Culture is at the crux of creativity. Yet all too often as an industry, culture is not treated as a tangible input. If creativity is a muscle, then you need to exercise that muscle every day. With that in mind, BITE is asking industry leaders to share the experiences which have positively impacted their creative outlook and how they have influenced their work. Rory Natkiel, Head of Strategy at Sid Lee London shares how a love of music has made him think differently about culture.

I gave up working in music to move into marketing and thought I’d left it behind. But the death of my musical hero and the COVID lockdowns motivated me to pick it up again. In the process, I found an immensely satisfying work-life balance, a new level of respect for my creative colleagues, and a surprising realisation about brands and culture.

From the age of about 15 onwards, all I ever really wanted to do was to write and perform electronic music. Artists like Andrew Weatherall, Orbital, and Underworld were my idols. Around 16 I discovered the techno scene in my native Birmingham and I became a true devotee. Clubs, DJs and raving were everything… and yes, it was easier to get into clubs when you were underage back then.

We were a musical family, and I grew up with a drum kit and a piano in the house. When my school got an Atari hooked up to a basic Roland JV-30 synth, I started to try to replicate what I was listening to in clubs at the weekend. When I got my first pair of decks for my birthday, I practised mixing day and night. Every pound I earned from my part-time job went on records.

When I arrived at Leeds Uni I met other like-minded souls. We started to produce music and put on our own events. To cut a very long story short by the age of 23 I’d signed a record deal and was DJing across the UK, including appearances on Radio 1. The club night that I started, Technique, was flying in DJs from around the world and was named the best club in the UK by Mixmag.

I moved to London in 2006, worked for an independent label, had residencies at The End and Ministry Of Sound nightclubs, and went on to perform across Europe and the US. I eventually called it a day in 2009 when the unhealthy and unpredictable DJ lifestyle became too much (I found out a couple of years ago I have ADHD and it turns out I function much better with some structure and a regular pay cheque!).

I’m not recounting this story to blow my own trumpet - any success I had in the music industry was relatively limited - but because I think it’s helpful to give some context to how much electronic music is a core part of my identity and self-image. And that the creative outlet it offers clearly provides some much-needed dopamine for a brain that lacks it.

When I got my first ‘proper job’ in 2009 I had a lot to learn. Moving from running a club night’s Twitter and Facebook page to managing social media for a brand was a jump, and I had to teach myself the rest of digital marketing on the job. My optimistic plans to keep my music going fell away as the Monday-Friday routine preoccupied my focus and attention. And I was also enjoying spending weekends with my girlfriend (now my wife) after 3 years of disappearing for a weekend of gigs on a Friday and getting back on Sunday evening.

Like many former ravers, I got into endurance sports (all that weekend energy has to go somewhere), and for a few years, I became a super-fit triathlete and a coach at London Fields Triathlon Club.

I’d occasionally get a burst of enthusiasm and sit back down to write a tune, but it never came to much. I DJ’d now and then at friends’ weddings or birthdays, which was fun. People would ask me if I missed DJing, and I’d say that while I didn’t miss the lifestyle, I did miss the two hours of playing on world-class sound systems, to people who wanted to listen to dance music and weren’t requesting Ed Sheeran.

But then 2020 came and two things happened in quick succession: my all-time musical hero Andrew Weatherall died in February, and in March we went into lockdown. After playing around with a livestream app to do a radio show for my family one night, a little lightbulb went on in my head and Better Days FM was born – the internet radio station I ran throughout lockdown. Assisted by a passionate group of fellow music lovers and DJs, Better Days FM ran for 18 months. It reached thousands of listeners around the world with over 100 DJs playing on the station during its time on air.

I played every Friday night and for the first time in a long time, I had a small but appreciative audience who enjoyed what I was playing.

I got the bug again.

I started making music under my old artist name, Kid Blue. I set up my own digital label Burn The Elastic and released a couple of EPs. But something wasn’t sitting quite right. I was still making 130+bpm techno, but I’m in my mid-forties now – dancing that fast isn’t easy!

During my time out of the music industry, my tastes had diversified. I’d spent lockdown revisiting Weatherall’s old mixes marvelling at his breadth of musical knowledge, and his ability to produce and play such a wide range of genres. And kicking myself for never having attended one of his famous A Love From Outer Space (a.k.a. ALFOS) parties while he’d been alive. I knew I had my reasons; I was doing what I needed to do for me at the time. But still, the sense of regret was huge.

So I retired the Kid Blue name after 20+ years and started a new act, Rule Six, with my long-time musical buddy Joe – we used to jam on that Atari back at school. We make sub-120bpm dance tracks that feature live instruments, taking our influences from dub, post-punk, disco, and acid house. Joe lives in the US, so our collaborations are virtual. He plays bass and guitar and is great at starting ideas. I’m good at keyboards and turning them into finished DJ-friendly tracks.

Last year we released our first single The Ride on the respected tici taci label and it actually got played at ALFOS by Weatherall’s DJ partner Sean Johnston, who kept the parties going after Andrew’s death.

And so in December, after almost 15 years out of the scene, I got to stand in the middle of a club listening to my own tune getting played on the one dancefloor that meant the most to me. It was a wonderful closing of the circle. 

When I was asked to write about how this all helps in my day job as an agency strategist, I had to think because the parallels aren’t obvious. But there are three things I’d put forward as the benefit of this:

1. It’s been a long road but I’m finally at a point in my life where I have a good balance between my work and my creative projects, and it’s immensely satisfying. It gives a release from the day-to-day, and a world to get lost in when the corporate environment all gets a bit much. I would encourage anyone who has it in them, no matter how small or undeveloped, to pursue it.
2. It helps to maintain my understanding and respect for the creative process. I work with creatives all day, and I think they have an incredibly difficult job. Knowing what it means to make something, nurture it, and put it out there into the world reminds me to be respectful and take care of their ideas and work. And having a semi-successful creative project on the side means I can occasionally earn just a smidge of respect from them ;)
3. It’s made me think deeply about what culture is, and where it comes from. Ultimately It comes from people, and it changes incredibly slowly. In several interviews, Weatherall pointed out that human beings have used music, smoke, and coloured lights to reach transcendence for millennia. Which is why I now cringe when I hear agencies talking about ‘moving at the speed of culture’.

And so I’ve developed what I like to think of as a healthy scepticism about brands’ place in culture. While it might be advertising industry heresy to say it, I don’t think brands create culture. I think people do.

Brands can be adopted by culture; they can be a patron of culture. At worst they can exploit culture.

But, in finally finding a place within dance music culture that works for me, I’ve observed that when you’re on the dancefloor lost in music brands don’t really matter at all.