Trading Tackles for Tracks: James Haskell’s Musical Reinvention.

When James Haskell retired from rugby in May 2019, he didn’t just step off the pitch—he leapt into a new arena, trading the roar of the crowd for the pulse of the dance floor. The former England rugby star has transformed himself into a DJ, channeling the intensity of game day into electrifying sets at venues like Ministry of Sound and releases with Defected Records. In this exclusive interview, Haskell reveals the emotional highs and lows of leaving a structured sports career for the chaotic freedom of music, the surprising ways house music fueled his rugby rituals before becoming his full-time passion, and the mental grit it takes to thrive in an oversaturated industry. From battling imposter syndrome to carving out an authentic space in dance music’s future, Haskell’s story is one of resilience, discipline, and an unrelenting drive to perform.

1. Looking back at your rugby retirement in May 2019, what was the most unexpected emotional hurdle you faced when stepping away from the sport, and how did that shape your plunge into Djing?

The biggest emotional shift was losing that sense of performance — the build-up, the nerves, the intensity of game day, and the crowd energy. I didn’t realise how much I relied on that buzz. DJing filled that gap. It gave me a way to prepare, perform, and feel that rush again — just without the physical contact. That emotional parallel between sport and music made the transition feel natural.

2. You’ve described using house music to get into the zone before rugby matches—when did you realise that passion could become a full-blown career, and what was the tipping point that made you commit to it?

I’ve always used music to get in the right mindset — pre-game rituals, emotional resets, all of it. But I think the tipping point came when I realised I genuinely loved DJing, not just casually but on a deeper level. I enjoyed everything about it — the sets, the prep, even the travel and long hours. That kind of love for something post-retirement is rare, and once I felt that, I knew I had to go all in.

3. The music industry is a stark contrast to rugby’s structured world. What’s been the most disorienting difference you’ve encountered, and how have you adapted to that chaos?

It’s the lack of structure that throws you. In rugby, you’re held accountable — people show up, feedback’s instant, and everyone’s pushing to improve. In music, things can move at a snail’s pace. Progress isn’t always about how good you are; it can hinge on hype or connections. I’ve had to learn patience, but also to stay sharp — keep myself organised, treat it like a job, not a hobby.

4. As someone who thrived in a team environment with England and Wasps, how do you reconcile the solitary nature of crafting a DJ set with your past reliance on camaraderie?

Yeah, it’s definitely more of a solo mission now. I miss that team vibe sometimes — the dressing room banter, that shared goal. But DJing still has a performance element, and there’s connection in that — with the crowd, with other artists on the bill, with the music itself. I’ve also built a support circle behind the scenes, so while it’s not the same, I’m not flying completely solo either.

5. You’ve said the mental demands of music can rival rugby’s physical toll. Can you pinpoint a moment in your DJ career where you felt that pressure most acutely, and how did you push through it?

There’ve been moments — big gigs where the expectation is high and you’ve got to deliver. That same feeling I used to get before a test match. But the pressure doesn’t come with impact tackles now; it’s more psychological — reading the room, adjusting in real time, staying switched on. I push through it the same way I did in sport: prep well, trust the work, and back myself when it counts.

6. Now that you’re established—playing venues like Ministry of Sound and releasing with Defected Records—what do you see as the biggest misconception about transitioning from a high-profile sports career to the music scene?

People think it’s some glamorous, easy handover — that because you’ve got a name, doors just swing open. But the music scene doesn’t work like that. You can’t blag a set or a release. You’ve got to earn it, graft like anyone else. If anything, there’s more scrutiny — people want to see if you’re serious or just dabbling. You’ve got to show up consistently and let the work speak.

7. Your rugby discipline clearly fuels your work ethic as a DJ. But has there been a time when that same intensity held you back in the creative, free-flowing world of music, and how did you adjust?

Definitely. Early on I approached it a bit too rigidly — trying to control every detail like I would in a training week. But music’s different. There has to be space to experiment, to let ideas breathe. I’ve had to loosen up, trust the process a bit more. Keep the discipline, but don’t smother the creativity.

8. The dance music scene is constantly evolving—where do you see it heading in the next five years, and how do you plan to carve out your space in that future as an artist?

It’s getting more fluid — genres blending, scenes overlapping. I think that opens up space for people to be authentic, to bring their own flavour rather than chase trends. For me, it’s about honing a sound that reflects who I am, keeping that connection to groove and energy, and staying consistent with what I put out. The industry shifts, but if your identity’s solid, you can ride those changes.

9. You’ve collaborated with major labels and built a following with Backrow Beats. What’s the most valuable lesson you’ve learned about authenticity in an industry that can sometimes feel oversaturated?

The main thing I’ve learned is that consistency beats noise. There’s always hype flying around — people chasing attention. But the artists that stick are the ones who keep showing up with quality and stay true to their sound. For me, it’s about doing the work, being honest about where I’m at, and not cutting corners. That cuts through more than gimmicks ever will.