Does touring kill creativity?

Carl Cox, talking about the secrets of his career longevity, recently said: “I can’t think of anything worse than making music on the plane. A lot of the DJs do that: I think that’s your time to rest, do something else – but they feel compelled to do it because they want to get to the other side and say ‘hey I just made this hit record’, and they’re chasing, chasing, chasing.”

It was a sobering thought. So often we talk to young DJ-producers, still riding the wave of their first international breakthrough release, still thrilled by the lifestyle, thrilled by the modernity of it all, buzzing off the fact that they can bounce from club to plane to club, catching inspiration as they go and banging out new grooves as easily as breathing. They're connecting to the dancefloors in the small hours, then they're channeling that vibe straight back into their laptops, ready to drop fresh-off-the-hardrive heat in another city the very next night. It's the utopia that nineties techno-optimists dreamed of: not even needing to rely on bedroom studios, the DJ is a completely portable creative unit, a world citizen who creates whenever they get a second.

But as Cox points out, it generally doesn't work like that. For most producers now, DJing is the only way they can make a living – and relentless touring can take its toll fast. As Krystal Klear puts it: “Being a DJ or a producer is a confidence driven sport so in turn a lot of the time fronts are being put on, the truth is being masked and drink, drugs or whatever can become the immediate solution to being able to walk backstage at a big rave, hold your head up high, be Jack The Lad and then try perform to 2000 people – It's no joke.” In that cycle of hangover-plane-rave-repeat, the beats that came so easily can dry up fast and worse things still can happen too, as the well documented breakdown and slow return to music of Benga demonstrated only recently.

It's not just caning it and psychological troubles that affect inspiration, mind: far more mundane things can too. Nick Harriman from Dusky says: “Even just touring, without the partying, being away for extended periods of time can put a massive amount of pressure on personal relationships. You need a very understanding spouse!” The very mechanics of travelling can get very monotonous, very fast. “It's pretty strange how a delay in a flight can change your whole outlook on a day” as the Bicep boys put it. And sometimes the smallest things can become very serious, as Harriman winces: “I'm six foot seven, so planes with no legroom are stressful and painful.” None of this stuff will put you in the mood to let the creative juices flow.

We all giggle at DJs Complaining of course, and it's easy to write all this off as people not appreciating that they live the life of riley. But the struggle is real, and aside from the dispiriting general grind of it all, if you're trying to get time to actually focus on creating records that are more than dashed-off DJ tools, yet are naturally loath to turn down the gigs that are your bread and butter, then a major conflict is going to arise. For most people you can't just switch on studio mode like a light. As Bicep put it, “We still hit the studio almost every single day we're not touring, but it takes a few days to really get under the skin of the track... And then you're off on a plane again.” Not the most conducive situation for a focused artistic statement.

The still-prolific Erol Alkan tells us: “I've cut back drastically on how many gigs I take on as I found it detrimental to the creative process.” Krystal Klear has moved back to his native Dublin, “Where I know I will be a lot more restricted and confined to finishing a body of work.” Bicep say “We've found with heavy summer touring, studio productivity is almost to zero, and the rest of the year is a mixture,” so they've taken the drastic step of taking January and February completely off DJing to dedicate to studio work.

Even seasoned pro Roger Sanchez, while emphatically saying that “different cultures, different crowds and the mood in different rooms when I'm playing all translate into new production ideas for me,” still wishes that touring “could be two weeks on, two weeks off, although it rarely works out that way!” And Harriman, who says Dusky consider the experience and connection to audiences when touring “generally helps our inspiration,” admits it's a double-edged sword: “You can't get the ideas down properly when you're touring a lot,” he says. “When you're away for a long time you get excited about getting back in the studio so that helps to motivate you and increase your productivity when you finally get back in there.”

The consensus among everyone we spoke to, in fact, was almost total: tour to the exclusion of all else and studio work suffers massively. It makes us look again at why some of the best producers who also happen to have the most relentless DJ schedules – people like Skream and Eats Everything – aren't dropping the artist albums that so many people would like to see from them.

There are exceptions to the rule, though. Look at someone like Kieran “Four Tet” Hebden, one of the hardest-gigging DJs on the circuit, but who also seems to drop a new album every couple of months. Or grime 'n' funk young gun Swindle, who likewise tours like a beast, but continues to not only keep the music coming but appears to be improving and diversifying too. So what's their secret? Well, it's probably no coincidence that neither indulge in Class A drugs, to start with. Also both have a fearsome drive: “I've burnt out a couple of times,” says Swindle. “On one tour I dislocated my shoulder, got salmonella and developed a kidney stone – but still managed to make all my shows and be creative.”

But there's one thing more than anything which Swindle talks about as keeping him sane on tour: jamming with other musicians. Just like Hebden, who is a serial collaborator, he obviously thrives on the human connection of the music-making process. “Every DJ sits around for hours in hotels then says they have no time,” he smiles, “but music is my priority so I make time, ask for studio opportunity and make sure I connect with musicians in every country music sends me to. These are opportunities that might not be around forever: how could I be in South Africa and not make music! That's my picture or souvenir, and it might be my next record too. To be honest, I see it as part of the deal, music takes me around the world it's only right I use that to give back to music.”

All musicians are different, of course, and not everyone can be a Swindle, grabbing whatever musicians are around and kicking out the jams at a moment's notice. But maybe there's something important to note here. Whenever we hear of the psychological stresses of the DJ/producer lifestyle, solitude is a recurring theme: the loneliness of endless travel, of strained or fleeting relationships, but also the loneliness Krystal Klear eloquently describes of being just one person with your own failings and insecurities yet being expected to switch on the dancefloor magic like a tap.

Certainly a good chunk of time out from touring can help rekindle a love with music production although that's not always realistic for those with debts or mortgages to pay. But maybe making time while travelling to work with others and remind yourself how fun music making can be might be the pressure valve that some of the musicians stuck on the CDJ treadmill might need.

Joe Muggs is a freelance journalist and regular contributor to Mixmag. Follow him on Twitter

Alex Jenkins is a freelance illustrator and regular contributor to Mixmag. Follow him on Instagram