In times of strife we turn to the dancefloor for joy – but what happens when those making the music are struggling too?
As the first bars of “Break My Soul” debuted last year, music industry commentators raced to affiliate a return of mainstream dance music with the looming recession. It’s no surprise: throughout history, as bank balances have dwindled, people have turned to the dancefloor in search of catharsis, basking in brief flecks of light from the disco ball to weather harsh winters and harsher government policy. But increasingly, those behind the decks are overwhelmed by the same hardships dancers look to them to alleviate, meaning these sacred moments are at risk of vanishing right at the point when we need them most.
A recent report from Help Musicians and the Musicians Union points to a mental health crisis within the entire music industry - but it’s dance music that is impacted the most. 35 per cent of musicians working within the genre reported low mental well-being, despite the euphoria and joy that exists as the very foundation of their livelihood.
Sarah Woods is chief executive of Help Musicians, an independent UK charity for professional musicians. She explains that the fickle nature of an industry where most people are freelance is a major contributing factor to poor mental health among musicians, with DJs often forced to juggle multiple day jobs to pursue their passion. “There isn’t a clear path to what success looks like,” she points out. “If you’re managing your own career then work can be intermittent and that can take its toll on mental wellbeing.”
Financial instability is frequently the root of poor mental health, and electronic music in particular sees some of the lowest earnings across the industry. The report found that 35 per cent of electronic artists generate an annual income of £7,000 or less from music, making the mean artist income £18,000, compared to £20,700 from all genres. “Part of the reason for that is that costs have gone up and audience behaviour has changed to be more unpredictable post-pandemic,” Woods explains. “All of those issues come together to create a challenge in earning sustainable income.”
Yet even before the onslaught of economic crises ushered in by the 2020s, dance music already had issues inherent to a nighttime industry. For London-based DJ Amaliah, the lack of sleep that comes with the territory of working in clubs was most detrimental to her wellbeing. “This not only impacts my mood and mental health but also creeps into my physical health too,” she explains. “Ultimately it’s part of the job as you often play late hours and have irregular travel times, so there’s not much you can do about it.”
Similarly, Henry Counsell and Louis Curran of dance duo Joy Anonymous highlight the solitude of life on the road as a major contributing factor to poor mental health. “There’s a lot of pressure with the late nights and the experience of going from sheer euphoria in the club to isolation after the set,” says Curran. Through Joy Anonymous, they harness the power of dance music to bring people together – notably, they played a series of outdoor sets by the Thames during 2020’s lockdowns, for an eclectic mix of key worker commuters and locals on their government-mandated daily walk. However, they say it’s the moments of loneliness that splinter these expressions of unity that can have the biggest impact on their mental well-being. “We’ve both struggled with the mad highs and readjusting to normal life after being on tour. You’re not only tired physically but it can take its toll mentally,” Curran says.
For many artists, this sense of isolation is only heightened if they are part of an ethnic minority within their genre. DJ Vanessa Maria co-founded the mental health initiative Don’t Keep Hush to encourage open communication within dance music, and describes a sense of loneliness that can permeate when feeling misunderstood by an audience. “It can be very loving, but it can feel a little bit disconnected at times, especially if you’re a Black artist who’s predominantly playing in white spaces on tour,” she says. “If you’re in electronic music, a lot of the time your music or your audience won’t reflect you or the roots of the music that you’re playing. That’s an interesting thing to navigate.”
For those working tirelessly to create equality within the industry, there’s an overarching fear that these difficulties will result in a loss of talent going forward. Already, 42 per cent of musicians reporting extremely negative mental well-being anticipate having to change careers within the next five years. Vanessa Maria believes this will have a severe impact on the future of the UK’s dance scenes. “We’ll only have people from very elite backgrounds being able to take space and excel and thrive in those areas, and some scenes will begin to disappear,” she says.
“There’s so much pressure on the individual to be able to produce art and make a living off of it, but ultimately that sense of stability and safety is not guaranteed” – Vanessa Maria
This threatens to worsen an already astonishing wealth gap in the arts, where working-class artists are priced out of the opportunity to contribute to creative industries. Crucially, though, it’s these communities that have consistently spearheaded musical and cultural movements throughout history that have gone on to define Britain on a global scale. “It does feel like something’s got to give because it feels a bit like a glass ceiling,” Vanessa Maria continues. “There’s so much pressure on the individual to be able to produce art and make a living off of it, but ultimately that sense of stability and safety is not guaranteed.”
While government policy and economic crises often seem outside our realm of control, some artists are beginning to look inward in search of methods to ease the mental strife associated with dance music. Amaliah admits she’s stopped drinking when performing solo, and has seen improvements in her mental health as a result. “I think it’s good to know your limits and listen to your body when you need to,” she explains. Counsell and Curran, on the other hand, are keen to open the conversation about mental health to strengthen the community spirit within the industry. “We want to keep the conversation open to remove the taboo of having mental health struggles which we all face at some point,” Counsell says.
Conversely, Wilson points out that artists also have a responsibility to each other to be more open about the gruelling aspects of the industry, rather than sharing a rose-tinted highlights reel only. “You’re selling a lifestyle,” she says. “Whatever your brand is, the underlying commonality between all ages is that you are sharing the joy and passion for music which is often very high energy. So, there’s a pressure that it can’t look anything other than that, irrespective of whether you’re having the worst time.”
But not all the onus lies in the hands of industry figures, government bodies or even artists themselves. We, as music fans and consumers, have significant power when it comes to supporting an industry we depend on for our joy.
And, as Woods urges us to remember, it’s often the simplest actions that can beckon the most impact – a crucial reminder in an era when gig attendance can drastically vary. “Engage with the musicians you love, give them applause, buy their music, go to gigs,” she says. “Don’t assume that the people that you love and support will always be there if you don’t engage and go out and see them.”
If you’re a musician struggling with your mental health, you can contact Music Minds Matter on 0808 802 8008.