For Ki!, there are no wrong ideas.
That philosophy might explain why the Danish-Korean multi-instrumentalist, composer and producer approaches pop music like a mad scientist who has been given unlimited studio time. If conventional wisdom says one instrument is enough, Ki! might use seven. If music school says two chords aren’t supposed to sit beside each other, he’ll write a song around them. And if a genre seems incompatible with another, that’s probably where things start getting interesting.
His latest single, “I Wanna Lose It (with You),” featuring Danish-Romanian artist Fallulah, takes that philosophy somewhere particularly euphoric.
Inspired by the maximalism of ABBA, the song is Ki!’s exaggerated interpretation of a pop record: enormous layers of instrumentation surrounding Fallulah’s comparatively singular vocal performance. The arrangement is deliberately excessive, joyful and slightly absurd.
“I came up with the idea to make seven different instruments play the same part, which might be stupid and even a massive obstacle,” Ki! says. “But that was the idea.”
Rather than correcting the excess, he followed it.
“I believe it’s my take on a ‘pop’ song, but I do realize it’s the exact opposite of what many define as pop, which makes it what I want it to be—an idea of a pop song rather than an actual pop song.”
That tension between familiarity and experimentation has defined Ki!’s work across an increasingly expansive discography. But “I Wanna Lose It (with You)” also opens the door to something larger: Return to Haeundae Beach, the double album arriving in February 2027 that will conclude a trilogy Ki! began with 2022’s The Boy From Haeundae Beach and continued through Yong-Gwanglo.
The title carries considerably more weight following the events of the past year.
Born in Busan, South Korea, and adopted to Denmark as an infant, Ki! returned to his birth country for the first time in 2026. What could easily have remained an abstract idea of “home” suddenly became tangible.
“On a personal level, it means everything to me to play in the country where I was born,” he says. “It feels like coming home in some way.”
That experience didn’t create Return to Haeundae Beach. Much of the record had already been written. Instead, Korea began changing the meaning of music that already existed.
One track originally titled “The Pipe Smoking Bearded Man,” for instance, became “Appa”—the Korean word for father—after Ki! met his new friend Gun Kim, whose Korean voice now appears on the song.
“Many other songs have suffered the same destiny and transformation in their DNA,” Ki! explains. “‘Appa’ is definitely my tribute to South Korea and especially a song for my new friends there.”
It’s an unexpectedly fitting metaphor for Ki!’s entire creative process. Nothing needs to remain what it originally appeared to be.
Genres mutate. Songs acquire new identities. Supposed musical mistakes become foundations. And influences that shouldn’t necessarily coexist are forced into conversation until they somehow make sense.
“I let them collide big time as naturally as possible, but sometimes I also force them to fit together,” he says. “I’m the mad scientist in that sense.”
Ki!’s approach might sound chaotic, but underneath it sits an unusually complete degree of authorship. He writes, records, produces, mixes and masters his music while playing virtually every instrument himself outside of horns and strings.
The independence is partly practical, but it also reflects a philosophy formed in opposition to the rules he encountered during his musical education.
“I attended music conservatory, where I was told that some chords didn’t fit together and that you couldn’t use certain scales to fit the chords given,” he remembers. “So of course, I made a bunch of songs where I did all the ‘wrong’ things to prove them wrong.”
Years later, that instinct remains intact.
“It’s wrong but it’s beautiful and at least fun.”
Fun, in fact, might be the closest thing Ki! has to a manifesto.
While Return to Haeundae Beach carries questions of birthplace, identity and homecoming, Ki! resists the idea that listeners need his biography to understand his work. The story is available for anyone interested in it, but the music needs to survive without explanation.
“People don’t need to know my story,” he says. “One thing I can honestly say is that it’s 100% me. My personality is stamped in and portrayed in all the songs.”
Perhaps that’s why his return to South Korea has been meaningful without fundamentally changing the way he performs.
“What we do is what we do, no matter where we are in the world,” he says.
And yet some experiences transcend artistic strategy.
“When I perform and look out into the crowd and everyone looks like me, it’s amazing.”
With Return to Haeundae Beach, a trilogy that has followed Ki!’s musical and personal identity for several years will finally reach its conclusion. What follows isn’t clear yet.
He doesn’t seem particularly interested in forcing an answer.
“I think I need a break now to focus on something else,” he says. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but one thing is for sure—it has to be as fun as making all of these records.”
For the moment, “I Wanna Lose It (with You)” contains everything anyone really needs to understand about Ki!’s philosophy.
Seven instruments where one might suffice. ABBA filtered through an eccentric multi-instrumentalist’s imagination. Rules deliberately broken. An enormous production built around the simplest possible objective.
“Just having fun,” Ki! says. “If it can make people dance around while singing along, then my world is made.”
Sometimes the wrong way is considerably more interesting.
“I Wanna Lose It (with You)” draws inspiration from the maximalist production of ABBA. You mention that you often layer the same part with seven different instruments. How do you balance that density to ensure the song remains pop-forward rather than collapsing under its own weight?
That’s a good question, and I don’t have a technical answer to it. However, I believe that whatever you do—if you do it with passion and joy—is the right thing to do. I came up with the idea to make seven different instruments play the same part, which might be stupid and even a massive obstacle. But that was the idea, and I formulated it by simply listening and feeling. Luckily, it ended up being the right thing to do, because there are no wrong ideas, as I mentioned earlier.
I believe it’s my take on a “pop” song, but I do realize it’s the exact opposite of what many define as pop, which makes it what I want it to be—an idea of a pop song rather than an actual pop song, if that makes sense.
Working with Fallulah as the topliner and lead vocalist adds an emotional depth to this euphoric arrangement. How did her involvement shape the track’s final sound compared to your initial vision?
Fallulah is such an amazing singer, songwriter, and producer in her own right. She completely understood the “assignment” and nailed the vibe I had in mind. Her vocal is more or less the only thing in the song that hasn’t been layered seven times. The contrast of her single vocal against the massive music production was exactly what my initial idea and vision was.
This single is the first look at Return to Haeundae Beach, which concludes your album trilogy. Looking back at the journey from The Boy From Haeundae Beach to this finale, what has been the most surprising evolution in your sound as a producer?
I wish I had some kind of revelation or divine epiphany during this whole process, but honestly, I just love making music and still do. I look back on the songs I made on the first album with pride, as well as on the second and the new one. That people like to listen to my music is still a wonderment. I started out making music just for me and no one else—and in fact, I still do—for the love of music and the interest of how to make music. I didn’t think anyone wanted to listen to it. So if anything, that’s the most surprising thing during this whole process.
Your recent month-long immersion in South Korea for the tourism board campaign seems to have been a turning point. Did the soundscapes you encountered in Korea directly influence the instrumentation of this album, or did the experience change the “emotional DNA” of the music more?
Most of the songs for the new album were already done. However, the “DNA” of some songs definitely changed after being in Korea for the first time. One of the songs was titled “The Pipe Smoking Bearded Man,” but after encountering the great people of Korea and my new friend Gun Kim, I had to change it to “Appa”—the Korean word for father—and have him speak in Korean on top of the song.
Many other songs have suffered the same destiny and transformation in their DNA, but “Appa” is definitely my tribute to South Korea and especially a song for my new friends there.
You play nearly every instrument on your tracks yourself. When you are layering such a massive number of tracks, at what point does the technical process of production end and the actual songwriting begin for you?
I know that for some people it seems bizarre to do everything yourself, and some of my songs are in genres where you’d normally strive to have a whole band playing together instead of doing what I do. However, in my journey of doing things differently—and maybe even wrong—I tried to do the opposite of what is “normal.”
I attended music conservatory, where I was told that some chords didn’t fit together and that you couldn’t use certain scales to fit the chords given. So of course, I made a bunch of songs where I did all the “wrong” things to prove them wrong. When I’m layering tracks by recording myself, I might be thinking about “what is wrong here?” and then go—fuck it, it’s wrong but it’s beautiful and at least fun.
I know I have technical insight into music production, but it’s all about having fun and nothing else. Technical aspects of making music don’t concern me, and I have no interest in them when making my music.
Return to Haeundae Beach feels like a literal and spiritual homecoming. For listeners who are unfamiliar with your story, how much of that personal narrative do you feel needs to be understood to truly connect with the music?
To be honest, none. All of the records and albums divide the waters. Some like the multiplicity of genres and some don’t. But one thing I can honestly say is that it’s 100% me. My personality is stamped in and portrayed in all the songs.
People don’t need to know my story. However, if they feel it adds to the story of my albums, that’s highly appreciated and valued, and would baffle me—as I don’t think I’m so interesting. I’m always ready to tell my story if anyone wants to hear it.
As you expand your presence in Asia, how do you think your identity as a Danish-Korean artist shapes the way you approach performance compared to your work in the European scene?
Now that I—with my band—have played live in Seoul and Nonsan, I can say that what we do is what we do, no matter where we are in the world. However, knowing a few Korean words and traditions makes it easier to communicate from the stage compared to some other places in the world.
But on a personal level, it means everything to me to play in the country where I was born. It feels like coming home in some way. When I perform and look out into the crowd and everyone looks like me, it’s amazing.
You describe your music as a genre-defying “melting pot.” When you are creating, do you find yourself consciously avoiding certain tropes to maintain that identity, or is it more about letting those influences collide naturally?
I let them collide big time as naturally as possible, but sometimes I also force them to fit together. It’s not always easy to put my ideas to life, especially when influences or genres are very far apart from each other. But as I said earlier, there are only right ideas, so I always work hard on making even the most crazy idea work. I’m the mad scientist in that sense.
With the final album of the trilogy set for release next year, does the idea of “concluding” this phase feel like a relief or a challenge to start something entirely new?
That’s a good question. I haven’t had much time to think about it that much. But it definitely doesn’t feel like a relief. I’ve loved making the music. I think I need a break now to focus on something else. I’m not sure what it is yet, but one thing is for sure—it has to be as fun as making all of these records.
What do you hope listeners take away from this maximalist pop statement beyond just having fun?
Just having fun. If it can make people dance around while singing along, then my world is made. I had so much fun making the song, and hopefully it will rub off on the listeners. This song is not intellectual—just fun times.
Thank you for listening!
