Tim Wu (Elephante): DJ

Tim Wu (also known as Elephante) grew up taking piano lessons and being passionate about music, but the lack of visible Asian musicians initially deterred him from making a career out of music. It wasn’t until he was miserable while working in consulting that he decided to take the leap into pursuing music full-time. Many years (and open mics) later, Tim has released two EPs, toured across the country, and performed at festivals such as Lollapalooza and Made in America. 

I spoke with Tim about growing up Asian American in the Midwest, how his music and Asian American identity have influenced one another, and how people expand to break expectations.

Photo courtesy of Tim Wu

Rebecca: Can you start by telling me about how your parents came to the United States?

Tim: They were both born in Taiwan and moved here in the 1970s. My mom moved to Ann Arbor for her PhD in child psychology, and my father came to the US out of high school. He had done a master’s at Cornell and then moved to Ann Arbor for business school. My parents ended up meeting in Ann Arbor. 

My mom moved to the city by herself, so she didn't know a single person there. She had a host she was staying with, but the host was out on her first night here. My mom was just sitting in an empty room by herself on her first night in the US. 

Rebecca: What was your upbringing like, especially in regards to being Asian American? 

Tim: For the most part, it fit a lot of stereotypes; academics were very important, and my parents wanted me to become a doctor or a lawyer. My mom was relatively assimilated - her English is very good and she hung out with other Chinese or Taiwanese people but also people who weren’t Chinese or Taiwanese. She made me take piano lessons, do math problems, and go to Chinese school as a kid. But she also imbued in me the importance of finding something that you enjoy doing and are good at. Both of my parents are generally very supportive. 

When I was growing up in Michigan, most of my Chinese peers had parents who had immigrated to the States. It wasn’t the way it is in California, where some Asian families have been here for generations and are pretty assimilated. I didn't know an Asian guy with a six pack or who could dunk until I moved to California. Those were not Asian archetypes where I grew up. 

Rebecca: When you were younger, how did you feel about being Asian? 

Tim: At the time, I thought I was fine with it, but looking back there's a clear self-loathing to it. There were certainly other Asians in town, but it was a pretty small enclave. There was this otherness and confusion to being Asian and some expectations that came with it. In some ways, I tried to distance myself from my Asianness at that age - I played sports and I was creative. It went so far as I would pretend to be dumber than I was in class in an attempt to blend in more. I felt like if I was smart, I’d be reinforcing stereotypes about Asians. 

Everyone wants to be cool in high school. I had aspirations of being an athlete, so I could be cool, but not a lot of Asians played sports. These are thoughts that I’ve unearthed as I reflect back on my early life. When I was growing up, these thoughts didn’t necessarily dominate my time.  

Rebecca: How did the way you viewed your Asian American identity change when you got to college? 

Tim: It probably got worse, because Harvard is an extremely socially stratified place. It was like high school on steroids, but instead of caring about what sports you play, people care about how much money your family has. In college, I wanted to play sports, party with girls, and make music, but Asian kids stereotypically don’t do any of those things. In college, I built on that self-loathing, and I continued to distance myself from being Asian. 

College was such a culture shock compared to where I grew up and the sort of person I thought I was. In general, there weren't very many people I had shared experiences with. I felt a disconnect between what Harvard values and what I’d been taught to value. I integrated a bit socially, but I never felt like I was one of them and not just because of race. I had gone to a public high school, while many of my peers in college went to private schools or boarding schools. Growing up in the Midwest, you never want to show that you're better than anyone and the overarching philosophy is to be kind. On the East Coast, it became more about showing how you're better or showing your merit. The Midwest is about fitting in whereas the East Coast is about standing out. There are positives about that East Coast mentality, but it also manifested into a lot of elitism and emphasis on where you went to school. 

Rebecca: After Harvard, you worked in consulting for a few years before leaving and pursuing music full time. How did you come to that decision? 

Tim: It was both the hardest decision I've ever made and also not a decision at all. There was some guilt, because I was lucky to have all these opportunities (like Harvard and working in consulting), but now I didn’t want them. I felt like I was taking these opportunities for granted and that I was spoiled.

On the flip side, even though I was doing exactly what I was “supposed to” be doing, deep down I knew things were not right. I was deeply unhappy, and I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t give music a shot. From that perspective, there wasn't really a choice. I could either stay at the job and lose my mind, or I could quit and do something else. When I look back, it feels inevitable - like there's no other decision that I could have arrived at. 

Music was always the most important thing to me growing up. Whenever there’s something I really love, my natural reaction is to figure out how I can do it. I vividly remember listening to Continuum by John Mayer, and wondering how I could learn the chords on guitar. Part of me wanted to become a rockstar, because girls like rockstars. 

Even in high school and college, I would spend all my time playing guitar or singing. I would also play open mics. Those were pretty miserable experiences, but for whatever reason I kept doing them. There's nothing as soul-crushing as doing an open mic in LA where no one gives a fuck. They were really rough emotionally and yet I kept doing them. I didn't have a good answer for why I kept doing them - it was like asking why a stone rolls downhill.

Here’s the thing that pushed me over the edge to leave consulting: I was producing a little bit while working in consulting, and I got an offer to do an official remix for a song that would be on Beatport. I thought “this is it - I have an official remix, and I’m going to be on the charts.” I wasn’t even getting paid or anything - I was just getting an official release. I thought in two years, I’d be Avicii. Spoiler alert, that didn’t happen, but it did get me out the door. 

The paradox of being an artist is you have to be irrationally self confident, because it's incredibly hard to beat the odds and make it. But you also have to be insecure enough to keep pushing yourself to get better and get your craft to the point where people want to listen. Looking back, if I had known everything that had to go right for me in the first couple years, I would have thought I had no chance. I didn’t know how hard it was going to be, but that ignorance was actually a gift. 

Rebecca: There’s a stereotype that some Asian American parents put their kids through music lessons, but don’t necessarily want their children to pursue music professionally. How did your parents react when you started working on music full time?  

Tim: My parents wanted me to take piano lessons when I was younger, because they thought it would help with college admissions. The idea that I would pursue music professionally was never in the realm of possibilities for them. Deep down I always knew that's what I wanted to do, but the way I was raised and the stereotypes I heard about Asian Americans told me that that wasn’t an option. I always wondered why I couldn’t pursue music, since that was the thing I really loved. It took me 22 years, but finally I thought I should just give it a try. 

My mom knew how miserable I was working in consulting and she was concerned for my well-being. She thought it was great when I started pursuing music, but she told me not to tell my dad initially. For two or three years after I quit consulting, whenever I went home for Thanksgiving, my dad would ask how my consulting job was, and I’d tell him it was great. After I finally told my dad I was working on music full-time, it took him a little while to wrap his head around the concept of being a DJ. But after he came to a show, he got it. 

As immigrants, my parents’ ticket to a better life was to do really well in school. Our generation is spoiled in the way that we don't have to go through the hardships that they did in coming to a new country. The world's changing, and there are other ways to be successful than to do really well in school. My parents don't totally get it or believe it, but the proof is there. 

Rebecca: How has your music helped you reflect on your Asian American identity? 

Tim: A big thing in music is finding your own voice and the stories and sounds that you can tell that no one else can. Early on in my career, I was deflective of talking about race, because I didn’t want to just be known as the Asian DJ. Sometimes it would actually be a surprise to people that I was Asian. I’ve played at some college shows and if students hadn’t seen my picture beforehand, they would be surprised when they saw me on stage. 

It’s interesting, because when you go to festivals, half the crowd is Asian. But why aren’t we being represented on stage? Some people don’t expect Asians to be great artists and it’s also a self-fulfilling prophecy. I think of all the talented Asian kids who could be doing amazing creative work, but aren’t because of what they were told when they were younger. 

I’ve also gone through a natural maturity and now I’m able to say this is my story and this is who I am. I’ve shed societal expectations of who I thought I was supposed to be. Now I’ve embraced the Asian American part of me, instead of trying to run from it. As an artist, you really have to lean into your story. Everything that’s been happening since Crazy Rich Asians has awoken me to know that being Asian American isn’t something to be ashamed of anymore. 

Rebecca: Do you feel like you have a responsibility to be a role model to other Asian Americans who are interested in pursuing music as a career? 

Tim: I think a lot about the story of the four minute mile. Everyone thought it was physiologically impossible, and no one had broken it for hundreds of years. But after one guy broke four minutes, a ton of other people started doing it too. This just shows the power of expectations and what happens when someone breaks the mold. If I can be that example for someone, that would be the ultimate goal for me. Growing up, one of the reasons why I never thought it was possible was because I didn't see Asians doing what I wanted to do. There weren’t many mainstream Asian singers, songwriters, actors, or athletes, but people expand to fill the expectations that are placed on them. 

On the other hand, being an artist is such a personal decision, and everyone has to go through their own journey. I don’t want to say that everyone can do it, because it’s very difficult and does wear on you emotionally. I've been very lucky to have financial success and make a life out of it, but that's not guaranteed. I want to be supportive where I can, but it’s a difficult path to follow.