Diamond Cafe Has Arrived—And He’s Unstoppable

Synth-funk prodigy Tristan Thompson is Canada’s next sparkling, 24-carat superstar.

by Cam Delisle

Photos by Antoine Duchamp

Published on April 11, 2025

Diamond Cafe hasn’t slept in 24 hours. That’s the first thing he tells me. On the other side of the screen, 26-year-old Tristan Thompson lounges like a modern-day funk disciple—black blazer, half-buttoned shirt, a gold crucifix pendant resting against his chest. For someone who is known for such an explosive live show, he is radiating a casual and perhaps somewhat underslept mysticism.

Why the all-nighter? PBS was airing a documentary called WE WANT THE FUNK! about the science of groove, the neurochemical “why” of dance floor possession. “It got me so inspired, so I’ve just been recording all night,” Thompson says. He speaks with the wired clarity of someone deep in the grip of a creative high, chasing a sound he hasn’t quite caught yet. Sleep can wait—funk, however, can not.

The premise of this PBS doc isn’t just a late night deep-dive for Thompson—it’s practically scripture. “It goes back to the roots of how funk started, how it broke barriers, and how like… it’s never gonna die,” he says, like he’s reciting gospel. There’s a sense of cosmic certainty in his voice, the conviction of someone who’s seen the light—a light underscored by an infectious bassline.

Funk is universal. Even if you don’t know it yet, your body does. He recalls a moment that cemented this concept for him: “I’ve always said that funk is a genre people don’t know that they love, but when they hear it… they can’t help but dance,” he says. It’s more than a belief—it’s the backbone of Diamond Cafe’s sound. His music leans fully into that truth: silky smooth, drenched in nostalgia, and echoing a time when the dancefloor wasn’t just a space—it was a sanctuary.

Thompson didn’t grow up in a world of funk… he grew up in Victoria. Clean skies, quiet streets, and not a P-Funk bassline within earshot. If funk was a frequency, he had to tune into it on his own. His home studio—still intact, still glowing like some lo-fi shrine of teenage dreams—feels less like a room and more like a portal. “Pretty much in this exact room is where I found my inspiration,” he says, almost reverently, like the walls still hum with old ideas.

His teachers knew it. His best friend knew it. “They’d be like, ‘You know what you want to do, go home, take a break, and work on your craft.’” And Thompson listened. Not because they said so, but because he couldn’t help himself. He’s been chasing it since he was 12 years old, possessed by the idea of performing before he even knew what that really meant. “Every time I hit those songs it’s another frequency, it’s transcendent, it’s spiritual,” he says. It’s less setlist, more séance. Maybe that’s what funk really is—channeling something larger and letting it charge.

Immediate sonic touchpoints when listening to Diamond Cafe are Prince, MJ, and flashes of early Madonna, but one influence that might catch you off guard is cross-genre superproducer Blood Orange. “When I heard Cupid Deluxe, and I heard ‘On The Line,’ I was like… I know what I want to do now,” he says. It wasn’t just the sound—it was the method. Dev Hynes, producing the entire record in a New York apartment, became a blueprint. “I do everything myself… and another thing that my dad taught me was to trust not only your gut, but also your ear.” He talks about spending obsessive hours fine-tuning single moments, microseconds of music that most listeners might not notice—but they’ll feel. That’s the point. “There are a lot of pop artists who throw in the nostalgia thing, and I wouldn’t even consider what I do ‘nostalgia,’ it’s just music.” For Thompson, authenticity doesn’t come from mimicry—it comes from timelessness. “I don’t think anything has an expiry date,” he says. And with that, the groove lives on.

What exactly is Diamond Cafe? A place? A feeling? An alter ego? The answer: all of the above. “It’s a world,” he says, pulling from a dream—sand dunes stretching endlessly, a black building looming in the distance with a neon diamond flickering in the haze. When he first started the project, he considered hiding his face, fully committing to the mystique of an alter ego. Beyond the obvious discomfort of lace bandages, he decided against it because it’s about more than concealment. “I love playing with makeup,” he admits. “I had an androgynous period where I just wanted to experiment and put shit on my face… so that’s ultimately why I didn’t want to conceal my face.” For someone who treats every performance like it’s in front of a packed crowd—even when it’s just five people—Thompson’s need to be Diamond Cafe is natural. This isn’t just music. It’s an embodiment. “I need to be Diamond Cafe to make music,” he explains. It’s not just about creating sound; it’s about living in this world.

Diamond Cafe isn’t going to be a star—he is one. Not the kind that flickers and fades, but the kind that cracks the sky wide open. From the moment he materializes on my Zoom screen—vintage synths, guitars, and a torso sculpture looming in the background—it’s as if he’s stepped out of a parallel dimension, fully aware of the gravity of his own existence. His prophecy is mapping itself out: a tour with Teddy Swims, an EP, and a Q4 album, all propelling him forward. But make no mistake, Thompson isn’t just rising—he’s breaking through. And as he conquers the scene, stage by stage, night by night, it will be apparent to all that Diamond Cafe is Canada’s next sparkling, 24-carat superstar.