How I create… with musician Soumik Datta

Soumik Datta is a musician who has been described as ‘one of the biggest music talents in Britain’.

You only need look at the incredible range of artists he has collaborated with to see that this is no exaggeration. A student of sarod maestro Pandit Buddhadev Das Gupta, Datta has been widely acclaimed for extending the instrument’s reach, partnering and accompanying everyone from Akram Khan to Anoushka Shankar, Beyonce to Bill Bailey.

Beyond his own musicianship, Datta has also made waves as a composer, has contributed to film scores, and serves as the artistic director of his own charity committed to promoting diversity in the arts by creating platforms for new and emerging talent. His is a richly creative life, into which he offers us this insight, as he kindly tells us how he creates.

When and where do you find yourself at your most creative?

My body needs to be warm. My mind needs to be free of anxiety. And the senses need to be open, in tune with my environment. This rarely happens when I’m sitting at a desk. Often it happens after an evening walk, when my lungs are full of air. The kinetic energy that builds up after walking through green spaces, coupled with watching the sky turn a million shades of purple and pink inspires a state of flow. When I pick up my sarod in this state, I’m able to find a deeper sense of immersion, unlocking the doors to creative possibilities. 

How do you know when an idea is worth developing into something more?

Ideas arrive in unexpected places: at the airport, on a bus, having lunch, meeting a friend. Like many musicians, I sing them into my phone recorder. Sometimes the second line arrives a few hours later. In the evening, you receive another line which you later realise is the introduction to the track. When you’re haunted by a melody, you become aware that you’re the only one who can manifest it. It refuses to exist in fragmented, dismembered parts across several voice memos. It yearns to be arranged, to be played, to be shared with others and to come alive. 

Which tools are key to your creative process?

Green spaces, light, air, green tea, intermittent fasting, my voice, my legs, a scrapbook, some laughter, a phone recorder, my sarod and finally my laptop. 

Who are you creating your work for, and how free are you to create the work you want to create?

I strive to be my first audience and first listener. I want to create music that moves me, personally. While I initially tried to appeal to wider audiences, I realised that music is fundamentally what I have to say to the world. It’s a voice, a vehicle for my own message, and a blueprint of my human experience. To authentically reflect my story, the work must rise from deep within, making it intensely personal.

How do you stay disciplined, and dedicated to your work?

I reframed the statement of ‘discipline’. I asked myself, what is my true work? Is it simply to create tracks, publish albums, and perform? Or is it to tune my body and my mind over the course of my entire life in order to become a better receiver of grace? Once I understood that my work is a continuous process of becoming a clearer channel, dedication became a lot easier.

What do you do when you hit a wall; when you feel unmotivated or uninspired? How do you overcome this?

There have been days and weeks, when I’ve been crippled by numbness. It’s easy to wallow in that place, in the warm, fuzzy darkness of uninspired despair. These days I’m learning that I turn to my friends, to my community, to my parents and my family. Somewhere in those spaces of unbound love and friendship, the wall dissolves away. This doesn’t always mean that you feel inspired immediately but it does help you get rid of the blocks that have formed in your path.

Who do you look to for feedback?

I’ve never been great with feedback. It’s hard to hear someone tear apart your work and show you an entirely different way of approaching it. What makes it harder is knowing that you can choose to ignore them. That’s when you really need help, to know whether to accept the feedback and redo your work or whether to change nothing and believe in what you’ve done. At that point, it’s hard to see through the fog of your own ego. But I’ve learned that often, the best path is somewhere down the middle – a combination of both self-belief and humility. 

How different is your creative process now to when you first began as an artist?

I see a clear path now; to create the sound of my human experience on this planet today. In the vastness of audio, I hope to heal the trauma of my past, discover more vulnerability, connect my roots in India with my life in England, grieve with marginalised people and reconnect with the earth. My creative process has shifted to serve this mission, which now involves more field work, deep self-reflection, community building through my company and meaningful collaborations.

What does success feel like?

I’m actively rewriting my understanding of success. It’s no longer about metrics, reviews, or ticket sales alone. Now, success is determined by my artistic process; am I playing the sarod in a new way? Are my compositions authentically reflecting the human stories they were born from? Am I successfully connecting the language of Indian classical music with the modern world, without erasing parts of my culture in the process? Success is achieving all of this in an inclusive and ethical way.

Is there a piece of advice you’ve received that you often find yourself returning to?

The advice I return to is this; manage your time. As musicians we paint in time, our canvas exists in seconds and minutes. We must form a relationship with a force we can never truly beat, but we can turn time into our collaborator. This advice came first from my parents and my guru, Pandit Buddhadev Das Gupta, and later from my mentor, Sir David Green.

What’s the most recent thing you learned about yourself through your work?

I’m competitive, both with others and, perhaps more intensely, with myself! 

How do you know when you’re done?

I believe music is alive. It lives in the air, in hollow spaces and in the corridors of our memory. Each piece is connected to another, a string of sonic experiments that chart the history of your life. Music is a spark in the brain and a pull in the heart. And even when you’re gone, it lives on in the voices, hearts and music of others. This belief allows me to surrender to the majesty of cyclical time and to our utter inability to determine when anything ever starts or ends.