IMANU: Building Worlds Out of Sound

The European club circuit has long been dominated by house and techno, but IMANU has carved a lane where rules dissolve and genres bend into each other. His sets and productions feel like living organisms: heavy yet fragile, distorted yet melodic, unpredictable yet carefully sculpted. In 2025, that identity crystallized in De Verte, a project that reads less like a collection of tracks and more like a manifesto.

At just 26, IMANU has already moved from bedroom experiments to global stages, from restless teenage producer to curator of communities and lineups that challenge expectations. His path is not about fitting into Europe’s establishment but about creating a new center for bass-driven, multi-genre sound. Along the way, he has built a reputation for discipline, risk-taking, and a refusal to compromise.

This is the story of how De Verte became his statement, why he sees contrast as beauty, and how he wants to leave behind not just records, but communities that live and breathe beyond the club.

The title of his new project carries weight.

“De Verte is a Dutch phrase meaning the depth or the distance. I chose it to show how varied dance music can be, but also to embrace my Dutch identity rather than defaulting to English. I’ve always admired how German and French artists use their own language. Dutch can be pretty too. I wanted something familiar, something that could belong in many languages.”

For IMANU, De Verte is not just about sound. It is about building a space that stretches beyond the booth.

“I’ve always dabbled in other forms of art like fashion and tattoos. It felt natural to extend that into shows and curation. Now I get to book diverse, open-minded lineups that draw a diverse, open-minded crowd. I see it as a duty for anyone who has the chance to shape a community. It wasn’t a split-second decision. It grew out of logic.”

His music carries an architectural quality: the brutal weight of concrete colliding with fleeting moments of beauty.

“I care about the balance between heaviness, harmony, percussion, and rhythm. I no longer see my music as tracks for DJing. They can be played in sets, but I arrange them like songs. That’s more important to me than how easy they are to mix. I care more about the art as a standalone thing.”

“I often look to architecture and fashion. Brutalism, for example. A massive block of concrete next to red brick and green space suddenly isn’t boring. It becomes a moment. Music can work the same way. Chaos and distortion followed by harmony and vocals. The contrast between them can be more beautiful than just one or the other.”

Each release, for him, is not a chapter in a catalog but a small world.

“Every EP is its own little universe. People who come to them become part of a tribe. It’s curated to feel like a specific world, a vibe, an idea.”

Listening to IMANU feels like walking through a city that overwhelms you one moment and disarms you the next. His tracks do not just move from drop to breakdown; they rise like slabs of concrete, then collapse into light. It is the language of architecture translated into sound.

He admits he no longer thinks of his music as tools for DJs, but as pieces meant to stand on their own. “I arrange them like songs. That’s more important to me than how easy they are to mix.” That choice is revealing. It places him closer to architects and designers than to pure technicians of the dancefloor. The aim is not functionality, but permanence.

The Brutalism reference makes perfect sense. A block of raw concrete thrown against red brick and green space becomes impossible to ignore. IMANU hears the same principle in distortion, where the meeting of harmony and percussion clashes with vocals. His work thrives in contrast, in the tension between noise and clarity.

I believe what sets him apart is that sense of environment. This is a scene obsessed with singles and algorithms, but IMANU insists on building worlds. And in doing so, he does not just design songs. He creates spaces where communities can gather, bound by the architecture of sound.

Beyond records, IMANU is shaping nights. From ADE showcases to underground clubs, his role as curator is as intentional as his sound design.

“I have to balance a lot of people: venues, promoters, the crowd, and myself. I want to support artists who excite me and create a safe, diverse space on the dancefloor. For ADE, I always want one vocal artist who might also sing live. Then I fill in the night around that, making sure the flow keeps building.”

Flow, he insists, is the hidden architecture of a night.

“I care about the order of the acts. The energy has to rise. That might mean a bigger name plays earlier than expected. If we can get people to come early and stay late, then we’ve done it right. We have to put ego aside for it.”

He books a broad spectrum, from international headliners to local names. The common thread is energy and openness.

“If you make good music, create good sets, and are a good person to work with, then I want to support you. The best nights are the ones where everyone feels good. Artists, crew, crowd.”

Sometimes risks turn into revelations.

“In New York, I booked Sammy Sosa. I didn’t know her that well, just scrolled through some mixes. She completely killed it. It went crazy. The same with Skala in London. She murdered it. There are so many DJs now blending styles in unique ways. That openness toward fusion is exciting.”

For IMANU, the rebellion was never against house or techno. It was against close-mindedness.

“I started as a house producer, then built a drum and bass project before IMANU. I hated how stubborn some drum and bass crowds were. Playing one non-DNB track could clear the floor. That pissed me off. My rebellion was against that. I was inspired by Noisia, who pushed for other music in their sets and got backlash, but also became more successful for it.”

Community, not genre, drives him now.

“Music events are social events. People go where their friends go. That’s why I care about lineups. If I can attract good people, more good people will follow. I want a community that listens to different genres but is connected by the same open energy.”

He experiments in both private and public settings, knowing that not every idea belongs in the same space.

“I put a lot of my experiments on Patreon: weird time signatures, ambient sketches. My core fans enjoy those. For public releases, I still want accessibility. A track like ‘Sutekh’ streams well because the vocal makes it easier to digest. There’s a time and place for everything. Not everything needs to be 17/6 in an Ethiopian scale. Sometimes it’s just A minor with a 4/4 kick.”

That philosophy extends to his legacy.

“If my lineups and music make other people want to do it too, that’s the biggest compliment. I hope that in ten years, there are more lineups like mine. Diverse artists, diverse crowds, safe spaces, and sick outfits.”

IMANU is not just releasing tracks. He is building spaces; on records, on stages, and in communities that refuse to settle into one box. His rebellion is not about tearing genres down but about opening them up.

“At the end of the day, I’m happy if people enjoy my non-traditional way of booking and creating. If it inspires them to try something similar, that means the world to me.”

The future he envisions is not about being remembered for one sound but for building worlds where sounds can collide and people can feel free. That is the legacy he is writing with De Verte: not just a project title, but a statement of depth, distance, and possibility.