How Illenium Became Asian America's Favorite White Boy

In Forest Hills Stadium, on a cold Saturday afternoon in Queens, crowds of Asian Americans crowd the grounds of 88Rising's Head in the Clouds festival. Amidst the sea of ​​gigs, one uniform stands out again and again: black jerseys with white piping, a name splashed across the back – ILLENIUM.

“We must have seen him over 10 times,” says one member of a group of jersey-wearing friends who give their names as Kevin, Kenny and Nicky. Rolling rock. “And we're flying to EDC next weekend [to see him again].”

The DJ isn't due to take the stage in New York for a few hours, but fans are already excited about his set. Energy is high as more people fill up throughout the day, wearing different versions of this signature jersey. On one level, this could be any festival with a connection to electronic music, where Illenium's star has been steadily rising since the release of his debut album, Ashesin 2016. Earlier this year, himself Sold Out back-to-back nights at Los Angeles' SoFi Stadium, making him the first electronic artist to ever sell out the 70,000-capacity venue. At Head in the Clouds, surrounded by R&B artists, pop singers and girl group (G)-IDLE, Illenium's back-to-back set with melodic bass artist Dabin is the only EDM act of the weekend. It stands out for one more reason: He is also the only non-Asian artist on the bill.

To the uninitiated, Illenium might seem out of place as a title for a festival that advertises itself as “a celebration of Asian and Asian-American music, food and culture.” But for fans of his breathy, watery instrumentals and meditative lyrics about every stage of love, it makes perfect sense.

“When I go to the Illenium shows, it's mostly Asians,” says Kevin. “I think sandboy music generally appeals to a large Asian population. It resonates with us.”

Online, Illenium has become something of a symbol for one distinctive contemporary Asian American subculture that is, regularly identified through references to boba, K-pop and Korean streetwear, gaming and of course, raves. A viral TikTok series called 'shouting common Asian names in a frenzy' has racked up more than 1.8 million views as creator Brian Pham screams names like Michael and Caitlin in the crowd at an Illenium show. “This is Asian country,” another creator with a caption their video. “This is not earth, this is Illenium.”

Illenium is not Asian, nor does he deal with specific Asian diasporic themes in his music. There is nothing in his music that directly addresses or targets the Asian American diaspora. Yet somehow, he has become a famous figure for many fans who have found a community and kinship within his music. The first time I heard about Illenium, it was at a rave themed party for an Asian group.

Illenium itself is well aware of this phenomenon. He's seen the memes – “I see them all,” he says. Speaking from his dark Los Angeles studio, he tries to unravel an explanation, though it's all speculation.

“I mean, it's awesome,” he continues, laughing. “I can't really explain it, to be honest.”

Born Nicholas Miller, Illenium grew up in San Francisco, where he says he was surrounded by many Asian cultures. Several of his close friends, as well as Hawes' manager, are Asian. It's also something he first noticed when he started attending EDM shows as a fan. “On the West Coast, I feel like rave culture has always been Asian-majority,” he says.

He wonders if the appeal of his music is in its softness, if that sound happened to strike a chord with Asian Americans. It's true that many popular Asian artists such as keshi, Joji, wave to earth and RINI – all of whom were major artists on Head in the Clouds – play in the same sonic realm of airy rumination and sadness, which his fans refer back to Illenium and again as the sadboi sound. “I think it's a mix of the softer vocals. It's very beautiful and symphonic,” he says. “There are moments to break out and then you have a bit more of an ebb and flow. I think there weren't many people doing that at the time. The albums I was putting out were very much about storytelling and world building.”

It wasn't intentional on Illenium's end, but people have found a communal space within its music — people like New York-based musician Owen Chen, 30, who says he first learned about Illenium while living in California. “A lot of my Asian friends said, 'We're going to hang out on Friday night and this is where we're all going,'” he recalls.

Illenium isn't the first or only artist to have this effect: Genres have long been racialized and associated with specific identities. “Early musical taste is produced in the womb and in the family, but we know that when children move at age 2, they go towards their peers and away from the family, the music that passes becomes peer,” says Patricia Campbell. , professor of music and ethnomusicology at the University of Washington. “It is a kinship, a sociological attraction to people who seem to have a similar affinity in dress, speech and dialect. Music is a part of it. The way one combs oneself and cuts one's hair is similar to the way one makes a playlist.”

Kevin Fellezs, associate professor of music at Columbia University, says community plays a huge role in the appeal of electronic music in particular. “The ethos of EDM and rave culture, in particular, is an ethos of inclusion, racial harmony, gender equality and the like, which makes the EDM and rave space a space in which any anxiety around race on the dance floor it's muted, if not completely absent,” he says.

Fellezs, who is Japanese from Hawaii, first heard about Illenium through his EDM-listening nieces and nephews. Fellezs says there may be particular appeal to young Asian Americans who feel the diaspora is largely fragmented. The Asian American label is vast and varied, with immigration influxes from different communities occurring at different points in history. A 2021 Pew Research Center report shows its widely varied makeup Asian American Diaspora: For example, immigrants account for 27 percent of Japanese Americans, who began arriving in the 19th century as plantation workers, while 85 percent of Bhutanese Americans are foreign-born, having recently arrived as refugees.

“Asian American friend groups are often made up of people from several Asian immigrant groups, not just one,” says Fellezs. “Thus, the idea of ​​inclusion is one practiced in everyday social life by—Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Lao, and South Asian—young people who hang out together, share overlapping cultural ways and affinities, and distinguish themselves from each other .”

These factors can make it difficult to find a distinct basis in an identity. As a result, his story Asian American music it's very fragmented, usually with artists joining existing genres, rather than coming together to form their own. U.S.-born Asians are also young — 58 percent are part of Gen Z, according to Pew Research, meaning there isn't necessarily a rich shared history in the country that lends a universal sound. This leaves much of this modern identity cobbled together by general, superficial pan-Asian points of contact: boba, braveheritage inspired tattoos.

“In popular music, coming from an Asian American background is not highlighted, which may have a lot to do with the ways in which Asian Americans have historically been assimilated into mainstream American culture by downplaying their difference in other than socially acceptable ways,” he says. Fellezs. “Even with big stars like Bruno Mars or Metallica's Kirk Hammett, not much attention has been paid to their Asian heritage.”

He points to K-pop as a modern genre that is almost entirely associated with Asians, but the genre itself does not speak directly to the Asian American experience. It's part of what 88Rising and Head in the Clouds are trying to tackle with a festival line-up of artists from different parts of the diaspora.

At an EDM rave, exchanging beads and raising a PLUR message—peace, love, unity, and respect—can provide a sense of community that other venues may not allow in the same way. Chen says that Illenium's sets remind him of contemporary Christian music, in their own way. “It feels like a very familiar kind of sound,” he says. “The elements, harmonically, make a lot of sense with EDM. The chord progressions and lyrics are in the same style. The meanings are the same.”

Illenium also strives to evoke a strong sense of community in his music, and he says he's seen that comparisons of his music to Christian music on social media. He's agnostic and it wasn't really his intention, but he says he tried to focus on building something like a shared, emotional journey. “All of that combined, the artwork, the music, the shows, too, it's very much like a different kind of experience,” he says. “I really try to make sure none of my stuff is heard [church] now.”

He adds that he tends to tailor his sound to his audience. “When I go to Asia, I definitely play songs like 'Don't Let Me Down – Remix' and 'Takeaway', like a lot of the bigger songs. A little less dubstep when I'm in Asia. In America, in New York, I definitely play more head bangers.”

For many, its venues offer a different kind of gathering than a typical music venue, but rather a space where they can find time to spend with people in their community. “That's how houses come together,” says Kenny. “It's a bonding experience and a moment of peace. You are very connected to music. And you're a little more in tune with yourself.”

As the sun begins to set in Forest Hills, Illenium and Dabin take the stage, greeting a stadium full of people with their hands in the air. The sea of ​​limbs sways to the beat as people sing the lyrics back to him in a layer of uniformity.

“It felt so special, to be honest,” the producer tells me, recalling the moment. “Thank you for accepting me.”