâm assuming, just like everything that we do with technology, weâre building safeguards. And you canât stop AI. Itâs not like, âOh, fâk. AI is going to take away our jobs. Fâk technology, itâs going to take away jobs.â You canât. You just have to ride the wave with it and just start building safeguards as we go. Weâve been doing this the whole time with the internet.
Versace top, shirt, jeans, and shoes.
Jessica Chou
Letâs pivot to another serious topic: How does it feel to throw a sheet cake into someoneâs face?
OK, thereâs a lot of points here. One, I think it really goes along with this idea that people are singing your songs at your show and your music is their music. So weâre all part of the same culture. Youâre partially responsible because you created that music and that experience. Thatâs what the cake is. Iâve been able to share an experience that was such a silly idea, and now itâs a thing. As a culture, people want to get caked, and itâs a very Steve Aoki thing.
How many years have you been doing it now?
Thirteen.
Wow. Thatâs a lot of cake.
Yeah, over 20,000 cake faces. Itâs pretty epic.
How consciously are you aware of yourself, Steve Aoki, as a brand?
Itâs interesting because when I see âSteve Aokiâ on things or I see the logo, I look at it as a company. And Iâm just part of that company.
Youâre just another worker?
(Laughs.) I mean, really. Itâs like, âOh, my God. Thereâs a person with a Steve logo or a tattoo on his arm.â It does excite me. Iâm like, âWow, thatâs so incredible.â But thatâs the music, you know? Itâs not me personally. So I finally started separating myself from that because Iâm the same kind of fan. I have a band [tattooed] on my back that inspired me when I was in high school called Gorilla Biscuits. Itâs not someoneâs name, but Steve Aoki is like a band to someone. So I understand the way music moves people and why you do that. Itâs a community. Thatâs how I see the brand.
I think a lot of this is not just about the music, too; itâs the experience, you know? And the experience itself is something that can last a lifetime. Thatâs why the live show is so important. Itâs not just about being a producer in the studio and getting the music out there and having people connect with the music in their homes. A lot of my IP is based on the actual experience [of a live show], and unfortunately, I canât clone myself because as an entrepreneur, you would think, âHow do you scale that?â
Is that why you play so many shows?
Yeah. Itâs like you get this momentum going when things are happening, and Iâve seen a lot of friends, a lot of artists, taking their brick and just disappearing. And they didnât have the same momentum to come back as strong as they were.
Are you scared of that happening to you?
I am. I think I am. I mean, I donât want to say that, but I think it does have this effect on me because the thing is, I love what I do. Like, to be able to be onstage and the high that you get after a show, itâs just incredible.
Whatâs the secret to keeping this so fun after doing it for so long?
Iâm glad you asked this question. I just was in South Africa and I did two shows out there, and during my extra time, I worked on music with two South African artists. I actually connected with more African artists from different regions as well and their beats, like Afrobeats and amapiano, have definitely been coming up inside my beats. The sounds, the rhythms, the percussions, I have a strong affinity to this music. That was so much fun. Thatâs what keeps things going.
I think being a global artist, being able to travel all the time, my natural way to connect with different cultures is to musically connect and collaborate with different people of that culture. And fortunately, theyâve allowed me to work with them in different capacities that have brought out some of these incredible global records that connect my sound to their sound. And the more and more I do it, the more exciting it is and the more itâs connecting with a whole different world of people, with a different culture. You see it at the shows. It just becomes more exciting to do more outside of what you normally do. Itâs a challenge, too, and I love the challenge.
This story will appear in the April 27, 2024, issue of Billboard.
As a student at the University of California, San Diego, Ollie Zhang oversaw the campusâ annual music festival and dozens of concerts throughout the year. Post-graduation, he co-founded the dance music brand Space Yacht in 2015. But he aspired to have a bigger, different kind of impact on the music business. âThis idea of finding a place within the music industry for Asian artists to thrive always felt like a faraway concept to me,â he says. âA lot of the folks that I worked with and came up with in the music industry were Asian Americans. We all had this far-off dream that this is something that could be possible one day.â
So when Zhang (now 33) met Sean ÂMiyashiro (now 42) in 2015, he says it was âserendipityâ because Miyashiro was developing the very idea Zhang had imagined: carving out space for Asian and Asian American artistry to flourish. At the time, Miyashiro was helping VICE launch its dance music site, THUMP, but he soon realized, âIf we created something to celebrate [our creative community], it would be better than anything else that exists.â
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Together, he and Zhang grew their shared vision into the company that became 88rising, the first and only hub for Asian artists in the music industry. 88rising launched with a small roster of clients Miyashiro was independently managing at the time, including choreographer-singer Brian Puspos, rappers Keith Ape and Dumbfoundead and dance artist josh pan. Zhang was at first, he believes, creative manager, then became chief of staff and is now head of artist development. (He also manages two of 88risingâs key signings, singer-songwriter NIKI and elusive indie-alternative star Joji.) And while the company initially focused on hip-hop, Miyashiro immediately made clear that it was never intended to be for any one type of creative â or even be any one thing at all.
Today, 88rising is a label, management firm and global brand â with Miyashiro, who alongside Zhang spoke to Billboard during weekend one of Coachella at a private residence in Indio, Calif., teasing that yet another new division is on the way. The companyâs wide-ranging label roster includes NIKI, Joji and rappers Rich Brian and Jackson Wang. Meanwhile, the 88rising brand has grown into a behemoth. In 2018, it held its inaugural Head in the Clouds festival at Los Angeles State Historic Park, and the event has since expanded to New York; Jakarta, Indonesia; Manila, the Philippines; and Guangzhou, China. In 2020, 88rising launched North Americaâs first 24/7 radio channel dedicated to Asian artists, on SiriusXM; in 2021, the company curated the soundtrack to the Marvel blockbuster Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings; in 2022, it became the first label to score its own billing on Coachellaâs lineup (returning in 2024); and, last year, it struck a global distribution deal with Sonyâs The Orchard.
âSean creating 88rising from just an idea in his head to what it has become today is incredible,â Wang says. âThe thing I immediately knew about Sean is his vibe was so real from day one. He cares about art deeply before anything else, which is so rare in this music game or entertainment industry. I knew I could trust him, and he immediately began guiding me into decisions not only about my music, but how I see myself as an artist and human being.â
But regardless of exactly what 88rising does, Zhang attests that the why has never, and will never, change. âThe mission statement remains the same to this day: uplifting Asian youth culture around the world,â he says. âEverything that weâve done is a manifestation of that same intent. Obviously, the stakes have gotten higher, but where weâre at now is not even what we could have necessarily dreamed of.â
Tell us about operating as a label and as a brand.
Sean Miyashiro: It never was intended to be a label. I didnât know anything about what it was to distribute a record or whatever. And I probably still donât, frankly speaking. Like, I still donât know how royalties break down and all this stuff. The intention of 88rising was to be a celebratory platform, and just by nature of what we were putting out, which was really based on the distinct taste of the people that were working here, that became the brand. That became the beating heartbeat of what 88rising was. And then all these artists started hitting us up, just being like, âWe like this energy. Letâs do something.â Being a label was a happy accident⊠And we have a great opportunity to continually do more, so we have to take responsibility in that opportunity because nobody has really come after us.
Sean Miyashiro photographed on April 17, 2024 in Los Angeles.
Yuri Hasegawa
How does operating as a global brand entice artists, beyond only offering label services?
Ollie Zhang: Thereâs that little percentage of value that comes with [being] a brand, and I think thatâs the intention. We do our best to make it incredibly clear that being here for an artist is advantageous and that you will be supported. Seeing [Japanese girl group] Atarashii Gakko!, for instance, use every single Head in the Clouds festival over the last couple of years, moving them slowly up and up the lineup and introducing them to different markets around the world â that is something that people definitely notice. And especially for an act like [them], the experience of being at that show instantly converts you into a fan. So how do we create as many opportunities for people to experience that as possible? Thatâs the advantage of being the platform that we are.
Miyashiro: When weâre in Asia, itâs crazy. I went to Indonesia with my family, and I was in one of those things that scale a mountain, and the operator is like, âYouâre Sean.â When we go to Japan, when we go to China, itâs the same type of feeling â people know what weâre trying to do. And itâs by way of trying to be as consistent as possible. We have to push ourselves to stay ahead of this. I have anxiety; I never ever feel that weâre sitting pretty. Itâs the complete opposite.
Many of 88risingâs wins are industrywide firsts, like the labelâs now-annual Coachella billing. Why is the company able to pull off such feats?
Zhang: I think thatâs a big credit to Sean and daring to believe that thatâs possible. And obviously, a credit to the team thatâs here and has been here over the last eight years to help execute that. And we couldnât have done that as well without earning the trust and belief of artists that we look after, artists within the community, artists across the world. And it has all been iterative, right? Itâs not necessarily a straight path, but it has always been moving in that direction.
Miyashiro: I love being able to [work with Japanese group] Number_i and new things because K-pop is already fully [established globally], times a thousand, and thatâs amazing. [Itâs] incredible what the whole industry there has built. But I want to showcase somebody from Cambodia or Vietnam. We love being first; itâs fun. Who wants to be second?
The 88rising Coachella set always features a variety of talent across countries and genres, including Japanese acts like Number_i this year. Considering that the label launched as a predominately hip-hop platform, what is now drawing a wider range of artists to the company?
Miyashiro: Fundamentally, weâre not business-driven or very good at business. Business is something that we have to learn by nature of, like, being able to make payroll. Weâre inherently artist- and creative-driven. Thatâs what fuels everything. But the thing is, weâre so lucky to have built a relationship and a friendship and a bond with [our roster]. Thatâs what it really is. And thatâs why nobody leaves, to be honest. We say this all the time: It needs to be so painfully obvious to the artist that [being on 88rising] is a benefit to them.
Zhang: Itâs [about] aiding the artists on their own journey to find out what they want to communicate to the world or what kind of artists or musicians they want to be. NIKI is a great example of that. In the pandemic, she really started feeling like the kind of artist she wanted to be was going back to the singer-songwriter lane where she was making music in her bedroom in Jakarta. Thatâs why when she brought that original idea for [her second studio album] Nicole, it was a no-brainer in terms of wanting to embrace that and bring her creative partners that make sense.
88rising artist Jackson Wang, who says of Miyashiro: âThe thing I immediately knew about Sean is his vibe was so real from day one.â
Connor Gaskey
NIKI performs at HITC on May 21, 2023 in New York.
Lindsey Blane
What up-and-comers are you putting muscle behind this year?
Zhang: A big part of the 88rising set [at Coachella] was an eye toward great Japanese talent with Number_i, Atarashii Gakko! and Yoasobi. I donât know if it was intentional, but thatâs what weâve rallied around in this specific moment.
Miyashiro: A lot of people have been like, âOh, dude, thereâs a lot of Japanese artists,â but it wasnât a planned thing. Itâs always by nature of who we might be talking to about something as small as making a song. And then itâs like, âYo, come on over.â These are invaluable opportunities for artists. Just in culture, [the fact that] Number_i played Coachella is like, âWhat, where did that come from?â Because itâs like, how else would they get here? We love being able to deliver these things with ease ⊠Itâs like, âYo, Paul [Tollett, president of Coachella promoter Goldenvoice], give us some real estate here. Weâll figure it out.â Literally, I was like, âJust make sure that weâre on the flyer.â I had no idea what we were going to do, but itâs organic. Itâs like putting together a block party.
How do you see 88risingâs Coachella billing evolving?
Miyashiro: Weâre going to do it again next year. Weâre going to start earlier, and I have an idea ⊠Weâve been doing a celebration, [offering] a glimpse of all these artists going back-to-back-to-back. I think that, in the future, we want to do something a bit more orchestrated and seamless with a theme. Kind of like a musical. Tell a light story in 75 minutes. Weâre actually starting that process.
What else are you working on?
Miyashiro: Right now, there are so many aspiring artists, young people, deciding to make music. And with all the infrastructure that we built and the know-how, we have the opportunity to help a lot of them. We are going to create something called FAM, Future of Asian Music. Itâs a distribution ecosystem for independent Asian artists.
Thereâs a lot of distribution mechanisms that somebody can use, but weâre going to be [creating] a really nice ecosystem of curation and recommendation through artists of influence. [There will be] a lot of live stuff within this, and itâs all around the ethos of DIY, independent, next-generation Asian music from all over Asia. Weâre doing a ton of content around this from live programming, like our version of COLORS [the German music platform known for simple live recordings from up-and-comers around the world]. Itâs like [a] from-your-bedroom-to-stardom-type of thing. We want to be a part of that conversation and journey every step of the way. This is a fire starter ⊠and pretty soon, thereâs hopefully a thousand artists distributed through us. I think that we will reach that.
Zhang: Itâs fully realizing the original intent of 88rising. And more important for an artist nowadays is not the sheer process of getting your music on a platform, itâs how do you create content to put you in context with all the other artists that are uploading music every day? FAM is a vehicle to express that.
Artists who performed at the 88rising Futures showcase at Coachella on April 15. Standing, from left: BIBI, Atarashii Gakko!âs SUZUKA and MIZYU, JP the Wavy, U-Lee, Jackson Wang and Number_iâs Yuta Jinguji, Yuta Kishi and Sho Hirano. Seated: XIN LIU, Tiger JK, Yoonmirae, Atarashii Gakko!âs KANON, Awich, NENE, MaRI and LANA. Kneeling: Atarashii Gakko!âs RIN. Right: Rich Brian.
Lindsey Blane
Rich Brian performs at HITC on May 21, 2023 in New York.
Deanie Chen
What subgenres do you think are shaping the future of Asian music?
Zhang: I think that Isoknock â [comprising dance/electronic artists] ISOxo and Knock2 â are leading the charge on a major resurgence in electronic dance music here and around the world. They are just pure rock stars. And I think that they are actively revitalizing a scene that has been dormant. Both Sean and I come from the dance world, grew up in electronic music â so has a lot of our staff â so thatâs something where once we saw how special it was, just from the ground floor, we wanted to jump on it. For them to be two Asian American kids from San Diego and for dance music being a big part of Asian American culture over the last couple of decades, that really means something that theyâre at the forefront.
How do you view the impact of 88rising so far?
Miyashiro: Itâs funny because when we started, some haters were like, âOh, dude, you think youâre the only person that can do this?â I hear people in investment meetings saying, âWeâre going to be the next 88rising for African music,â and thatâs dope. I love hearing that. But in the Asian space, it hasnât happened yet. Iâm sure it will in some way, shape or form. And we love that. That was the point. If we cease to exist tomorrow, we can look back and have some peace and be like, âWe really did something here.â
This story will appear in the April 27, 2024, issue of Billboard.
On a hulking gray building on a wide boulevard once bisected by the Berlin Wall, a silver call button grants access to an expansive, shadowy, unfurnished foyer. Ascend a winding set of stairs and open the door at the top, and youâll find the office of the CEO: South Korea-born Peggy Gou, who has swiftly become the worldâs most in-demand female DJ-producer working in dance music today.
Inside Gou HQ, the bright overhead lights contrast with the early-April rain outside. The sprawling room â which has a vibe thatâs more âfriendâs apartmentâ than sterile corporate sanctum â is outfitted with a wooden meeting table, full bookshelves and a plush green velvet couch from which Tasos Filippou, Gouâs touring manager, arises to serve Gou and me black coffee in little terra cotta mugs on peace sign-shaped coasters. Gou wears baggy jeans, a black sweater that covers her many tattoos and sunglasses with silver reflective lenses that offer only occasional glimpses of her eyes. Her hair is piled in a loose bun, her skin is flawless, and even in casual mode, sheâs giving cool-girl glamour. She offers a quick handshake, closes the window to make sure the room is quiet, then sits down to attend to business.
In the last 12 days, her slick brand of house has taken her to Miami, Mexico City and Buenos Aires. Of course, itâs not unusual for DJs to party hop across continents â whatâs less typical for a DJ is having an office. But Gouâs story is defined by a business acumen that could be characterized as corporate hustle if it didnât also happen inside dark techno clubs.
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A Korean woman in a scene dominated by white men, Gou, 32, has orchestrated her own dizzying rise, immersing herself in Berlinâs electronic scene upon moving here 10 years ago, then ascending to white-hot producer/fashion tastemaker thanks to last summerâs viral single, and her first Billboard chart hit, âIt Goes Like (Nanana).â This new ubiquity â ever-higher billing at the worldâs major music festivals, a German Vogue cover, a 2024 BRIT Award nomination for international song of the year â has neatly teed up Gouâs debut album, I Hear You, coming June 7 through eminent indie label XL Recordings.
The rare self-managed marquee artist, Gou has achieved much of her success on her own, and the room weâre sitting in functions as an extension of the command center in her mind.
âI remember meeting managers who told me, âI can make your life easier,â â Gou recalls. âI was like, âHow? Tell me.â Even if you take care of all these emails, you still have to come back to me because no one can make decisions for me. Every decision has to come from me.â
Peggy Gou photographed March 26, 2024 at Maison Celeste in Mexico City. Sentimiento tracksuit, Tercer Mundo vest, Cruda shoes, AYANEGUI earrings and necklace.
Aaron Sinclair
These decisions have produced an expansive business that includes heavy touring; A-list brand deals; her label, Gudu Records; and a merchandise line, Peggy Goods. With strong fan bases across continents, Gou will next be raising her profile even more in the United States ahead of and beyond I Hear Youâs release.
âBecause Peggy has such an incredible touring footprint globally,â XL Recordings head of U.S. campaigns Laura Lyons says, âin the U.S., weâre in a position where, because we havenât historically had her in the market as much, we need to build on the moments when sheâs here in person and also translate the excitement of an international, globe-Âtrotting DJ to the local market.â
One week and 6,000 miles later, the odds will look clearly in Gouâs favor.
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The first time Gou played Coachella, in 2018, the line to get into her show wrapped around the at-capacity Yuma Tent where she was performing at three in the afternoon. âEven one person not being able to see my set, that upsets me,â she says. âSo I was like, âMaybe next time, I play a bigger stage.â â
On the first night of the 2024 festival, that âmaybeâ has become a firm âfor sure.â Gou presides over the Sahara Tent â Coachellaâs biggest and most established dance music mecca â from atop a towering stage as an emoji version of herself smiles at the audience from massive LED screens. With the newly expanded Sahara Tent stretching 320 feet, not including spillover â almost a football field long â itâs likely Gouâs crowd is the largest ever assembled to see a female producer in Coachella history. (After the set, she shares Instagram Stories of herself backstage hanging with JÂ Balvin, getting chummy with Will Smith and then getting a burger from an In-N-Out somewhere in the ÂCoachella Valley.)
In March, Gou made her debut at Miamiâs Ultra Music Festival, and in May, sheâll play dance mega-festival EDC Las Vegas for the first time. These shows, âfrom a perception point of view,â Lyons says, âare going to broaden [her] audience from this more underground electronic fan to a more mainstream kind of electronic base.â
Cueva top and skirt, Ket Void jacket, Cruda shoes. Floral Art Installation by Flores Cosmos.
Aaron Sinclair
That might be anathema to some purists, particularly those steeped in the techno-as-religion culture of Berlin. But Gou has been able to maintain her underground cred even while blowing up. The early-April screening of the music video for I Hear Youâs third single, â1+1=11,â happened at a smoky Berlin club where the techno went until 3 a.m. on a Wednesday, and her friend group includes revered producers like Four Tet and Floating Points, whom she was recently hanging with in Mexico City. âI love those guys,â she says. âSo nerdy. Like, âGuys, stop talking about how fat your drum is.â â
I suggest to Gou that her underground pedigree, paired with a forthcoming debut album thatâs refreshingly accessible, might make her uniquely well-suited for the United States, where the so-called âundergroundâ styles of house and techno have become the sceneâs prevailing commercial forces in the live space. For her, that idea is beside the point. âSome people are like, âSheâs really underground,â or âSheâs commercial,â â Gou says. âI donât care. Iâm just going to keep doing my thing and you can say what you want.â
Growing up in South Koreaâs third-most populous city, Incheon â where she was born Kim Min-ji â Gou listened to âsh-t,â âgood musicâ and âeverything.â She lived in the shadow of her older brother, whoâs âlike super genius, one of the crazy Mensa IQ people.â Meanwhile, âStudy wasnât my thing. I was kind of rebel. So if you tell me to stay here, I will not stay there. If you tell me to go, I will stay. I didnât like people telling me what to do even from when I was a kid.â
Her parents, recognizing that their 14-year-old was not âdoing wellâ in South Korea, asked if she wanted to study English in London; she did. In the United Kingdom, Gou lived with guardians but snuck out to parties, fostering a clubbing habit that matriculated with her into the London College of Fashion. She began DJâing, booked her own residency at a club in Shoreditch, finished school, moved to Berlin and worked at a record store by day while she was indoctrinated into techno by night. âAfter one month, Iâm like, âOK,â â she says flatly of her first trips to the cityâs notoriously exclusive techno institution, Berghain. âThree months laterâ â her voice grows louder and more forceful â â âOK.â Five months later, I was like, âI finally get it.â â
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By 2016, she was making her own music, and by 2018, revered dance label Ninja Tune was releasing it. She started her own Gudu Records in 2019; that same year, she released the groovy house track âStarry Night,â which featured her singing in Korean and became a dance world hit.
All the while, she was touring. As her own manager, âI was the only person who was pushing me,â she says. âI didnât need to be there. I didnât have to do that. I think I got hyped. I got too excited about the shows and getting many shows.â In 2019, she played in 25 countries, including some, like Lebanon, Egypt and Saudi Arabia, that are far from the well-trod dance world circuit.
âImagine a bullet train,â Gou says, speaking rapidly. âThis was me in 2019. When it stopped, it didnât stop slowly; it had to stop super fast.â
When the pandemic started, she returned to South Korea and spent three months at home â the longest amount of time she had been with her family since she was 14. She recharged even as life in South Korea â which introduced what many considered one of the worldâs best COVID-19 control programs â continued without large-scale lockdowns. (âAsian culture is different because when you have a flu, you wear a mask,â she says, âso it was not that difficult for Asian people to keep the rules.â)
In Incheon, Gou had the time and head space to focus on music. She echoes a pandemic-related refrain prevalent among DJs who tour heavily: âIt was a hard time for a lot of people, but for me, it was one of the best things that happened to me.â
Peggy Gou photographed March 26, 2024 at Maison Celeste in Mexico City. Sentimiento top, Tiempos pants, Tercer Mundo belt, Frank Zapata shoes, AYANEGUI necklace. BatĂĄn Chairs by Taller BatĂĄn.
Aaron Sinclair
She kept working upon her return to Berlin in mid-2020, finding that the â90s dance music she was listening to during the pandemic had âchanged my taste.â While she had been making her debut album for a while, she decided to make â90s dance the center of the project, evident in the interplay of the bass and chimes on a track like âLobster Telephone,â which sounds like itâs sprinkled with powdered sugar. The âIt Goes Like (Nanana)â bassline is pure Jock Jams â the 1995 compilation that introduced a generation of suburban adolescents to dance music â and has helped the song aggregate 72.2Â million on-demand official U.S. streams and 565.3Â million on-demand official global streams to date, according to Luminate. Altogether, the album, on which she sings in both Korean and English, is dance music distilled down to its most polished essentials â and you donât have to be a hardcore fan of the genre to get into it.
The sonic opposite of EDM maximalism, I Hear You may very well represent the future of main-stage electronic music. âIn my career, I never once thought, âIâm on the next level now,â â she says. âOnly when âNananaâ happened did I realize that people were recognizing my song before my face. Thatâs when I really realized, âFâk, this is different.â â
Gouâs North American agent, Stephanie LaFera of WME (which represents her worldwide), says the songâs success has created âsignificant growth in her U.S. audienceâ thatâs âonly increasing the demand for her.â LaFera is focused on opportunities that serve Gouâs âsuper-engaged fan base that cuts across a lot of different spheresâ while also introducing her to new listeners.
âFor [âIt Goes Likeâ] to become this global song of the summer and be Peggyâs first song to hit No. 1 on the U.S. dance radio charts was just such a fantastic tone-setter for this album,â Lyons adds, âand for what we believe sheâs capable of achieving in the U.S.â
If youâre Peggy Gou, itâs entirely possible that the person seated across from you at Thanksgiving dinner may turn out to be Lenny Kravitz â which was exactly the case when, in 2022, she went to a friendâs house in Miami for the holiday.
âHe had absolutely no idea who I was,â Gou recalls. âThe only thing I could mention was that I did [two songs] for [his daughter] ZoĂ«âs movie [The Batman].â It was a solid in. The pair talked over turkey, and her friend told Kravitz to check out Gouâs music. Not long after, Kravitz asked if she wanted to collaborate.
She sent Kravitz a track â a song that she had struggled to find a singer for after artists including The Weeknd and Giveon turned it down â and heard nothing back. âSo I decided to go to the Bahamas,â where Kravitz lives, she says. âMy friend was like, âYou want to have Lenny Kravitz on your album? Fâking book your flight, go there and get it.â â There was, Gou says, some âopinion clashâ during the recording process, as âIâm a perfectionist and heâs perfectionist.â She adds with a smile, however, that Kravitz did ultimately tell her she was right about a part of the song they had disagreed on. Their slinky âI Believe in Love Again,â the second I Hear You single, arrived in November.
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Gouâs single-minded professional chess moves manifested her deal with XL in the first place, years after she reached out to the label about an internship back when she was a student in London. XL didnât respond then, but it got in touch after the success of her 2018 single âIt Makes You Forget (Itgehane).â âI did make a joke,â she says of her first meeting with XL, âlike, âCheck your inbox.â â
Gou acknowledges that working with her can be âvery difficult because I push the team always harder⊠If you have so many opinions and youâre a woman, people call you a bâch, but [XL] doesnât see it that way. They think itâs a pleasure to work with someone who has a clear vision.â
XL also most likely enjoys working with a talent whoâs changing the face of electronic music simply by being one of the most popular artists making it. âAs incredible as it is to see a Korean woman occupy this space in dance music culture,â says Lyons, who herself is Asian American, âitâs not the reason why Iâm excited by her.â
While a new level of streaming and chart success would be a nice outcome for I Hear You, to Gou, theyâre âvery 1D hopes.â Sheâll consider the album a success if people listen to it and â she puts a hand over her heart â âget a feeling.â
Bottega Veneta coat, AYANEGUI earrings.
Aaron Sinclair
The feelings are clearly being felt at Coachella, where people in the crowd â many of them, like Gou, also wearing sunglasses though the sun set long ago â are flailing around, arms in the air and dreamy smiles on their faces. A crew of six dancers pop and lock, vogue and gyrate onstage. Gou will take this show on the road this summer for a run that includes European festivals like Primavera Sound, Glastonbury and Creamfields. In August, sheâs hosting and headlining her own one-day mini-fest at Londonâs Gunnersbury Park; the showâs 8,000 tickets sold out within days of going on sale.
Unlike her early years of touring alone, Gou now travels with her tour manager and a road assistant or two. She âdoesnât always fly private,â but says the primary appeal of a private jet is a preference for efficiency that she says is part of her heritage: âIâm someone who [doesnât] like wasting my time. Iâm very efficient. I think thatâs from Korean culture. Efficiencies are very important in Korea.â
A private jet âsaves a lot of time,â she continues, âand you can sleep half an hour or even one hour more. Also, you donât need to worry about the baggage weight.â Perhaps most crucially, though, flying private lets her move through the world while maintaining maximum control. âHotel lobbies and the airport,â she says, âgive me so much anxiety.â
These days, Gouâs team also includes a security detail, as she has experienced stalkers and people âwaiting at the hotel or waiting at the airport for 10 hours.â She âcanât go to Italy aloneâ and brings two security guards to Argentina where the crowd is âquite wild.â She recalls spending the entirety of a commercial flight to Ibiza facing the window after half the plane recognized her while boarding. âI was like, âMy neck,â â she says with a laugh, feigning pain. âItâs nice, but sometimes it gets a lot for me.â
âShe can see 100 meters ahead in the airport. She notices the colors of things, remembers what people are wearing and is just super, super sensitive,â touring manager Filippou says, âespecially when thereâs a lot of people around.â
But her skin has gotten thicker as her career has grown. âIn the beginning, I remember [people saying], âYou will never be bigger than this person. No oneâs going to buy your record. No one knows your name.â I heard these things so many times.â
The criticisms âused to really affect me,â Gou continues. âI used to want to scream, like, âThatâs not fâking true.â â But as time went on, she realized she was the reason her feelings were getting so hurt. âI was not happy,â she says of her pre-pandemic life. âI was so focused and tunnel-visioned. My relationship with boyfriend wasnât doing well. Friends, workwise â nothing was happy. I learned a lot about myself during the pandemic.â Learning to listen first and react later has been huge for her. Itâs why sheâs wearing a mirrored headpiece that reflects her ears on her album cover and why she named the project I Hear You.
Sentimiento tracksuit, Tercer Mundo vest, AYANEGUI earrings and necklace.
Aaron Sinclair
One of the biggest early critiques Gou experienced side-eyed her interest in fashion, which made her fear âthat people would never take me seriously.â So during her early years in Berlin, she sported the de facto DJ uniform of black (and sometimes, maybe, white) T-shirts â a fit that never felt authentic. Around this time, a mentor told her to turn her perceived weaknesses into strengths, so she ditched the tees for couture.
Dressing in brightly colored, flowing sets and racing gear helped her catch the attention of top fashion houses like Louis Vuitton, with which she has had two partnerships. She was good friends with late DJ-designer Virgil Abloh; after his 2021 death, she posted on Instagram that âI will forever be grateful that in the infancy of my career, Virgil showed support at a time when not many others would.â Her own Peggy Goods line creates custom merch for each of her shows; at the â1+1=11â music video screening party, more than one person wears a bomber jacket with the songâs title embroidered on the back.
Gou documents the fabulousness of it all on her Instagram, which has 4.1Â million followers and which â yes â she runs herself. To her, the account is a natural evolution of her old Tumblr, where she would post photos of her outfits, meals and outings. She uses the same approach now on Instagram â except the outfits are by Ferragamo, the meals are on a beach in Ibiza and the outings are playing for tens of thousands of people screaming her name. Her glamorous aesthetic, and the size of her audience, has yielded deals with brands including Don Julio, Coca-Cola and Maybelline.
Now other DJs ask her how they can expand their own brands into the fashion world. Itâs speculative, but the most obvious answer seems to be to work as hard as she has. âPeople see that Iâm riding in a Rolls-Royce now, but I used to take a fâking bus,â she says. âI did an interview in Korea recently, and the first [comment] was, âI smell old money.â No. My dad was poor. My mom was average. Iâm not from a rich family. I worked hard to have a glamorous life.â
Like most anyone who has achieved major success and its attendant visibility, people still give Gou sh-t. But in a true boss move, she has come to enjoy it.
âNow when I hear criticism, it means Iâm doing super well,â she says. âSo go ahead: Say my name.â
This story will appear in the April 27, 2024, issue of Billboard.
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