Ashwin Gane Talks “Way Up,” World-Building, and Crafting Cinematic Trap Anthems

The Hype Magazine sits down with Detroit-born, Indian-American artist and producer Ashwin Gane to unpack the mythic, cinematic energy behind her new single “Way Up,” dropping this Friday, June 6th. A deliberate blend of regal horns, ghostly textures, and deep 808s, the track doesn’t chase the noise—it rises above it. Throughout our conversation, Ashwin reveals the inspiration behind his sparse, spacious sound, his drive to craft a fully immersive sonic universe, and how he’s balancing bold artistry with grounded intent. Whether you’re pulled in by his sharp lyricism or captivated by the worlds he builds, Ashwin Gane is here to leave a powerful and lasting imprint.

“Way Up” feels cinematic, cold, and powerful. What inspired this particular sound and message?

Yeah, when I first made “Way Up,” I was going for something minimalistic—very sparse, but deliberate. The drum pattern is rather simple, and ironically, that’s what makes it knock. There’s a lot of space between each element, and that space is doing just as much as the sounds themselves. In a lot of trap production, there’s a tendency to fill every pocket. I wanted to resist that and be more selective. I was listening to “Up the Sco” by Icewear Vezzo around then, and I was struck by how the openness in that track made everything feel more serious, more defined. That approach shaped this record. It’s spacious, but it still feels big.

There aren’t many parts, but each one carries weight. The brass riff is simple and repetitive, but played on horns, it takes on this sense of scale. Because the arrangement is so clean, the smallest details feel amplified. There’s no clutter. That restraint is what gives it a kind of cinematic tension—it doesn’t announce itself loudly, but it holds presence.

That idea carried over to the vocal phrasing too. I left space between lines intentionally. The cadence is slow and melodic, with a slight pop sheen, but I didn’t want to fill every bar. I wanted the words to sit in that space to echo a little. That pacing gives it a kind of anthemic quality, like something you absorb line by line, rather than chase. The delivery is calm, composed, and measured, which mirrors the beat.

And if you’re going to call something an anthem, it’s not just about the scale of the sound. It’s about what it stands for. And I think “way up” as a phrase carries something aspirational. That pull upward—toward more clarity, more discipline, more meaning—that shows up in a lot of my work, whether the tone is dark or light. It’s a throughline. The desire to elevate—internally and externally—is always there. And this track is just one version of that impulse, distilled.

Even the vocal tone reflects that. There’s a kind of calm euphoria in it—a sense that you’ve made it through something and you’re finally rising. It’s not loud or over-the-top, but you can feel it. That was intentional. I wanted the delivery to feel steady, almost peaceful—like someone who knows where they’re headed and doesn’t need to force it.

Your music doesn’t just sound different—it feels different. What’s the creative philosophy behind your sonic universe?

 My sonic universe is expansive by design. I’m not just reflecting my reality—or even reality itself. I’m more interested in creating immersive experiences that take the listener somewhere else. Each project is its own world, with its own atmosphere, rules, and emotional logic. Whether it’s cinematic trap, R&B, or something darker, I approach every record as a kind of narrative space.

Take the Got IT EP or a track like “Energy.” That’s a sleek, indulgent world. You step into it as a modern playboy—confident, untouchable. Whether that persona is real or imagined isn’t the point. The point is how it makes you feel. That emotional shift, that transformation, is intentional.

Other projects, like Twilight Tales, are much more mythic—or even horror-influenced. Songs like “Twilight,” “Outside,” and “Regret It” are set in a fantasy world by design. The lyrics and sound are crafted to transport you into something darker, more symbolic. You might feel like a hero, a villain, or something in between. It’s less about personal biography and more about embodying emotional archetypes.

The level of storytelling varies, but the goal stays the same: I want you to feel like you’ve entered a new dimension, even if just for a few minutes. Not only as an escape, but as a kind of hyper-reality—a mythologized mirror of your inner world. That’s the core of what I do. It’s not just sound design—it’s narrative design. Music as world-building.

Can you tell us more about The Alignment Era? What should fans expect from this upcoming trilogy of work?

I didn’t come up with the term “The Alignment Era,” but it fits. Right now, I’m focused on aligning with the audience—getting people familiar with my voice, my tone, my creative perspective. This phase is about establishing presence and letting the world get a clear sense of what I do. Not just as a rapper, but as a producer, recording artist, director—a full auteur.

That’s where Twilight Tales comes in. It’s not part of the official trilogy I’m working on now, but it was a necessary precursor. A prototype. My first rough attempt at creating something mythic. It wasn’t the destination—it was the spark. I made that body of work back in 2022, and while a lot of people didn’t fully understand it at the time, that’s often the sign you’re onto something original.

Twilight Tales gave listeners an early look at the different sides of me—R&B, pop rap, darker cinematic material. It was about introducing my vocal tone, my cadence, and my range. Just letting people know, “Here’s the foundation. This is the artist I am, and this is where I might go.”

What’s coming next is more refined, more intentional. I’m building a multi-part narrative—maybe a trilogy, maybe something even more expansive. It’s mythic, philosophical, and cinematic. Imagine something with the scale of Lord of the Rings, the weight of the Old Testament, the cunning of Machiavelli, the duality of Eastern and Western thought—all filtered through the language and energy of hip-hop.

It’s a meditation on power, independence, order, good, evil, and everything in between. And it’s not just about music—it’s about creating a world you can step into. Twilight Tales was the lab. What’s next is the kingdom.

You’ve performed at NBA games, trended on TikTok, and charted on Billboard. How do you stay grounded in artistry amid industry attention?

To me, it’s simple—I don’t make music for attention or validation, so staying grounded isn’t something I really have to work at. I’ve always seen music as a form of expression and world-building, not a popularity contest. The noise around it doesn’t change the core of why I create. The focus stays on the work.

You speak about myth, memory, and emotion. Who do you feel you’re speaking to as an artist?
I’m speaking to people who want both—the toughness and grit of artists like 50 Cent, Pop Smoke, or Future, but with philosophy, structure, and a mythic sense of scale behind it. It’s raw and grounded, but also cinematic, thoughtful, and deliberate. I’ve always looked for that kind of artist—someone who could merge power with vision, street presence with world-building. Eventually, I realized I’d have to be that artist myself.

There’s a stereotype that cerebral or “artsy” artists sound soft or lack presence. I think I bring something different. My voice has weight. There’s gravitas—but there’s also intention. This is music for people who want to feel powerful and reflective. For people who want something immersive, emotionally real, and sharply built. It’s high-art sensibility without losing that edge.

In one sense, I’m speaking to everyone—because like a good film, sometimes you just want a different perspective or to step into a world that isn’t your own. But more specifically, I think I’m speaking to people who are open-minded enough to seek out something new, and who value craft. People who want to feel empowered, who might be looking for a stronger sense of confidence, control, or independence in their lives—but are also willing to question what it costs to chase that kind of power.

There’s a silent group of listeners out there—people who might connect with parts of hip-hop, but don’t feel like the full picture reflects them. I think I offer an alternative. My music gives you that sonic weight and presence, but with more world-building, more introspection, more structure. It’s for people who want the emotion and the muscle, but also the myth—the narrative, the symbolism, the lyricism. Whether they come from hip-hop, fantasy, or film, I’m speaking to people who want to feel something real—but also step into something larger.

What legacy are you trying to leave—not just in music, but in meaning?

Well, for one, I want to leave behind a complete body of work—something that goes beyond just songs. It’s audiovisual. It’s cinematic. It includes music, videos, digital merchandise, maybe even film. I want to create a full experience—a way for people to step outside their reality and enter a different one. Almost like a theme park. Very Walt Disney in that sense. There’s joy in that kind of escape—it can feel like a mini-adventure.

At the very least, I want to offer people an emotional experience. That might mean helping them feel more confident. Or giving them space to reflect. Once this mythic universe I’m building is fully constructed—probably sometime next year—it’ll be a kind of ideological playground. A place where people can explore different ideas through story, sound, and image.

It’s fantasy, yes, but it’s not just about escape. It’s also about perspective. I’m always trying to offer multiple things at once—not just a single emotion or a single message, but a layered experience. That’s the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ashwingane