Premiere: Banke - "Simenon"

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Watch "Simenon" below, and look out for Banke's debut EP Totem out April 13.

Colombia taught me that nightlife is really about people before anything else. I started very young, selling tickets and being involved in the entire process from the ground up. It taught me how important community, word of mouth, and trust really are.
You can have an amazing artist or venue, but what makes a night special is the feeling people have when they walk into the room and the people they experience it with. I carried a lot of that with me to New York.
I don't know if I would ever call it a cultural institution myself. I still look at ÄGAPĒ as something we're building every day.
There wasn't really one moment where everything changed. It was more gradual. We started with very little, reinvested everything into the next event, and kept seeing more people connect with what we were doing.
Once artists started coming back, the same faces kept returning to our parties, and we began expanding into the record label and eventually the festival, it became clear that ÄGAPĒ could be much bigger than just one night.
But I still try to approach every event with the same excitement and attention to detail we had when we first started.


Yes, the contrast was intentional, but I also wouldn't define ÄGAPĒ solely by extremely hard music. The name comes from the idea of agapē as a kind of unconditional, transcendent love, and that has always been central to what we wanted the project to represent.
Since 2021, we've booked across different subgenres of techno, from groove and more traditional techno to faster and harder sounds. Our musical identity has always had range, and that's something we want to continue exploring. What interested me was the idea that music can be intense, physical, and powerful while the environment around it can still feel open, emotional, and connected.
For me, those things aren't opposites. That contrast between the intensity of the music and the warmth of the community is a big part of what the name represents.
NYC nightlife has historically been created by immigrants, queer, Black and Latino communities, artists and people looking for somewhere they could construct another identity after dark. As someone who came to New York from Colombia, what did the city allow you to become that perhaps wouldn't have existed elsewhere?
Coming to New York from Colombia, I was exposed to so many different communities, sounds, and perspectives all at once. But even before New York, I had already experienced what it meant to grow up around different cultures. I spent part of my childhood living in Indonesia and traveling around Asia with my parents, so from an early age I was used to being surrounded by different languages, people, and ways of living.
I think that early exposure shaped me more than I realized at the time. New York felt like a place where all of those different influences could coexist.
That diversity is a huge part of what makes the city and its nightlife so special, and I have tremendous respect for the communities that built that history long before ÄGAPĒ existed.
For me personally, New York showed me that you could come from somewhere else, carry all those different experiences with you, and channel them into creating something that genuinely belongs here. ÄGAPĒ is very much a product of that journey.


I don't think growth and intimacy necessarily have to work against each other.
A festival allows us to do things creatively that wouldn't be possible in a 500-person room, but that doesn't mean we stop doing smaller shows or taking risks on emerging artists.
For us, the goal is actually to have both. We can produce a large-scale festival at Industry City and then, a few weeks later, create something completely different in a much smaller Brooklyn warehouse.
I think it's important to continue creating spaces where people can discover new music and artists, regardless of the size of the event.
What matters to me is that people still feel there's intention behind the lineup, the production, and the overall experience. The scale can change without the identity changing.
I wanted the lineup to reflect how connected New York and Europe have become, while still showing that New York has its own identity and momentum right now.
A lot of the artists we work with have strong communities in Europe, but they also have very real audiences developing here.
At the same time, it was important for us to place U.S. and New York-based talent alongside those international names and give them exposure on a much bigger scale.
To me, that says a lot about where New York techno is culturally right now. The scene is becoming more international, but it's also building its own artists, its own communities, and its own voice.
The exciting part is seeing those worlds interact rather than feeling separate. I want ÄGAPĒ to continue contributing to that exchange while helping push the New York scene forward.


Every generation discovers electronic music differently. For some people today, that first introduction might be through Instagram, fashion, or a short video, whereas another generation discovered it through a record shop or a flyer.
I don't necessarily see that as a bad thing. More visibility can introduce the music to people who might never have discovered it otherwise.
The important part is what happens after that introduction. If somebody discovers techno online and then starts digging into artists, labels, parties, and the history behind the music, that can only strengthen the culture.
I do think it's important to respect where the music comes from and the communities that helped create it.
Trends will always come and go, but people who genuinely connect with the music tend to stay.
I don't really see those roles as opposites. There are a lot of artists who began as promoters or label owners, focused on building their own platforms, often by any means necessary. In electronic music especially, those worlds have always overlapped.
For me, ÄGAPĒ and Junkfile feed off each other. Being a DJ helps me understand what artists need from a promoter and what actually makes a room feel right. On the other side, producing events has made me hyper-aware of how much work goes into creating the environment where an artist can really have that moment.
But when it's my turn to play, I'm not thinking about permits or budgets. I'm thinking about the room, the next record, and where I want to take the set.
That part hasn't disappeared at all. If anything, building ÄGAPĒ has made me value it even more, because music is still the foundational reason I got into all of this in the first place.


We're closing out 2026 with a strong run of club shows in New York, some of which have already sold out, and we're continuing to explore different sounds and concepts across the city.
But 2027 is shaping up to be our biggest year yet.
One of the things I'm most excited about is our upcoming ÄGAPĒ Winter Festival, taking place February 19–20 at Industry City. We're bringing together some legendary names in techno alongside a new generation of artists pushing the sound forward.
I can't reveal the full lineup just yet, but I can share a few names: Len Faki, Ben Klock, FENIMORE, UBERKIKZ, and KUKO, with many more still to be announced.
The two days will have distinct musical identities. The first will focus on techno and hardgroove, while the second will explore faster sounds, hard techno, and hard bounce. We're really proud of how the lineup is coming together.
Beyond the Winter Festival, we're working on our next summer edition, expanding our larger-scale events, and developing more collaborations with artists and labels that we genuinely believe in.
We're also looking beyond New York. One of our biggest ambitions for 2027 is to take ÄGAPĒ internationally through collaborations with like-minded collectives, promoters, and artists in places like Germany, Amsterdam, Spain, and Australia. Rather than simply bringing our parties to different cities, we want to connect with the local scenes, exchange ideas, and create something that feels authentic to each place while maintaining ÄGAPĒ's identity.
Another major focus for 2027 is ÄGAPĒ Records. We're preparing our first various-artists compilation and already planning additional releases. The goal is to make the label a natural extension of what we've been building through our events, giving artists another platform to share their music.
Ultimately, I want ÄGAPĒ to continue growing beyond just a party series or a festival. We're building something that connects artists, music, and communities through events, releases, and creative collaborations, both in New York and internationally.
There's a lot coming, and I genuinely feel like we're only getting started.




How are you doing?
I’m doing good. Just in Canada for Canadian Thanksgiving, so I’m on your time in Toronto.
Oh, perfect, I was hoping it wasn't too early. I was reading into you a bit, and this theme of technology you have going on really resonated with me. Do you remember a time when you weren't dependent on screens or social media?
Yeah. Before I turned 10 and got my first [phone], I believe it was the iPhone 4 or 5.
What did it feel like to not be overstimulated at the time? Do you remember?
For sure. It’s funny because this whole album talks about the opposite of that. I don't know if you've noticed this sort of grey theme, but everything kind of turned grey. Before I was overstimulated, life was so colorful. I mean that both physically and metaphorically. And, of course, that actually does scientifically have to do with your eyesight, but it felt like I was less jaded, and I was delusional. I try to apply that childhood wonder to a lot of aspects of my work and my life, but I think it's also important to talk about what it feels like, you know, just not applying those aspects and what most of us now, Gen Z, are forced to live with every day.
You mention feeling addicted to the serotonin and dopamine release from being on social media. How do you balance that with your creative process?
I think social media is a tool, and you have to use it right. If I let social media dictate what I do creatively, then I'm not really creating anything new. I don't want to just recreate someone else’s Pinterest board. So I have to be careful what I consume. But if I consume certain parts of the internet, the right amount, it can lead to some beautiful inspiration, right? Because all art inspires art. And I still struggle; it's not easy.
As a Gen Z individual, do you think this feeling of technological alignment with tangible reality is uniquely Gen Z? Or do you think this is happening across all generations?
I would say almost every generation today is reliant on technology, simply for communication and daily tasks. We essentially all have been forced to adapt to this way of life, unless you are super privileged or have people around you who can help you or do this for you. Unless you, I don’t know, just have other resources or other means to get around. I find it hard to imagine at this day and age not having some sort of connection to the outside world. Even if you have a cellphone line. Sorry, I feel as though I just went on a tangent. I’m not actually addressing your question.
No, I think it made complete sense. So basically you think this technological alignment with reality is very broad, and that no one is immune to it?
Yes, that is what I was trying to say. I think that we've all been forced to adapt to it now. My grandma just turned 90, and she was texting on her Samsung this morning. I mean, that's a prime example of what's happening.
With all of this in mind, and knowing your single "M.I.A." comes from your experience navigating this digital dependency, can you pinpoint a specific moment that inspired you to write this song?
Yeah, it was actually in 2025. I hadn't toured in like a year and a half. It was right before playing Warped Tour, actually, in DC. I was in the car on the way to play the show, and I was getting all these DMs like, so excited to see you play, so happy to see you play, and it just didn't feel real. Because then, when I showed up, I couldn't match those DMs to people; I couldn't match a face to a name, and that really flipped something for me. Like, oh, people will say something on the internet, even if I don't know them, and maybe not follow through. Thankfully, a lot of people ended up showing up for my set, but I kind of just dissociated around the fact that someone would say, "I’m going to show up to support you," and then not. I'm sure there are reasons why they couldn't. But it just made me feel super connected with these people online, and then in person I was not connected with them at all. I thought I was going to get the opportunity to connect with them, and I didn’t. It's the fact that I didn’t that really created this separation in my mind from people on the internet. I tend to be very parasocial; I'm a fan myself of a lot of idols and artists. I’m like, "But why wouldn't you do anything to—," but I’m like, hold on, you're not Beyoncé. That dissociation realizing that I'm so connected with these people online but I haven't even met them in person really struck a nerve.


I've never heard the flip side of this concept of being parasocial. As a person who does have a following and does have people listening to their music, there is some kind of parasocial relationship, like not being the fan. You, as the creator, feel this relationship. Was that your first experience with that?
I think I experienced a lot of it during the pandemic. We were all so connected online, and not in person. It just felt like a revamp of that, slightly. I'm so grateful, obviously, for anyone who does support me. Even if they don’t or can't make it to a show, I get it; tickets are expensive, and plans fall through. It's just the fact that I personally realized these people I was hoping to meet, I did have a parasocial relationship with, and I was upset that I didn't get to meet them. But that is actually a little bit unhealthy. I have such deep gratitude because I wouldn't do this without them. I feel like I see a lot of the other way, of artists protecting their peace. Maybe one day I'll get there, but for now, I'm just like, you listen to my music, you're my friend. That's the deepest part of me.
It’s interesting you bring up COVID. This is something that people aren't really talking about: the impact of COVID. You started your music career in the midst of the pandemic; how did that influence your decision to pursue a musical, or creative, career?
Honestly, it was just the time. I was finally given time to create some awesome music, and I wasn't being asked to go to school; I wasn't being asked to do acting— I grew up acting in the city of Toronto— so I was always doing auditions or on set. It was just this time when I could actually hone my craft. Still, every day it's important to hone your craft. I hate how cheesy that sounds, but it really is true. I knew I'd end up doing something creative anyway, so it was like, well, just go full throttle and see what happens.
Yeah, and here we are. So, going back to your single a little bit, I noticed you usually have a rock or electronic-infused sound, but with "M.I.A.", you feature a lot softer, sometimes cleaner vocals. How do you plan on experimenting more in your album or upcoming projects?
Actually, I’m really scared because I'm doing a lot of those soft vocals on my next project. I have entire songs that are only that. Some of them are focus tracks; they're more pop-leaning, and that's a step I've never taken before. In streaming, like, pop success on paper, for people to take you seriously outside of rock or hyperpop or these more niche communities, at least this is what they tell you as a young artist, like the suits, they tell you, "Okay, we need a song for streaming, we need a song for radio, and we need a song for TikTok and social media." And I try to do that in a way where I just made a bunch of music, some soft, some stuff I‘ve never done before, and I was like, "Okay, you guys choose now.” I’ve made two albums' worth of songs, and they were only going to put out an EPs worth, so let's decide. I'm very nervous and excited.
You mentioned "the suits" are telling you you need this or that, but I know you departed from a large record label, and that's a very brave—
It's okay! You can say their name; I’m not under NDA.
It was Atlantic, right?
Yeah.


It's very scary but also very empowering. How has your creative process changed now that you have all the control?
Well, at first, it was not empowering at all, actually. They dropped me. I was so, so distraught. I thought my career and my life were over. It's been a struggle, honestly, but taking my power back and getting that control back on things like budgets, release timelines, and creative direction has been really rewarding and worth it. I would say the scary part has been the industry, and the way that people would view me. The perception of others is something I still, whether I like to admit it or not, really deeply care about. Even though I come across as so nonchalant and so like, I don't give an F, which is a big part of me, I’m still human. It’s getting over that, that I hope to do with Silver Streak, kind of just do it for myself, and not for the validation of anyone else. And that’s what I'm working on in therapy.
Yeah, imposter syndrome is an unsettling experience. Going into this creative freedom, you have a really distinct and very fun cyberpunk visual vibe going on. Where do you draw your inspirations for your visuals? Even right now, you're in a spaceship on the Zoom; that's awesome.
Yes, I think I just have it automatically set to this because it's my vibe. Honestly, a lot of it is just from what I consume. I selectively choose to consume specific movies, or read certain books, TV shows or anime, or follow certain accounts. I just find myself naturally drawn right now to this sort of ultra-sterile, white and silver clean environment. Because it's so much of what I see the world heading towards. It's just so crazy. Everything just has gotten crazy. I'm trying to almost satirically hyperfixate on how crazy the world has gotten. When it comes to the out-of-touch reality stuff, the Equinox AI ads, or the fact that we're sending satellites up to Mars daily and preparing humankind to go there. It's just so crazy; I wanted to see what my life would be like in a thousand years. But then, I'm probably on my next album going to come back to reality, and it's like, okay, that was the dream, this is the reality, and it's going to be a much darker, depressing album. That's where my mind is at, though.
This is the second time you mention really curating what you consume. Is there a specific movie you saw, or a book you read recently that stuck out to you?
Yeah, actually, The Fifth Element. The visuals, everything, the styling, the fashion. I did see a fashion show recently, as well, by this designer that I love. The brand is called Belacartes and it was really futuristic, but punk, and mixing that modernism with such grunge, disgusting filth fashion was really cool.


On that fashion note, earlier this year you walked in New York Fashion Week, right?
Yes, I did! My five-foot-six-ass did not need to be walking that show. I think it went great, actually. It was with Elena Velez, and I did the after-party as well. I really want to do Paris Fashion Week this year; that's my goal. I've been getting kind of into modeling as well, you know. I find myself in Paris so much it might be a natural next step for me, but we'll see. I'm already busy with music.
I know to some extent you do your own designing, did the runway show inspire you or influence you or make you think of your fashion, creatively, differently?
No. I wish it did. I would say it made me think of how I would approach a show differently, like my own collection. but from a backend sense. That's something that would be so important to me, just because I know how toxic the entertainment industry can be and modeling is no different from that. It's really just the treatment of the models that I was really impressed by. I would take notes on that all day long.
I wanted to talk to you about your American Idol audition. Was the song just a troll, or was there some truth or underlying anger underneath all the satire of the song?
I think the song is one of the most real things I've said. or written. I truly do feel like we, as people, myself included, need to have fewer opinions towards others. Sometimes, you just gotta keep it to yourself. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and I wish that people told me this more because I yap a lot. But I don’t know; being young, you're always told what you need to do by adults, what school to go to, how to dress, you need to have this profile, you need to be making this much by this age; it's just like, shut the fuck up, okay, actually just shut up. Everyone’s on a different path. It doesn't matter. Going on [American Idol], I had just been dropped from my label. But at the time they cast me, I was signed to my label, so I couldn’t have won the competition when they cast me. So I came in with this whole plan, like, look, I can’t win, so I’m just going to do this as a joke. But it ended up being this super powerful thing. Obviously it is a joke, but it was me reclaiming, to all the suits at the label who told me, like, this was the kind of music I need to make, I need to look like this or do this, just shut the fuck up. And this is gonna go viral, and you're going to try to resign me, and they did, so.
There you go.
Clock it.
Any parting thoughts you wanted to leave off with?
This is all surreal, and I'm so thankful for all of the love. Thank you to the Riot Games team, but most importantly, thank you to anyone who is a fan of KDA who has welcomed me with open arms. I truly hope you love this record, Fire Starter, and all of the tracks on it. I can't wait to see you at Worlds on November 14th, as well as my headline tour in Asia in Early December.

Are you a Tennessee builder who becomes Elvis at night, or an Elvis who happens to build houses by day?
I wish I could say that it’s one way or the other but I find both extremely rewarding. They are actually interconnected in surprising ways as we utilize our tribute shows as fundraisers for our foundation that assists youths in [the] pursuit of trade careers like electrical, plumbing, etc.
What does each of your two professions give you that the other one doesn’t?
They are surprisingly similar in that they both allow a certain creative outlet and from perhaps an ego standpoint, you receive praise from your respective audiences. I’ve always loved music but had gotten away from it for many years so the tribute shows are a chance to really embrace that passion.
Do you feel like your personality, mannerisms, and facial expressions change when you dress up as Elvis? Do you have your own style or is it Elvis’s?
Elvis had a ton of really unique mannerisms that I try to emulate while performing but invariably my personality and own mannerisms still show—sometimes more than I prefer to see when I watch myself back. But the crowds love our shows; they say the fun I have is infectious. I love hearing that. I share that with Elvis. He was living his best life while performing. Truth be told, I much prefer watching Elvis than listening to him and it’s because that fun and energy really is really is contagious.
At what point does studying an icon become something closer to devotion?
I think it’s when studying someone stops being about simply learning what they do and becomes about understanding who they are. I spend a lot of time watching and listening to him, practicing in the mirror, taping every rehearsal. There’s his voice, which I try to replicate as closely as possible and of course the Southern accent. I’m thankful that those things have come pretty naturally to me for most of my life. But then there are the movements, the mannerisms, the way he carries himself. At a certain point, it becomes less about imitation and more about trying to inhabit the person. It really becomes as much of an acting performance as it is a musical one.
Do you feel that your Muse protects you, or are you the one protecting his memory?
I think I’m the one protecting his memory, although in a way, he protects me too. I’ve had the privilege of knowing people who knew Elvis personally and they’ve given me a much more human picture of him—complex and imperfect, but also incredibly humble, funny, spiritual, generous and kind.
I think a lot of people only know the caricature of Elvis, particularly the later years, and miss how extraordinary he was at his peak.
So, I feel a responsibility to remind people of the person behind the icon—not to make him perfect, but to make sure his complexity and humanity aren’t forgotten.
How do you earn the loyalty of an audience when you are stepping into someone else’s legacy?
It can definitely be a challenge. But when people see that you’re not being cheesy, that you genuinely respect the legacy and are putting everything you have into getting it right, they recognize that. You earn their respect, and eventually they become fans not only of Elvis, but of what I do with his legacy.
Do you ever feel that your own identity disappears sometimes?
Not really. For instance, when I speak, I use my own voice. I can talk like Elvis, but I choose not to, because I’m not pretending to be him. I’m paying tribute to him. There’s a real difference in the intention, and ultimately in what you create.
Would you consider impersonating Elvis a form of theater?
1000%. If you’re doing it right, it’s theater in every sense. There’s the costume, hair and makeup, instruments, mannerisms, facial expressions, movement, and of course the voice. You’re building a character from the ground up. When all of those elements come together, it’s every bit as much a theatrical performance as any other production.
What happens when the two versions of you meet?
They play nice together. In all seriousness, I think most of us are multifaceted. Even Elvis, he’s started out as a blue collar guy before becoming the world’s biggest star.
