Tom Rowley on How Touring with Arctic Monkeys Inspired His Debut Solo Album ‘Moses And The Drones’

Tom Rowley’s journey from Sheffield indie stalwart to Arctic Monkeys touring keyboardist and now solo artist with ‘Moses And The Drones’ isn’t just a footnote in UK music history—it’s a story that echoes in the rehearsal spaces, dive bars and home studios of cities like Austin, Texas, where the spirit of DIY collaboration and genre-blurring experimentation continues to thrive. As someone who cut his teeth in the early 2000s Sheffield scene alongside future Arctic Monkeys, Rowley’s reflections on organic band formation—“I like playing music, you like playing music, shall we just hang out together?”—resonate deeply with Austin’s long-standing ethos of musical camaraderie, where Sixth Street’s storied venues and the eclectic lineups at South by Southwest have long served as incubators for exactly this kind of serendipitous creative fusion.

What makes Rowley’s narrative particularly instructive for Austin musicians is how he navigated the gap between creative ambition and economic necessity. After Milburn’s 2008 split, he didn’t retreat from music—he became an electrician, doing PAT testing in Leeds factories, “putting stickers on kettles – rate boring,” as he put it. This period of pragmatic survival, far from diminishing his artistry, became fertile ground: years later, touring with Arctic Monkeys across America, he’d find pianos in tune-up rooms and begin shaping what would eventually become ‘Moses And The Drones.’ That duality—of the day job sustaining the night passion—is acutely familiar in Austin, where countless musicians balance gigs at the Continental Club or Antone’s with shifts at tech startups, food trucks, or construction sites along Guadalupe Street or South Congress, using the city’s relatively lower cost of living (compared to coastal hubs) to buy time for their craft.

The album’s genesis story similarly highlights the often-overlooked role of touring as a creative laboratory. Rowley didn’t write ‘Moses And The Drones’ in a soundproof LA studio; he began piecing it together backstage, on the road, using whatever instruments were knocking about in tour buses and green rooms. “In the space between ‘AM’ and ‘The Car’, I carried on writing for myself,” he explained, noting how the piano in the Arctic Monkeys’ tune-up room became his sketchpad. This mirrors how Austin’s touring bands—whether they’re playing ACL Fest, opening for national acts at the Moody Theater, or doing weekend runs through the Texas Triangle—often use downtime between shows to demo ideas, voice memos on phones, or late-night piano sessions at venues like the Saxon Pub, turning transient spaces into temporary studios.

Equally significant is the collaborative alchemy that shaped the record. Rowley’s partnership with producer Loren Humphrey—Tame Impala, Lana Del Rey, Cameron Winter collaborator—brought an eccentric, detail-oriented rigor to the process. “He knows what he wants it to sound like and he won’t be happy until he gets that sound,” Rowley said, describing sessions that could be frustrating but ultimately rewarding. Then came Alex Turner’s involvement: after hearing an early version of “Something Strange,” Turner didn’t just approve it—he reworked it in Los Angeles, insisting, “I just want it to be better than it is.” That willingness to invite respected peers into the creative process, to subject one’s operate to rigorous external refinement, is a hallmark of Austin’s most enduring musical projects, from the genre-fluid experiments at Blackbird Studio to the producer-artist dialogues that have shaped records at Echo Lab or Public Hi-Fi.

Rowley’s description of the album’s title—“Moses And The Drones” as “an exaggerated version of the life I was living at the time. You come across some fucking mad people, so the obvious thing to is to write about them”—captures a universal musician’s impulse: to transmute the bizarre, beautiful, and bewildering encounters of life on the road into art. For Austin artists, this might mean channeling the eccentricities of a late-night conversation at the Broken Spoke, the surrealism of a 3 a.m. Taco truck encounter on East Cesar Chavez, or the sheer unpredictability of sharing a bill with a psych-rock outfit from Marfa one night and a conjunto band the next. It’s this willingness to embrace the strange, to find lyrical gold in the mundane madness of touring life, that keeps local scenes vibrant.

Looking ahead, Rowley’s plans—solo headline dates, Inhaler support shows, and a summer of Milburn festival gigs without new material—reflect a mature artist balancing legacy, present creativity, and future possibilities. He’s constantly writing, already sitting on “another album’s worth” of material, but respects the natural pacing of the creative cycle. This patience, this refusal to rush the process, is a lesson for Austin’s musicians navigating an era of algorithmic pressure and viral immediacy. In a city that’s seen both explosive growth and rising venue costs, the ability to steward one’s art over years—not just chase the next trend—is what builds lasting cultural value.

Given my background in music journalism and cultural analysis, if this trend of road-forged creativity impacting local scenes resonates with you in Austin, here are the three types of local professionals you need to know:

Studio Engineers Who Value Live Feel Over Perfection: Look for professionals who’ve worked with touring bands and understand how to capture the energy of a room—not just a polished take. They should have experience recording in unconventional spaces (backrooms, clubs, rehearsal studios) and prioritize emotional authenticity over clinical precision. Ask about their approach to tracking live-off-the-floor or preserving imperfections that add character.

Artist Managers with Touring Logistics Expertise: Seek those who’ve managed artists on regional or national tours and grasp the financial and creative rhythms of life on the road. They should help you balance income stability with creative time, know how to leverage tour downtime for writing, and have relationships with venues that offer fair splits and green-room access. Verify their track record with artists who’ve successfully transitioned from side projects to solo careers.

Music Mentors or Producers Who Embrace Eclectic Influences: Find collaborators comfortable with genre-blending—someone who appreciates both the Swancos’ indie roots and the Black Pumas’ soul explorations. They should encourage you to draw from life’s absurdities (“you come across some fucking mad people”) and help shape those observations into cohesive sonic worlds. Ideal candidates will have portfolios showing work across psych, soul, electronic, or Americana, and value lyrical storytelling as much as sonic texture.

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