How I create… with musician and artist Aditya Prakash

It’s a characteristic that he attributes to having grown up as part of the South Asian diaspora in Los Angeles, an identity that made him ‘feel neither here nor there’. The world is not flush with US-born Karnatik singers, so even one as talented as Prakash carries with them a feeling of a need to match expectations.

But having established himself as an award-winning vocalist performing in the classical tradition more recent years have seen Prakash change tack, and look to carve out his own distinctive niche in the world of South Asian music; from establishing the Aditya Prakash Ensemble which offered a space for a dialogue between Karnatik and jazz, to working with the dancer and choreographer Akram Khan.

The latest stop on this creative journey is ROOM-i-Nation, a gig theatre imagining of Prakesh’s 2023 album ISOLASHUN, that explores themes of identity, belonging, tradition and immigration, through the lens of music and storytelling. In May 2025 Room-i-Nation came to the Southbank Centre as part of our South Asian Sounds series. Ahead of which Prakash gave us this insight into his creative process.

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

My most creative moments hit me at random and very mundane moments; on a train, in the shower, on a walk, driving in the car, sitting in a park. On rare occasions when I sit at my studio workstation with the intent to be creative, the creativity does come. No matter how much I try to bring the creative spark through my own will, moments of creative spark seemingly happen on their own. Actively seeking creativity – practicing, listening, watching, conversing with other artists, the act of sitting to create – is important but it’s equally important not to seek and allow yourself to do nothing, to be bored, just to be. It’s in those ‘boring’ moments that I find the mind processes all that it takes in experientially and intellectually. This is where the moment of ‘satori’ can happen.

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

I know an idea is worth developing when I feel it in my gut. There’s no logical sense to it, it just feels right. Simple as that.

Which tools are key to your creative process?

Listening to music. I listen to my go-to artists (their old catalogue which I’ve heard many times and some songs that I may not’ve heard). Sometimes when I listen to a song I’ve heard many times I notice layers that I may have missed before, and this itself inspires me. Another tool I try is Spotify’s ‘discover new music’ algorithm, and I am usually very pleasantly surprised.

Listening to podcasts and reading. The more information I take in on topics that I feel connected to, the more fodder it gives me to see things in a different way. I think shaking up the mind’s autopilot mode and seeing things differently is an important way to spur on creativity.

Watching and working with dancers. I’ve been fortunate to be raised in a house of dancers. My mother Viji Prakash is a prolific Bharatanatyam dancer, choreographer and teacher, and my sister Mythili Prakash is a very acclaimed Bharatanatyam dancer and choreographer. Growing up in this environment and, at a young age, composing music for my family’s dance productions were important foundations for my compositional voice. More recently, I’ve been fortunate to compose the music scores for one of my artistic mentors, Akram Khan, whose work pushes me to create much more visceral music scores. Working with dance really allows me a visual outlet to my music. When I imagine my music to tell a story and allow narrative to guide the music, I explore things I normally wouldn’t in traditional songwriting.

Having deadlines can help a lot. Sometimes the never-ending project never gets done. The deadline can impose a surrender to the work. Other times, when the creative process gets a bit heady, and I become focused on the final product, I lose sight of the rawness and honesty that the original idea came from. The deadline helps me surrender to the work and get it out of my head.

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

First and foremost I am creating work for myself. What I’ve learned is that the more specificity there is in the work, the more universality it has. I’ve found that the more I have dug into myself and what I truly want to say with my art, the more deeply I’ve been able to engage with others through the music. My mentor Akram Khan once advised me that when creating new work, imagine there are hundreds or thousands of ‘you’ in the audience – what would you want to see and experience?

Much of my music journey was about fitting in, being understood and accepted. My upbringing within a South Asian diaspora made me feel neither here nor there, so how others received my music was a key driving factor in my creative process. But during the Covid-19 pandemic I started to find tension and disillusionment with this way of thinking. My intention of creating music started to shift inwards, and I found much more satisfaction in marrying my actual lived experience with the music. I was more focused on honesty in my inner voice and what I felt needed to be said – even if this meant the track was 13 minutes long with a slow build that many listeners may not have the patience for, and would never get played on the radio.

However, I must state my privilege here. Having time off, time to say no to certain projects so I can focus more on my own work – this is a real gift. I owe this to my family’s unwavering encouragement and support, especially my late father who gave up his full-time job and whose life goal was to allow my mother, sister, and I to pursue the arts in the way that we wanted to.

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

Repetition is key. Showing up even if nothing happens, even if it’s incredibly boring or uninspiring. This is probably the hardest part; staying consistent. I’ve failed at it in many periods of my life and fallen off the horse of consistency many times. But I’ve picked myself back up and gotten back on and I know this process will keep happening. And when I have fallen off, having deadlines to meet can help to force me back up.

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

It’s a very disappointing feeling when this happens. When I hit a wall creatively or feel uninspired, it seeps into my daily life. I associate my identity with being an artist and being and feeling creative, so when that part of me takes a hit, I feel out of balance and lacking grounding. There isn’t always a solution to this and in my experience there’s definitely no easy fix. In these moments all I know to do is to just surrender to the feeling, remind myself of the transience of it, and to not judge myself for feeling this way.

Some of the ways I overcome it are by forcing myself to practice, by chatting with an inspiring artist, being out in nature, and being open to new experiences, such as going to a show or listening to or seeing something I would perhaps not expect to like.

Who do you look to for feedback?

I’ve a few people who are my trusted source for feedback. First and foremost my mentors, then close friends and family. I think limiting the feedback circle is important because it keeps things streamlined. When audio mixing engineers are working on their final mixes for a track, they often go to their trusted sources; their studio speakers, their car speakers, their headphones. I think of my feedback circle the same way.

That said, it’s important to gather what the larger audience thinks and how they respond to my work. I take that feedback very seriously, but I won’t be swayed by it. It’s more like a survey to see what is connecting and what is not; that’s very valuable.

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

Comparatively, my process now is more rigorous in terms of revising and crafting work. I go through many more drafts, revisions and changes before I get to a stage where I feel the work is ready. I owe this change in process greatly to Mythili Prakash and Akram Khan, two mentors who are ruthless about the integrity and the layers that go into their creative process.

I now think of my creative process now in terms of ‘the four I’s’. Instinct: the first, initial gut response. Usually a free-flow improvisation of sorts. Investigation: breaking that initial response down, analysing it, finding patterns. Intention: through investigation, a motif, story, emotion can emerge in the mind – then I feel the intention gets clear for where I want the piece to go. And integration: the final step of putting all the elements together.

Only once I go through this process does the work actually begin. The crafting, the revisions, and the many drafts that follow can only happen after these four I’s. In the past, my process would stop at instinct – I think there’s value to that too (to just trust the instinct of the moment), but I’m at a stage where I want to dissect, craft, and really hone in on the details of an artistic creation. For me this requires more patience and the ability to let things go. Sometimes I discover an idea I was initially very attached to does not serve the same purpose anymore, and needs to be let go. This is a hard thing to do.

What does success feel like?

Traditionally, the word success is conditioned to mean external approval and large-scale engagement. I’ve always chased that feeling and ended up feeling disappointed with high expectations not being met. So for me now success is working with artists who inspire me greatly, being able to accept projects that I want to take on, and most importantly creating art that reflects me in this moment.

This success has followed me in ways I’d neither expected nor pursued. When I toured India in 2016 with my ensemble, I never imagined that would lead to an introduction to Akram Khan, which would lead to him mentoring me, and then to me discovering my voice as a composer and music producer. When I watched Aneil Karia and Riz Ahmed’s short film The Long Goodbye I never would‘ve dreamed that I would compose a music segment for their next full-length film.

From my music before 2020 to the music I create now my sound has changed drastically, and that change will continue because I hope I keep changing, growing and evolving. I guess what I’m saying is that for me success is not a static point you arrive at, it’s a continuous, introspectively honest journey.

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

Some things that come to mind… Honesty and conviction should be the backbone of the work; even if it means taking risks. Specificity leads to universality; the more you dive into you, the more others will find themselves in it. And every layer and element in an arrangement or a piece should have its own journey, arc and story – there should be nothing ornamental – everything must have a purpose.

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

My most recent obsession is using sound design elements in my music composition. In one piece I’m using the sound of ship horns, temple bells, and footsteps as the primary instruments and I’m excited by blurring the lines between everyday mundane sounds and music.

How do you know when you’re done?

When you have no choice! Either a deadline like a performance or an album release date. Yet even then, I feel I am not done.