Right. It was just undeniable.
Yeah, that's the point—it’s undeniable. Another thing about cultural appropriation, too, I grew up studying and learning about music because I was fascinated by it. So, I do attribute my skill or whatever to my knowledge of music, to the history and the love I have for it. And if you don't understand the idiosyncrasies of why we are like this, or if you don't understand social economic history, well, maybe you should learn that, because there are reasons why things are formed the way they are. That's what I learned as an anthropologist—I learned why people do what they do and why they create what they do. Why is there polka music called Norteña in Mexico? Because German immigrants moved there and settled some houses. They brought their fucking accordions, and started making music. But you wouldn't know that now because you just see dudes in mariachi outfits singing fucking polka music in Spanish. A lot of people don’t want to know why—and you don’t have to, to enjoy it—but I was always like, Why is it like this? Where did it come from? I think that's something people should understand. But at the end of the day, if it makes you feel some way, it does. If it doesn't, turn it off, go to the next thing. You don't have to always share your opinion.
That desire to break these rules, or even just your interest in culture and humanity—is that why you've decided to play in places like Cuba, where art has been censored?
Yeah, Cuba is isolated because they really, literally don't have access. I think it's the only place in the world that truly exists like that. Like, when I went to Pakistan, the biggest song I played was “Gucci Gang" by fucking Lil Pump, and it had just came out two weeks before. So, people do find music, they find art. Kids always find a way to break the rules. You could live in fucking Siberia, but your mother and father have a favorite hip-hop song. But Cuba, I had to literally have a team pass out USB keys to people to make them know what my music sounded like. The other places I go, like Pakistan, or Nigeria, or wherever… They don’t pay any money, and that’s why you go on tour—to make money. But I go places where I don't make money because I want to work with these people, I want to build and I want to learn, I want to go there and spend my energy making records with people. That's really my motivation for traveling.
You mentioned Justin Bieber and how he was really disliked at some point, and it's funny, when you Google ‘Diplo,’ you see all these headlines calling you ‘pop’s problem child,’ or calling you a villain. I'm curious why you think people think of you that way?
I think I went south around the advent of Twitter, and then my public beef with my girlfriend at the time, MIA, and my beef with Taylor Swift, which was just stupid. I just didn't realize my sarcasm was taken as real at the time, and I know now… I don't even use Twitter. Middle-aged white guys just don't belong on Twitter. I'm on SoundCloud and Instagram and TikTok—TikTok, especially, because I’m just like, Whatever, I'll be stupid. But in the beginning, yeah, I think I was a villain because of all of that, which I know is an easy answer to say, but I think for the most part also, when we talk about cultural appropriation, I really never thought it was weird what I was doing, because the people I listened to, and how I learned about music, like Afrika Bambaataa, or The Wizard in Detroit, or like I said, Bowie—listening to them, I never thought there were rules. Bambaataa brought German music to The Bronx and it changed the world forever. He played Kraftwerk records and sampled them to make "Planet Rock,” and made the biggest anthem of all time. That fusion created the music that I listened to. I mean, my career wouldn't exist if it wasn't for Miami bass and electro. So, when I learned about that, I was like, This is fucking sick. But why is there not more chaos? That's the best thing that ever happens to art. So, I'm not going to win any arguments about what am I supposed to do as a middle-aged, cisgender white guy from Florida. It’s cool. But when it comes to explaining what music does to you, I'll always win because it's from my heart. And the people that want to write a hit piece on me about cultural appropriation—it’s just so tired. It's so old. I've been in Jamaica for 20 years making music with Vybz Kartel. I’m intertwining all these societies, no matter how much you want to hate me. I'm part of it. And I've been doing it and I'm not going to stop. Maybe that's an easy answer. If you want to do a roundtable with a bunch of haters, they’d probably say something else.
When it comes to your new album, I've heard it described as ‘the first proper Diplo album since 2004,’ or as your return to dance music… What does that mean? What's a proper Diplo album?
That’s one-hundred percent a marketing term from my lazy label. I mean, it really makes sense on paper, but I've done a million different albums, just under different names. I legally had the right to do a Diplo album right now, so we decided to do that. And I'll tell you, honestly, dance album’s not really the right term—I wouldn't even consider it an album, I don't think albums even really exist anymore. Maybe The Weeknd—he’s really conceptual, the last guy left that's trying to do that. But for me, it's just a bunch of dance records I put out and then you add some old ones, so you can get better number placement in the first week. Like, “On My Mind” came out four years ago. So, it's just an industry plant created concept. But I do think it's the first time I ever did an album and am spending my energy marketing it and like, doing press photos. I don't really do that anymore. So, hopefully people like it. I'm already, as a producer, because I work so fast—I’m already working on the next thing. I'm going to move genres to South African gospel music now. I'm such a psychopath still. I move so quick.
Does dance music really exist anymore, though? Pop and dance have become so intertwined, whereas when you put out your first record, there weren't a lot of pop artists collaborating with dance artists on a dance track.
Well, there was a wave of dance and pop guys. Like, if Selena Gomez has a bunch of records and she's scared to put them out by herself, I'll give them to Kygo and he'll take the blame if they're bad. That was the marketing idea that labels had—like, DJ Snake, here's a bunch of songs from Cardi B. You can put this out because we don't want to do it. And if you make money, we all make money. So, it was this lazy era that I'm a part of. I started it with “Lean On”—we didn't have a pop singer on it, but it was the first, let's say pop song with electronic production, and we did that. It was independent. And it was the first international number one dance record like that. So, everybody was like, Fuck, this is the cheat code. That came and went quick—you can't even put features out with stars anymore. No one gives a shit. You need TikTok behind you. You need all this shit backing you up. So, the best thing you can do is just keep putting out fucking great records and hope that they find that spark that they need to get blow up. But, yeah, dance music still exists. I made this album as the pop producer that I am. So, they’re pop songs, they’re structured songs, there’s a lot of vocals. But that's what I do as a solo artist. I understand pop. I understand verses and choruses. I could just make straight tech house records, but this is my streaming project—it’s music that I think is a lot more palatable. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still dance music there, and some of the people on the album, it might have been a stretch for them to be on it, but that idea of genre in dance music alone has been broken down. Everybody was like, Fuck, there’s pandemic, what was that conversation? What was this beef about? Let's just fucking make music. And I'm so happy about all the different people I got to be on the record, because even five years ago, they would be like, Fuck that. There were all these unwritten rules of techno and house… Even Mark Ronson, before we did our collaboration, the guy would never have worked with me! He’s been my good friend for years, but he's so busy thinking about what NME cares about that he wasn’t caring about what’s exciting. A lot of these guys have this mentality about critics and they want their score to be so high because they want to go down in history with the most Emmys and Tonys or whatever. But I'm just like, Let's fucking make as much noise as possible. Who cares? And eventually, if I make a hundred songs, one's going to go on TikTok, or one's going to get nominated for a Grammy. My thought process is definitely quantity over quality, which is probably the worst way to work, but that's what I do.
So, it’s a numbers game for you.
It is. Well, nowadays it is. I was forced into that mentality. I didn't want to be like that, but the streets made me who I am.
You do so much different work—you’re a pop producer, you're a solo artist, you're a DJ. Then you've got LSD and Silk City. Are all of these different projects just a way for you to express yourself differently, or geek out over something that wouldn't work for your work in one of your roles? Or is it really just that you’re making as much stuff as you can?
Most times, I'm just sneaking into people's lives. Like Skrillex—I’m like, Who's the best producer in the world? It's Skrillex, so let's make a collaboration. I'll give him something he didn't have. I have this unique skill of writing pop songs—that’s the one thing I'm good at. I'm not the best electronic producer, I’m definitely not the best fucking musician, but I have a quirky way of understanding songwriting. So, that’s my way to sneak in. I was like, Fuck, I'm going to learn from Skrillex and make the sickest record we could with my ideas because I can't make them myself. And then maybe it's Mark Ronson—everyone wants to collaborate with him. He's the fucking GOAT. So, it’s just another way for me to learn. Every one of these projects is me literally going back to grad school with each project. That's really how I feel.
But you also work with a lot of emerging artists, as well.
My biggest records have been with emerging artists, weirdly enough, because there's nothing to be expected. The biggest song I've ever done was “Lean On” with MØ, who’s a Danish, like, jazz singer. And it just worked. I tried to give that song to Rihanna. I tried to give it to Nick [Minaj]—I couldn't give that record away. I was like, This is a fucking smash, and it obviously was, but we were like, Fuck it, we'll sing it ourselves. That's where I ended up as a producer. I want to farm all my records out to everybody, but I'm also not a bitch. When you want to work with Post Malone—who’s the homie I love to death—you’ve literally got to follow that guy around to Utah, to a studio and drink lean until like 7AM, hanging out with a bunch of girls and playing beer pong for 56 hours. I would've done that five years ago or 10 years ago, but I just can't do that anymore. Now, I’m just like, Here’s my record. If you like it, please give it a chance. If you don’t, I'm not going to go fucking ride four wheelers over a cliff with you and drink Bud Light. Maybe I would—with Post I definitely would, if he asked me to—but I'd rather go to fucking Africa on tour. I don't want to fucking sit in the studio and maybe my heart will stop beating from doing so many fucking drugs. I’ll just put them out myself. That's basically how this album got made—it’s a bunch of dance records nobody wanted, and I just said, Well, fuck it, I’ll put them out. That's basically my whole career.