Search Results

52 results found

  • Maggie Zhu on the Hyper-Sexualisation of Dance Movement

    Written by Emma Volard and Jake Amy There is an inexplicable connectedness between music and dance. Mother and child, ecosystem and sunlight, dreams and experiences. An interdependency unparalleled and inextricably biological. Over time, the duality between music and dance has proven itself to be one of these enigmatic forces. Maggie Zhu, a Naarm-based movement artist, is breaking new ground between these artforms. Maggie talks on how her art has been moulded by internal and external factors that are closely linked to experience and subtleties of life. There’s much to learn from Maggie’s connectedness with self, others, society and her surroundings, and her “take-no-shit” attitude. Here’s an abridged version of our conversation. In regards to gender inequality, what have you experienced as a female in the arts sector? I carry myself around in a certain way. People wouldn’t normally fuck with me. I’m pretty fucking tough and I know that of myself: I know how to protect myself. But still, one of the worst experiences with gender violence I have had was with a visual artist who’s really talented. We caught up the first time just to hang and we got along well. When we caught up for a second time they said, “I don’t know if I want to collaborate with you, because I’m under the impression that you won’t follow my instruction”. They wanted to control me. Apparently they had “a certain vision in mind” for our collaboration. I thought collaborations were meant to be mutually beneficial, but really, he just wanted a body to fit into his agenda. So frustrating. But I look back and I’m really happy with the way I dealt with it. Ever since, I’ve pushed myself to maintain creative control, rather than having discussions with arseholes like that. There’s always dickheads like that floating around and hitting on me. In the weirdest ways. But I don’t let them fuck with me. I feel bad for girls in the freestyle [dance] community who are just starting and entering their first battles - as a woman, it’s fucked. If you want to be in the industry, you’ve got to have really tough skin, because you’ll have to deal with all sorts of gender violence. And it’s shit you just don’t deal with if you’re a guy. It’s still a sad reality. As a dancer, do you feel that people hyper-sexualise your movement? Oh, fuck yeah. Don’t even get me started. The style that I perform is quite “feminine”. It’s called waacking and originated 1970s gay club scene in LA. It was more of a club dance about freeing people’s sexuality, and at that time, people just didn't have the opportunity to do stuff like that: moving past the binary and embracing the fact that gender and sexuality is as fluid as you want it to be. From a male gaze, it could definitely be seen as sexual, but expressing my sexuality as a woman does not invite you to have sex with me. That's not a sexual invitation to anyone. I’m just trying to be myself. I understand that it can be misinterpreted, but it’s a shame. I often feel sexually objectified, especially as an Asian woman. Due to its political/social history, do you feel that waacking impacts your creative performance choices? Waacking and its culture definitely impacts me as a creative artist. I think the dance is very much about performance, which is political in itself. Dance really encourages me to be sensitive to everyone - everyone has the right to be respected by this dance form - and it pays homage to every individual, no matter who they are. How did you develop your own unique style of movement? I’ve been dancing my whole life. I began hardcore ballet training when I was 6. My teacher… god, she was strict. I would literally have nightmares about my classes. Until I started waacking at 15, dance was just more of a hobby that helped me connect with people - moving together and having that sense of unity felt/feels really powerful. But looking back, I’m very grateful that I learnt in this way early on. My teacher gave me the awareness to control my body. Now it’s just part of me - it’s muscle memory. I've been doing freestyle ever since. For me, dance is about individual expression. I realise now that it’s inseparable with my experience as an individual. I see my experience and my dance as one. It’s just me. And I think that very much shaped my “style”. What are you inspired by? Artistic and creative wise, many things come into my mind. What really inspires me is everyday life. And humans. Humans are so interesting. It’s incredible how much inspiration you can get from them - I love people watching. Every little nuanced movement provides me with a new idea. I’m also constantly listening to podcasts, reading and researching online and finding new artists on social media (who are just mind blowing). [I get] inspiration from my heart, which evolves with time: my want to be in-touch with myself. What is my purpose? What is my intention? Who am I? I'm learning to find stillness and the power within that. On your Instagram, I noticed that you’ve labelled yourself as a “movement artist” as opposed to a dancer. Why? That’s a purposeful decision that actually goes back to what we were talking about earlier… from that shitty conversation with the visual artist. That moment was a turning point for me in establishing myself as an artist, rather than a dancer. I never want to be an accessory in somebody else’s project. I love collaborating but not in a manipulative context. So, for that reason, I changed my title. I think that’s essentially what I’m working to be. With that being said, I don't think there’s anything wrong with being called a “dancer”, but I do think it’s important to be consistent with what you believe in and your values as a human. I’m very much into the nuances: I want to make sure that I’m sending out the messages I want to convey. Could you touch on what being a multidisciplinary artist entails? I’ve always been really interested in art in general, and I think “art” is a very general term. I’m so fascinated in seeing what kinds of collaborations result in combining different genres together. In a way, artistic crossover doesn’t even necessarily have to be art-based disciplinaries. It could be interdisciplinary experiments. What would a creative and a scientist come up with? I think my recent practice has resolved around that. How are you coping with lockdown? At the start of the first lockdown, I was actually a bit relieved. I thought, “I can actually take a break”. I’d been working like a machine, burning myself. I think lockdown has given us more opportunities to collaborate with artists across the world, as we are all in the same boat. I was quite excited about technology’s role in COVID-19. There’s no distance in cyberspace. Communication is so quick and efficient. That being said, I think that live streams and other online gigs will never replace a physical performance. As much as you can try to (re)create an atmosphere online, with set design etc., you can never really experience that full vibration you get with people when you’re together in a physical space. In general, I feel that creatives in Victoria are all a bit scattered at the moment, because of this. I definitely feel quite uncertain and stagnant in terms of my own creativity. As an artist, I think I always have purpose, and that’s closely associated with who I am and where I’m at in my life. I think it’s good that we can break and explore different ways of creating, but I don't want to lie to myself - I miss being around people and their energy in the physical sphere. How does movement and improvised dance affect the visceral experience of live music? In live music, movement and dance definitely create more visual stimulation. For me, it’s about the interaction of the visuals with the audience and how human and non-human elements combine. What does “performing” mean to you? Honouring my being in that moment. If you think about it, performing is quite spiritual because there’s nothing quite like the experience of being in that moment. It’s a beautiful space where you let everything else go. You can do as many rehearsals as you like beforehand, but in that moment, it really doesn’t matter how prepared you are. E: How much of your performance is composed beforehand? I can do choreography, but it’s not really my thing. I'm a freestyle dancer. Pretty much everything I do is improvised on the spot. E: Is it reactionary to what you hear? Yes, there’s definitely a lot of interaction between sound and movement. But at the same time, there’s so much more than just reacting to each other. I feel that it’s more a chemical interaction on stage: feeling each other’s presence, creating an aura, being. And that’s between all the different artforms involved. "There’s always dickheads floating around but I don’t let them fuck with me." Are there any particular qualities you look for in an individual before you collaborate with them? Yes, there are. For me, I guess it’s not so much about what they do, it’s about how they do it. With collaborators, I’m really looking for truthful, honest people. As individuals, I think that’s something that we intuitively feel. It's about the vibe. In today’s day and age, how important is it to have dance at a live music event? As artists, we should all have the freedom to do what we want. I don’t really believe that having dance at a live gig is 100% necessary. It’s up to the artists - the music and its intention. At the end of the day, every artform should be respected equally, no matter what decisions are made. Any advice for emerging movement and multidisciplinary artists? It will sound a bit cliché, but I'm going to say it anyway: just keep doing you. It’s going to be a beautiful journey. You will have a lot of shitty times. But you will find those loved ones who will support you and your vision. At the end of the day, it’s your journey… yours and yours only. You’re the only one who should make the decisions and know where you’re heading. Keep believing it, even in the darkest days. The dark days will come (especially this year - they're coming quite often). Anything lined up for the near future? I am such a workaholic - I always have something lined up. Right now, I have a pretty chill schedule comparatively to “normal”, (which I am learning how to moderate). I’m constantly putting up material on Instagram. Keep up to date with Maggie here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. Thank you dearly to Maggie for your time. ​ Interview with Maggie conducted by phone on 13 July 2020. Article first published 16 August 2020. Photographs taken by Misha Dutkova and Athina Wilson. Written by Emma Volard and Jake Amy. Edited by Ella Clair. Contributions from Rose Bassett and Kate Oldfield.

  • Emma Donovan: Representation, Gender Equality and Generational Change in our Music Industry

    Written by Rose Bassett Earlier in the year I had the pleasure of chatting with Emma Donovan, a powerhouse vocalist from so-called Australia, whose songwriting captures brutally-honest experiences of grief, struggle and redemption. Emma’s ongoing collaboration with The Putbacks is a revolutionary fusion of American soul music with Indigenous protest song. We talked music industry: representation, gender equality and generational change. Our conversation was warm and Emma’s laugh - infectious. As one of the world’s leading musicians, Emma’s thought-provoking insight draws from her personal experiences in the scene. What follows are some of the highlights of our phone call. What was it like growing up surrounded by music and performing as part of The Donovans?? I always tell mob: I was a bit spoiled when it came to music and growing up. The music came from my grandparents on my mum's side. I was their oldest grandchild. Mum had five brothers and they all played music. The mob sang a lot, and they wrote lots of gospel music, because I grew up around the missionary days where Aboriginal mob were sent to missions. I feel like my first lot of gigs or the first time mob was asking me to sing outside my family, still come from them connections, like mob knowing my grandparents or mob knowing my nan and, like my mum even. I sang a lot with the family growing up, like six years old, seven. But then publicly, like when my first gigs were Naidoc gigs. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities are very, very tight, you know? Everybody knows everyone. So, a lot of my first ever gigs were around Redfern, Sydney, Yarra Bay, like some of that the Aboriginal community there, mob that you knew. So for me starting off, there was a lot of support, and I was still in school. ​ Then opportunities came again. I was a part of a trio, The Stiff Gins - they're still around (Nardi Simpson). But that was then kind of my thing, where I stepped outside of the family. I stepped outside of the uncles backing me and that. We just were asked to play in the community, so yeah, I feel pretty lucky for those times. What does representation in the industry mean to you? What do you think it means to the people who see you perform and hear your music? Well, my music is always for everyone, every race, every gender. I hope that it just connects somehow to someone. I think more specifically when I'm writing, sometimes the messages that I want to put out are for women [in general], not just Aboriginal women. I was always inspired by Aunty Ruby Hunter. She wrote so many fucking amazing songs that I just thought, “How could she have the guts to tell that yarn?”; her perspective as a Blak woman. Hard things like domestic violence, rape, social stuff… Aboriginal women being accepted in community. I think of writers now, like probably in the last 5 years, and I've gone, “Oh fuck, Aunty Ruby was really truly something”. First of all, her image. Her image was the first thing I noticed about it. Just seeing another Blak woman. Just seeing her represent. So yeah, I hope that my music is... I hope that it reaches as many people as possible with the stories I'm strong enough to tell, like Aunty Rube. I hope that Aboriginal mob like myself can hear it and see me and go, “Fuck, sis. I feel the same'', or “thank you”. [I'd like to think] it helps in a way. In the Australian industry, do you think there is a gender divide, and if so, how has it presented itself to you in your career? I feel like there's always been Aboriginal women less represented in the industry. I'm not sure how that is in regards to this division that the industry makes, but I feel like there's probably a lot more opportunity for other mob to put music out there these days. I feel like there was less representation of Indigenous women when I was growing up. Like there was such a big leap from an artist like Aunty Rube to Christine Anu. They are two different artists, two different age groups, and there was just such a big skip. Whereas now, you know, I feel like a fucking old women now saying this but, you know, there's so many, there's all these young women. There's like, Emily Wurramara, Thelma Plum. There's all these young women they're just firing it. They’re just... you can't keep up. I feel like there's always been less representation of women in that longer period. I don't know if that's from just less opportunities or maybe women not feeling confident, you know, as an artist to put themselves out there in the industry. I feel like the Aboriginal music industry today is a lot tighter, like there's more opportunities for us whether they're in or out of our communities, there's just a lot more opportunities and the way people are programmed or program Indigenous music, it's at the front line now for a lot of festivals. It's a lot different to you know, old Blakfulla stages and other festivals. Indigenous mob are, they're part of bigger programming or there's none of that little segregated fucking stage anymore - Of "this is where the Blakfullas are gonna play". You know, it's like, we're part of the full programme, we open fucking festivals. That's big fucking change. Like, you know, artists before me, people like Stephen Pigram or the Pigram Brothers, Mark Atkins, Coloured Stone and all them mob used to play in the 70s. They were getting booked for gigs and getting turned away at the fucking door because they were black. I think there's been a lot of changes that have happened for Indigenous mob. And you know, even if there aren't other platforms, I feel like the Aboriginal community itself has made big platforms for our mob. We've embraced our own mob. Like we're not worried about being a part of mainstream or this or that. Like that was a thing of the past now, I think. There's the biggest mob of us everywhere now. And I think it's naturally happening. Like I want to believe that it's naturally going to happen. I just feel that bit of change, like even over the fucking last long weekend [speaking on the Black Lives Matter Rally]. There's so much support behind mob now. I feel like, yeah, there's a lot more support in them areas and I think it's naturally happening and naturally making its own way. And even if some of them quota things are in place, I just feel it’s all naturally coming about. R: It's amazing how generational and societal changes can happen organically in some ways... I think sometimes in the music industry we're a lot more privileged, like, there's a lot more acceptance. What scares me is society itself, I guess. I've been a part of a lot of different collaborative projects in the arts that have combined Indigenous mob, non-Indigenous mob, especially projects like the Black Arm Band. And you know, sometimes you think to yourself… Like it's so fucking amazing doing work in music together. And you go on tours for like, you know, months or whatever and then you come up and something stupid and crazy happens at home, because you're not in that world anymore. Sometimes I used to think, you know, we're in that fucking big bubble together and it's like a big fantasy or it's like a big dream that things work or, we don't even see skin colour or music like that. Just because we're there to make music. That's how I feel with the Putbacks - the collaborative band that I'm in now. I don't feel like it's black or white anything. We make music because we want to. We love soul and funk music. We make it together. And that's why I always say like, it's... artistic mob that are in the arts, we have them, we accept all of that, we want it, we are for change and we can naturally make things like that happen. That's where I feel confident to say that you know, some of these changes can organically happen because that's, that's the people we are. We want to make it happen. Keep up to date with Emma here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. Thank you dearly to Emma for your time. ​ Interview with Emma conducted by phone on 10 June 2020. Article first published 13 August 2020. Photographs taken by Michelle Grace Hunder. Written by Rose Bassett. Edited by Jake Amy and Hugh Heller.

  • Emma Donovan: Representation, Gender Equality and Generational Change in our Music Industry

    By Rose Bassett, Jake Amy and Hugh Heller Earlier in the year I had the pleasure of chatting with Emma Donovan, a powerhouse vocalist from so-called Australia, whose songwriting captures brutally-honest experiences of grief, struggle and redemption. Emma’s ongoing collaboration with The Putbacks is a revolutionary fusion of American soul music with Indigenous protest song. We talked music industry: representation, gender equality and generational change. Our conversation was warm and Emma’s laugh - infectious. As one of the world’s leading musicians, Emma’s thought-provoking insight draws from her personal experiences in the scene. What follows are some of the highlights of our phone call. What was it like growing up surrounded by music and performing as part of The Donovans?? I always tell mob: I was a bit spoiled when it came to music and growing up. The music came from my grandparents on my mum's side. I was their oldest grandchild. Mum had five brothers and they all played music. The mob sang a lot, and they wrote lots of gospel music, because I grew up around the missionary days where Aboriginal mob were sent to missions. I feel like my first lot of gigs or the first time mob was asking me to sing outside my family, still come from them connections, like mob knowing my grandparents or mob knowing my nan and, like my mum even. I sang a lot with the family growing up, like six years old, seven. But then publicly, like when my first gigs were Naidoc gigs. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities are very, very tight, you know? Everybody knows everyone. So, a lot of my first ever gigs were around Redfern, Sydney, Yarra Bay, like some of that the Aboriginal community there, mob that you knew. So for me starting off, there was a lot of support, and I was still in school. ​ Then opportunities came again. I was a part of a trio, The Stiff Gins - they're still around (Nardi Simpson). But that was then kind of my thing, where I stepped outside of the family. I stepped outside of the uncles backing me and that. We just were asked to play in the community, so yeah, I feel pretty lucky for those times. What does representation in the industry mean to you? What do you think it means to the people who see you perform and hear your music? Well, my music is always for everyone, every race, every gender. I hope that it just connects somehow to someone. I think more specifically when I'm writing, sometimes the messages that I want to put out are for women [in general], not just Aboriginal women. I was always inspired by Aunty Ruby Hunter. She wrote so many fucking amazing songs that I just thought, “How could she have the guts to tell that yarn?”; her perspective as a Blak woman. Hard things like domestic violence, rape, social stuff… Aboriginal women being accepted in community. I think of writers now, like probably in the last 5 years, and I've gone, “Oh fuck, Aunty Ruby was really truly something”. First of all, her image. Her image was the first thing I noticed about it. Just seeing another Blak woman. Just seeing her represent. So yeah, I hope that my music is... I hope that it reaches as many people as possible with the stories I'm strong enough to tell, like Aunty Rube. I hope that Aboriginal mob like myself can hear it and see me and go, “Fuck, sis. I feel the same'', or “thank you”. [I'd like to think] it helps in a way. In the Australian industry, do you think there is a gender divide, and if so, how has it presented itself to you in your career? I feel like there's always been Aboriginal women less represented in the industry. I'm not sure how that is in regards to this division that the industry makes, but I feel like there's probably a lot more opportunity for other mob to put music out there these days. I feel like there was less representation of Indigenous women when I was growing up. Like there was such a big leap from an artist like Aunty Rube to Christine Anu. They are two different artists, two different age groups, and there was just such a big skip. Whereas now, you know, I feel like a fucking old women now saying this but, you know, there's so many, there's all these young women. There's like, Emily Wurramara, Thelma Plum. There's all these young women they're just firing it. They’re just... you can't keep up. I feel like there's always been less representation of women in that longer period. I don't know if that's from just less opportunities or maybe women not feeling confident, you know, as an artist to put themselves out there in the industry. I feel like the Aboriginal music industry today is a lot tighter, like there's more opportunities for us whether they're in or out of our communities, there's just a lot more opportunities and the way people are programmed or program Indigenous music, it's at the front line now for a lot of festivals. It's a lot different to you know, old Blakfulla stages and other festivals. Indigenous mob are, they're part of bigger programming or there's none of that little segregated fucking stage anymore - Of "this is where the Blakfullas are gonna play". You know, it's like, we're part of the full programme, we open fucking festivals. That's big fucking change. Like, you know, artists before me, people like Stephen Pigram or the Pigram Brothers, Mark Atkins, Coloured Stone and all them mob used to play in the 70s. They were getting booked for gigs and getting turned away at the fucking door because they were black. I think there's been a lot of changes that have happened for Indigenous mob. And you know, even if there aren't other platforms, I feel like the Aboriginal community itself has made big platforms for our mob. We've embraced our own mob. Like we're not worried about being a part of mainstream or this or that. Like that was a thing of the past now, I think. There's the biggest mob of us everywhere now. And I think it's naturally happening. Like I want to believe that it's naturally going to happen. I just feel that bit of change, like even over the fucking last long weekend [speaking on the Black Lives Matter Rally]. There's so much support behind mob now. I feel like, yeah, there's a lot more support in them areas and I think it's naturally happening and naturally making its own way. And even if some of them quota things are in place, I just feel it’s all naturally coming about. R: It's amazing how generational and societal changes can happen organically in some ways... I think sometimes in the music industry we're a lot more privileged, like, there's a lot more acceptance. What scares me is society itself, I guess. I've been a part of a lot of different collaborative projects in the arts that have combined Indigenous mob, non-Indigenous mob, especially projects like the Black Arm Band. And you know, sometimes you think to yourself… Like it's so fucking amazing doing work in music together. And you go on tours for like, you know, months or whatever and then you come up and something stupid and crazy happens at home, because you're not in that world anymore. Sometimes I used to think, you know, we're in that fucking big bubble together and it's like a big fantasy or it's like a big dream that things work or, we don't even see skin colour or music like that. Just because we're there to make music. That's how I feel with the Putbacks - the collaborative band that I'm in now. I don't feel like it's black or white anything. We make music because we want to. We love soul and funk music. We make it together. And that's why I always say like, it's... artistic mob that are in the arts, we have them, we accept all of that, we want it, we are for change and we can naturally make things like that happen. That's where I feel confident to say that you know, some of these changes can organically happen because that's, that's the people we are. We want to make it happen. Keep up to date with Emma here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article.

  • The surprising path that landed Alice Skye her place in our hearts

    Written by Ella Clair Radio silence. Then - the audio connects and there we are. Sat in two bedrooms in different Melbourne suburbs; locked-down. Alice Skye sits mid-frame, wrapped in a black hoodie. Snug. Her eyes are big and brown and her short hair flicks out behind her ears, where she is wearing small silver hoops. In 2015, Alice Skye was studying a science degree at The University of Melbourne. Uninspired, lacking direction. Five years later she’s on the way to releasing her highly-anticipated second album, produced by Jen Cloher. It was thick with icy fog the morning I called Alice to find out how it is that she’s landed here. From what I can see, Alice’s room is quaint. There’s a bookshelf brimming with spines, and vines around her bed head. “I probably own too many things, but, I really love making up my room.” There’s incense burning. I see the holder atop her bookshelf as she points it out. Alice tells me her favourite thing in her room is a piece of art made by her cousin; a print of possum fur that hangs grandly above her desk. She spins the webcam around to show me. Over Zoom it looks vibrant and orange, albeit slightly blurry. Alice was born in Western Victoria, growing up in the Grampians, where her mum still lives. “It’s really flat, but then there’s these huge mountains. I’m really biased but I just think they’re so beautiful and special,” she blinks slowly and I see her imagining it. Later, she went to school in the small town of Horsham. “Sometimes in Melbourne I feel trapped,” she says sharply. As much as this city has been a dream fulfilled for Alice, sometimes it can feel like everything happening here is the most important thing. She tells me she often forgets to take time out to go home and rest. With two older siblings, Alice’s British mother raised three Aboriginal kids by herself. Alice is a Wegaia and Wemba Wemba person whose father passed away before she was born. “It was just us four together,” her voice cracks, “Family is family you know? It can be beautiful and terrible.” Still, she speaks of her mum in awe and with gratitude. “I still feel sad that I missed out on being raised by my dad; talking to him about what being Aboriginal meant to him. Definitely. Not a unique story either. There’s so many Blakfullas that don’t get to be raised by their community. My mum made sure that I had that through my aunties. I was really lucky that I grew up knowing that it was something to be proud of. My mum played a really big role in that. I’m really fortunate.” ​ Shuffling in her seat, Alice tells me she was a pretty anxious child. Experimenting with songwriting towards the end of primary school, she didn’t find her writing chops until a bit later. “They were so embarrassing,” she chuckles. The 2007-ish indie-rock moment was her catalyst. Whimsical songs about jumpers and teacups. I tell her about the first song I ever wrote and she returns the favour. We create a safe space. “I wanna wear no shoes to a furniture store, and tell the sales accountant that he won a free cat.” Alice recites her early lyrics to me like spoken-word. She’s not sure if she’ll ever let its melody see the outside world. She’s gotten a lot better since then. High school was fairly normal for Alice but laced with stinging discrimination. “I hadn’t figured out who I was. There weren’t a lot of other Aboriginal people in my year,” she acknowledges. As a teen, Alice reckons she was a bit of brat. However, her reasoning seems entirely justified. It’s a shame: it seemingly conflicted with her academic aspirations as she mostly got in trouble for calling out rude and racist teachers. She smirks, “I honestly enjoyed letting them know that’s how I felt.” Songwriting is a coping mechanism for Alice. She writes only because she needs to, because there is something calling for her attention. Calling her to work. “I don’t think a lot of people grow up feeling very comfortable being honest and expressing themselves. It doesn’t feel encouraged sometimes.” So releasing the songs from her first album, Friends with Feelings felt strange to Alice. Nerve wracking. When she’s on stage she often gets caught up in delivering the best performance she can. “Sometimes I forget how lucky I am, that I get to do that onstage and that people come and listen,” she exhales a smile, “especially because the songs mean a lot to me, because... they’re my feelings.” Her band consists of twins that she’s known since childhood. Tight-knit. Drums and guitar. Alice plays keys. She struggles to find any words to describe her own music. “I’m such an indecisive person! I have no idea what other people hear.” She is humble, not disconnected. Considered, but not calculated. As common in twenty-something discourse, our conversation steers towards astrology. Alice’s sun sign is in Leo. “I’m... pretty heavily into it,” she laughs. That means her 25th birthday is imminent. She uses astrology as a tool for self reflection, “I think I thrive for validation. There’s something in the Leo part of me that just depends on it.” Apparently, her Libra moon makes her fall in love with 10 people at once. She is so open and warm, I can imagine it would be easy to fall in love with her too. Alice’s face lights up with the glow of her phone screen. “I’ve got some Thelma Plum, Avril Lavigne,” she giggles at herself, “Mitski, Weyes Blood, and then for some reason Usher.” That’s her recent Spotify search history. She admits she’ll never grow tired of listening to Mitski. The Usher presence? Inexplicable. ​ “I love sad soundtracks. I listen to a lot of different ones. Any Cranberries album is a good go to for me.” Alice says The Cranberries cover the full emotional spectrum for her, from melancholy to angst. “Dolores O’Riordan, lead singer, just makes me feel. She just has such a beautiful voice,” Alice sighs. Joni Mitchell is reserved for when she really wants to wallow. However, sometimes Alice avoids listening to music. It’s a lot of emotional work, see. “Music makes me reflect a lot and sometimes... I don’t want to reflect.” Instead she’ll listen to podcasts or watch TV. “It’s kind of like a little bit of a solace. A thing you like, that gives you something that you need.” She is adamant on the importance of that space. “I don’t really feel super entangled with music making at the moment,” Alice admits, “I am still working on things but, sometimes I’m just a really boring person.” During lockdown she’s been watching a TV show called Vida. It’s about two Mexican American sisters she tells me, “It’s also just really queer”. She says it dips in and out of English and Spanish. Alice likes that it’s not subtitled. Keeps her guessing. Recently, Alice found out she can’t eat gluten. So, during lockdown she’s been exploring the realm of gluten-free cooking. For comfort, she leans towards liquid deliciousness, like lentil soups and curries. Garlic and chilli. However, flourless chocolate orange cake is her pride and joy of this venture, even if it did end in a non-COVID related trip to hospital for her border-collie/kelpie, Gizmo. So, it’s not hard to imagine Alice as the normal, mundane science student she once was. Maybe her cooking’s gotten better. But that’s where she was at in 2015. Uninspired, lacking direction. Never played a gig in her life. It was her older sister that sent her CAAMA Music’s call out, seeking young women to apply for the Alkura competition (Alkura meaning ‘woman’ in the Arrernte language). CAAMA is Australia’s longest running Indigenous music label, having worked with Aboriginal artists for over 40 years. Alice was selected. ​ The experience took place in Alice Springs, where a young Skye got her first studio time. “Also, just meeting other people doing the same thing. Such a game changer,” she reminisces. There, Alice was mentored by the likes of Stiff Gins and met one of her closest friends today who has become a sort-of sister. “It definitely made me feel like… I could keep writing music and that it was a viable option for me,” she stumbles trying to encapsulate the significance of this turning point in her life. It seemed CAAMA took a liking to Alice because they invited her back to record her debut album. “I’d never even considered that I would do that but I have enough songs and I was hating uni and wasn’t doing anything I really enjoyed. So it was like, why not?” she says with unassuming modesty. Alice has learnt a lot since that point. “It does feel nice to have a bit more of an understanding of the music industry and how it works. It can be really intimidating at first,” she says with relief, adding that she hopes she only keeps learning into the future. She has this soft and somewhat surprisingly determined hunger about her. “I think we were trying to finish the vocals when the bushfires were really bad. I lost my voice because of the smoke in the city,” Alice explains, eyes bulging at the unbelievable chaos that has been 2020. The events of this year have changed how Alice is finishing her second record. The team she’s working with got most of it done last summer. Now, in lockdown, she’s having to send bits and pieces of the new record back and forth, instead of working in the same room as everyone involved. It feels like a big shame to Alice. “We’re just trying to make it work,” she sighs. Maybe it will add something that being in the same room wouldn’t. More time to think? She giggles at my positive spin. Politically active and vocal across her social media platforms, Alice admits she’s exhausted by the recent surge in conversations surrounding Blac deaths in custody and what people of colour face in Australia. As much as she’s glad to see conversations from America being brought over here, and as important as she believes it is that they are, speaking on it for Alice has become a form of difficult, emotional labour. “This year’s been really rough,” she laments, “We’ve been here before and we’ve been saying these things for a really long time. So, it’s hard not to feel pain around it.” Alice feels it viscerally when she speaks on these matters. Sometimes she just wants to make music. “If you have a platform, it puts you in a pretty unique position that some people that have incredible things to say don’t have,” she clarifies. Alice believes that non-Indigenous people with platforms should take hold of the responsibility to educate and start conversations. She says it’s hard to carry the weight of that responsibility as someone who is directly affected by such issues. “For First Nations people and people of colour, there’s a responsibility to rest, as well. You can’t fight without resting first,” her voice jumps in with this point, ensuring it’s heard. Having grown up with the acoustic pub cover gigs of Horsham, Alice is amazed by Melbourne’s music scene. “I feel lucky to live here and see people play. Especially a lot of Blacfullas here, I feel really inspired by them,” the corners of her mouth turn upwards, eyes glinting, “People like DRMNGNOW and Kee’ahn, Birdz and Mo’Ju. There’s more than I can name!” For the most part, Alice has found it to be a supportive community, even if occasionally she finds the amount of talent intimidating. “You’re like, what do I have to add to this? There’s already so many good things,” she admits, openly and vulnerably. Alice reckons we still have a really long way to go to make sure that our music industry reflects real life - with its array of different kinds of people, genders and experiences. “We also have to make sure those people feel safe and valued. There are still spaces where you can feel really tokenised,” Alice acknowledges with a croak in her voice. She also explains the frustration at times when she’s not been addressed at gigs by the sound person, being the only woman in her band, “Or not spoken to, like I know how to use my instrument. It’s just little things like that.” Alice is gentle and admits she doesn’t command the strongest presence. She believes this has inhibited her ability to call out these micro-aggressions in the moment, frustratingly. “I don’t think it makes sense to have a really amazingly diverse lineup without it being the same backstage.” Her clarity in providing this solution to tackling these kinds of discriminations is abrupt and unexpected. Refreshing. “The more people are valued in each individual space in the music industry, it’s gonna be more comfortable for everyone.” The words fall out of her mouth with more ease and conviction than anything else she’s said so far. The week before the pandemic hit, Alice Skye and her band were preparing to head to their first SXSW. She hopes they’ll get to go another year. She’s been involved in a bunch of online events as the music industry has begun adapting to the restrictions placed on live shows. “I thought it would be my introverted dream, but I miss the real thing,” she says with a mournful undertone. Alice has no answers for our industry as we stumble towards a devastated post-pandemic future. For now she’s taking it day by day, just like everyone else. Alice has no big plans for the rest of her day, except buying the necessities for a celebratory damper-fest for her housemate’s birthday. While we’re separated by the bounds of lockdown law, I really feel I get a sense of who she is. I understand now her adoring industry nickname ‘universal little sister’. Looking forward, all Alice really wants is to be able to keep writing and making music. She is grateful that this is where she’s landed. Keep up to date with Alice here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. Thank you dearly to Alice for your time. ​ Interview with Alice conducted by Zoom on 17 July 2020. Article first published 9 August 2020. Photographs taken by Naomi Lee Beveridge, Kate ten Buuren and provided by Alice. Written by Ella Clair. Edited by Jake Amy and Hugh Heller.

  • The surprising path that landed Alice Skye her place in our hearts

    By Ella Clair, Jake Amy and Hugh Heller Radio silence. Then - the audio connects and there we are. Sat in two bedrooms in different Melbourne suburbs; locked-down. Alice Skye sits mid-frame, wrapped in a black hoodie. Snug. Her eyes are big and brown and her short hair flicks out behind her ears, where she is wearing small silver hoops. In 2015, Alice Skye was studying a science degree at The University of Melbourne. Uninspired, lacking direction. Five years later she’s on the way to releasing her highly-anticipated second album, produced by Jen Cloher. It was thick with icy fog the morning I called Alice to find out how it is that she’s landed here. From what I can see, Alice’s room is quaint. There’s a bookshelf brimming with spines, and vines around her bed head. “I probably own too many things, but, I really love making up my room.” There’s incense burning. I see the holder atop her bookshelf as she points it out. Alice tells me her favourite thing in her room is a piece of art made by her cousin; a print of possum fur that hangs grandly above her desk. She spins the webcam around to show me. Over Zoom it looks vibrant and orange, albeit slightly blurry. Alice was born in Western Victoria, growing up in the Grampians, where her mum still lives. “It’s really flat, but then there’s these huge mountains. I’m really biased but I just think they’re so beautiful and special,” she blinks slowly and I see her imagining it. Later, she went to school in the small town of Horsham. “Sometimes in Melbourne I feel trapped,” she says sharply. As much as this city has been a dream fulfilled for Alice, sometimes it can feel like everything happening here is the most important thing. She tells me she often forgets to take time out to go home and rest. With two older siblings, Alice’s British mother raised three Aboriginal kids by herself. Alice is a Wegaia and Wemba Wemba person whose father passed away before she was born. “It was just us four together,” her voice cracks, “Family is family you know? It can be beautiful and terrible.” Still, she speaks of her mum in awe and with gratitude. “I still feel sad that I missed out on being raised by my dad; talking to him about what being Aboriginal meant to him. Definitely. Not a unique story either. There’s so many Blakfullas that don’t get to be raised by their community. My mum made sure that I had that through my aunties. I was really lucky that I grew up knowing that it was something to be proud of. My mum played a really big role in that. I’m really fortunate.” ​ Shuffling in her seat, Alice tells me she was a pretty anxious child. Experimenting with songwriting towards the end of primary school, she didn’t find her writing chops until a bit later. “They were so embarrassing,” she chuckles. The 2007-ish indie-rock moment was her catalyst. Whimsical songs about jumpers and teacups. I tell her about the first song I ever wrote and she returns the favour. We create a safe space. “I wanna wear no shoes to a furniture store, and tell the sales accountant that he won a free cat.” Alice recites her early lyrics to me like spoken-word. She’s not sure if she’ll ever let its melody see the outside world. She’s gotten a lot better since then. High school was fairly normal for Alice but laced with stinging discrimination. “I hadn’t figured out who I was. There weren’t a lot of other Aboriginal people in my year,” she acknowledges. As a teen, Alice reckons she was a bit of brat. However, her reasoning seems entirely justified. It’s a shame: it seemingly conflicted with her academic aspirations as she mostly got in trouble for calling out rude and racist teachers. She smirks, “I honestly enjoyed letting them know that’s how I felt.” Songwriting is a coping mechanism for Alice. She writes only because she needs to, because there is something calling for her attention. Calling her to work. “I don’t think a lot of people grow up feeling very comfortable being honest and expressing themselves. It doesn’t feel encouraged sometimes.” So releasing the songs from her first album, Friends with Feelings felt strange to Alice. Nerve wracking. When she’s on stage she often gets caught up in delivering the best performance she can. “Sometimes I forget how lucky I am, that I get to do that onstage and that people come and listen,” she exhales a smile, “especially because the songs mean a lot to me, because... they’re my feelings.” Her band consists of twins that she’s known since childhood. Tight-knit. Drums and guitar. Alice plays keys. She struggles to find any words to describe her own music. “I’m such an indecisive person! I have no idea what other people hear.” She is humble, not disconnected. Considered, but not calculated. As common in twenty-something discourse, our conversation steers towards astrology. Alice’s sun sign is in Leo. “I’m... pretty heavily into it,” she laughs. That means her 25th birthday is imminent. She uses astrology as a tool for self reflection, “I think I thrive for validation. There’s something in the Leo part of me that just depends on it.” Apparently, her Libra moon makes her fall in love with 10 people at once. She is so open and warm, I can imagine it would be easy to fall in love with her too. Alice’s face lights up with the glow of her phone screen. “I’ve got some Thelma Plum, Avril Lavigne,” she giggles at herself, “Mitski, Weyes Blood, and then for some reason Usher.” That’s her recent Spotify search history. She admits she’ll never grow tired of listening to Mitski. The Usher presence? Inexplicable. ​ “I love sad soundtracks. I listen to a lot of different ones. Any Cranberries album is a good go to for me.” Alice says The Cranberries cover the full emotional spectrum for her, from melancholy to angst. “Dolores O’Riordan, lead singer, just makes me feel. She just has such a beautiful voice,” Alice sighs. Joni Mitchell is reserved for when she really wants to wallow. However, sometimes Alice avoids listening to music. It’s a lot of emotional work, see. “Music makes me reflect a lot and sometimes... I don’t want to reflect.” Instead she’ll listen to podcasts or watch TV. “It’s kind of like a little bit of a solace. A thing you like, that gives you something that you need.” She is adamant on the importance of that space. “I don’t really feel super entangled with music making at the moment,” Alice admits, “I am still working on things but, sometimes I’m just a really boring person.” During lockdown she’s been watching a TV show called Vida. It’s about two Mexican American sisters she tells me, “It’s also just really queer”. She says it dips in and out of English and Spanish. Alice likes that it’s not subtitled. Keeps her guessing. Recently, Alice found out she can’t eat gluten. So, during lockdown she’s been exploring the realm of gluten-free cooking. For comfort, she leans towards liquid deliciousness, like lentil soups and curries. Garlic and chilli. However, flourless chocolate orange cake is her pride and joy of this venture, even if it did end in a non-COVID related trip to hospital for her border-collie/kelpie, Gizmo. So, it’s not hard to imagine Alice as the normal, mundane science student she once was. Maybe her cooking’s gotten better. But that’s where she was at in 2015. Uninspired, lacking direction. Never played a gig in her life. It was her older sister that sent her CAAMA Music’s call out, seeking young women to apply for the Alkura competition (Alkura meaning ‘woman’ in the Arrernte language). CAAMA is Australia’s longest running Indigenous music label, having worked with Aboriginal artists for over 40 years. Alice was selected. ​ The experience took place in Alice Springs, where a young Skye got her first studio time. “Also, just meeting other people doing the same thing. Such a game changer,” she reminisces. There, Alice was mentored by the likes of Stiff Gins and met one of her closest friends today who has become a sort-of sister. “It definitely made me feel like… I could keep writing music and that it was a viable option for me,” she stumbles trying to encapsulate the significance of this turning point in her life. It seemed CAAMA took a liking to Alice because they invited her back to record her debut album. “I’d never even considered that I would do that but I have enough songs and I was hating uni and wasn’t doing anything I really enjoyed. So it was like, why not?” she says with unassuming modesty. Alice has learnt a lot since that point. “It does feel nice to have a bit more of an understanding of the music industry and how it works. It can be really intimidating at first,” she says with relief, adding that she hopes she only keeps learning into the future. She has this soft and somewhat surprisingly determined hunger about her. “I think we were trying to finish the vocals when the bushfires were really bad. I lost my voice because of the smoke in the city,” Alice explains, eyes bulging at the unbelievable chaos that has been 2020. The events of this year have changed how Alice is finishing her second record. The team she’s working with got most of it done last summer. Now, in lockdown, she’s having to send bits and pieces of the new record back and forth, instead of working in the same room as everyone involved. It feels like a big shame to Alice. “We’re just trying to make it work,” she sighs. Maybe it will add something that being in the same room wouldn’t. More time to think? She giggles at my positive spin. Politically active and vocal across her social media platforms, Alice admits she’s exhausted by the recent surge in conversations surrounding Blac deaths in custody and what people of colour face in Australia. As much as she’s glad to see conversations from America being brought over here, and as important as she believes it is that they are, speaking on it for Alice has become a form of difficult, emotional labour. “This year’s been really rough,” she laments, “We’ve been here before and we’ve been saying these things for a really long time. So, it’s hard not to feel pain around it.” Alice feels it viscerally when she speaks on these matters. Sometimes she just wants to make music. “If you have a platform, it puts you in a pretty unique position that some people that have incredible things to say don’t have,” she clarifies. Alice believes that non-Indigenous people with platforms should take hold of the responsibility to educate and start conversations. She says it’s hard to carry the weight of that responsibility as someone who is directly affected by such issues. “For First Nations people and people of colour, there’s a responsibility to rest, as well. You can’t fight without resting first,” her voice jumps in with this point, ensuring it’s heard. Having grown up with the acoustic pub cover gigs of Horsham, Alice is amazed by Melbourne’s music scene. “I feel lucky to live here and see people play. Especially a lot of Blacfullas here, I feel really inspired by them,” the corners of her mouth turn upwards, eyes glinting, “People like DRMNGNOW and Kee’ahn, Birdz and Mo’Ju. There’s more than I can name!” For the most part, Alice has found it to be a supportive community, even if occasionally she finds the amount of talent intimidating. “You’re like, what do I have to add to this? There’s already so many good things,” she admits, openly and vulnerably. Alice reckons we still have a really long way to go to make sure that our music industry reflects real life - with its array of different kinds of people, genders and experiences. “We also have to make sure those people feel safe and valued. There are still spaces where you can feel really tokenised,” Alice acknowledges with a croak in her voice. She also explains the frustration at times when she’s not been addressed at gigs by the sound person, being the only woman in her band, “Or not spoken to, like I know how to use my instrument. It’s just little things like that.” Alice is gentle and admits she doesn’t command the strongest presence. She believes this has inhibited her ability to call out these micro-aggressions in the moment, frustratingly. “I don’t think it makes sense to have a really amazingly diverse lineup without it being the same backstage.” Her clarity in providing this solution to tackling these kinds of discriminations is abrupt and unexpected. Refreshing. “The more people are valued in each individual space in the music industry, it’s gonna be more comfortable for everyone.” The words fall out of her mouth with more ease and conviction than anything else she’s said so far. The week before the pandemic hit, Alice Skye and her band were preparing to head to their first SXSW. She hopes they’ll get to go another year. She’s been involved in a bunch of online events as the music industry has begun adapting to the restrictions placed on live shows. “I thought it would be my introverted dream, but I miss the real thing,” she says with a mournful undertone. Alice has no answers for our industry as we stumble towards a devastated post-pandemic future. For now she’s taking it day by day, just like everyone else. Alice has no big plans for the rest of her day, except buying the necessities for a celebratory damper-fest for her housemate’s birthday. While we’re separated by the bounds of lockdown law, I really feel I get a sense of who she is. I understand now her adoring industry nickname ‘universal little sister’. Looking forward, all Alice really wants is to be able to keep writing and making music. She is grateful that this is where she’s landed. Keep up to date with Alice here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article.

  • Gretta Ray: @re._stacks and Online Activism

    Written by Jake Amy Halfway through a year that has seen eruptions of public outrage at systemic discrimination, victims of sexual misconduct at the hands of Melbourne photographer Jack Stafford rallied together to share their experiences and call for justice. In a time when the isolated nature of life has necessitated an increasing reliance on online activism, Gretta Ray has sought to use her platform to support victims, and add her voice to the call for those in a position of privilege to take responsibility. This is the first interview in which Gretta has been outspoken on these issues since rising to prominence in the Australian music industry in her late teens. Jake had the opportunity to speak with Gretta last week. Recently, photographer Jack Stafford admitted to being an ‘abuser’ after Jaguar Jonze posted #MeToo accusations. What was going through your mind when this happened? That was a very confronting week. For all of us. And it did hit quite close to home because there were so many people that I knew, or knew of, who were affected by that particular scenario. I’ve always felt that the Australian music community is so close; we all know each other and collaborate with one another, and I love that. It seems that we all have each other’s backs until something like this occurs, and suddenly becomes very public. I mean, of course you hear about how these things are still very much prevalent in our scene all the time, but it is shocking when someone in your circles turns out to be causing damage to the people you know and your community. In terms of what was going through my mind, it’s hard to verbalise, to be honest. For the most part, I just feel really sad. There was a lot of anger, and of course a lot of frustration and concern for the people that came forward. I didn't have experiences [with the perpetrator] similar to those people. As much as I’m in awe of their bravery, I’m overcome with disappointment that this is still such a massive issue. If there was a silver lining amidst it all, it was the fact that women (and gender non-conforming) in the industry really flocked together instantly. It was really beautiful to see, and definitely restored some of my faith in knowing that there is an immense amount of support for each other in our circles. I had a lot of inspiring conversations with other women in the industry over the phone that week when the news broke… not to mention that it was definitely quite a shock for many of the guys as well. I found myself in multiple conversations with male friends of mine who asked, “What can I do better?”. Should bystanders still speak up if they fear falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct? Yes, absolutely. Sure, at times there is a grey area to navigate before it becomes entirely clear that someone has done something really bad and really damaging, but the consequences of falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct are nowhere near as bad as refusing to believe the victim. In doing so, you invalidate that victim’s experience, you potentially silence them forever, and furthermore contribute to the trauma that they’re already having to work through. And I know that the fear of falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct is seemingly more difficult for men to navigate, because often it’s their male friends or family members who are the potential perpetrators. But I have always thought that until a case has been further unpacked and reached a point where it’s a “yes” or “no”, “this did or didn’t happen”, you believe the victim. You only have to see how many people were victim [to this photographer] to realise how ridiculous it is to not. As I'm talking to you, I'm realising now… like… wow, yeah. It's such an emotional topic. "The objective success of someone can be so blinding and disgustingly powerful in how it can silence somebody else, or in this case, so many people. It’s never enough to assume that everything’s okay, just because of someone’s success or popularity, in fact it’s incredibly dangerous." Why do you think there’s been a recent spike of artists speaking about this issue on social media, considering that this type of discrimination is happening all the time? Well, for me, the most shocking aspect of that scenario was the sheer amount of people who were affected by the same perpetrator (105 different people). Jaguar Jonze and @sheisaprodite have really helped shed light on the fact that these victims aren't alone. And not only are they not alone, but speaking up about their experience is potentially going to help somebody else speak out, and name their own experience. I’m really grateful to see the amazing, supportive space that has been cultivated and expanded over the past couple of weeks. Everyone should feel that this massive community has our back. Do you think that online activism has taken the place of offline activism? Hmm. It's interesting to think about that during this period of time, actually. I’ve usually associated offline activism with getting out into the real world, going to protests, showing up and having conversations with lots of different people in order to learn and to grow. I guess right now there are limitations that mean we can’t physically do that. I wouldn’t say that online activism has totally replaced offline activism. Regarding the current civil rights movement, I think online activism has assisted in further amplifying a) the issues at hand and b), the voices we should be listening to. I think the fact that we’re all connected on the internet at the moment has helped us to inspire one another to go out into the world and do that activist work properly. However, with online activism, I think there is a huge danger in people feeling like they’ve “done their part” by sharing one post or resource on their Instagram story. Doing one #blacklivesmatter post and then resuming your shit as normal is very worrying, and appears to be an easy vortex for people to fall into. I am trying my best to not do that, because there is so much work that I need to do; a lot that I need to learn and also to unlearn. To me, a big part of my offline activism right now has been reading, watching documentaries, listening to podcasts and learning from the incredible resources that are being shared. It’s unsettling how little I know, but I am inspired by my discomfort to remain as switched on as possible. I’m slowly but surely beginning to do the work that I need to. How do we spread these messages outside of our bubble? Yeah, that’s something that I’ve been really fascinated by. Naturally we surround ourselves with people that share our views. For a while there I thought, “Well, we’re all reposting the same thing”. It's good that we’re on the same page, but how can we actually push this further? For me, it’s come down to listening, being patient and open minded, and becoming more enlightened about certain topics so I can support my arguments when I find myself in a difficult discussion with someone who isn’t entirely on the same page as me. Working independently as a freelance creative, you’re not employed by anyone. Where can you go for help if you’ve experienced incidents like this? I’m mindful of speaking on someone’s behalf when I shouldn’t do so. I haven’t personally experienced an incident like this, so I don’t know where I would feel like I could or couldn’t go for help if I did. What I can say is that it has been really inspiring to see Jaguar Jones giving the victims of this recent incident a voice. She provided us with this amazing research she’d done about what next step those victims could take if they chose to, saying, “These are some options that you can take forward, here is why it would be good, here is why it’d be helpful”. Doing something like that… I just thought that was so incredible, selfless and responsible of her. I feel as though our industry is so small. We’re all mutual friends and most people are just a stone’s throw away. At its core, I think that this community is trusting, and particularly amongst women, I feel like we can talk about anything. In these scenarios, having those conversations with one another is a good place to start. You were 16 years old when you entered the industry. What was your experience? Yeah, I stepped into this industry when I was very young, and for the most part I've been lucky to have had a really wonderful community around me who inspire me to work hard and ensure that I’m connecting with great people. I worked with Charlotte Abroms for years and have had a lot of other really incredible women in my circles. When I started working on my first EP, I had no experience in working in studios, but I had so many ideas for how I wanted my songs to sound. I was 16. And I was so fortunate that the first producer that I worked with was Josh Barber. I feel like it’s a very common story for a young female artist to get put in a room with a male producer who, often without even realising, plays into the stereotype of taking control, overriding a female’s project just because they’re excited about it. That did not happen to me at all. Josh would wrap up every recording session with, “Are you happy? What is it that you want to do? You make the final call here”. It’s fundamental for mentors to provide emerging artists with the space to discover who they are. At the end of the day, it’s the artist’s project; they’re in the driver’s seat. The type of behaviour and approach to working with a younger artist who is trying to find their feet, is more impactful than I'll ever be able to put into words. I’ve never felt that I can’t use my voice, express my opinion, or make the final call and influence decisions in every session, co-write or rehearsal that I’ve gone into since working on my first EP. Josh’s brilliant mentorship played a large part in this being the outcome. Then again, amidst everything, it’s wild to think about the fact that, as a female, I’ve felt the need to thank men when they’ve provided this space for me…when that should actually just be the norm! The reality is, unfortunately it still isn’t. As women, we have this shitty ingrained tendency to thank a man just for being a decent human being, or apologise for things when we don’t need to. There are so many phenomenal female-led projects oozing confidence and boldness right now. That energy is solely because that woman is doing her own thing, trusting her gut and taking charge, and not because a man permitted her to do so. Does reformation come from empowering women? Um, yes, but not entirely. There has been a huge increase in conversation around gender inequality in the media, and though I feel like that has made an impact, and that we have made a lot of progress, there is still a heap of work to be done. I mean, to be specific to the music industry, one day I’ll be like, “Wow, look at all of these incredible female artists that are topping the Hottest 100. This is so great”, (Billie Eilish won the Hottest 100 this year and that was the first time a female has EVER won it). But then only two years ago at the Grammys, there was this insanely backwards comment made from the Recording Academy President, a male, who said, “Women need to step up”. I do think change has been made by empowering women, and of course we need to continue naming the issue and being loud about it. Gender inequality is something that we’re dealing with in every industry, and if we look at the issue globally… just look at who America voted in as their president. That alone clearly demonstrates that despite the fact that great things are happening, ultimately women are still being dismissed and spoken over. We’re still under threat and suffering. Empowering women isn’t all we need to do to make this change. I think while that’s great, let’s look at where the issues are actually coming from… what are we going to do about the men? You can gauge the extreme sensitivity within males when a comment such as, “And then, like all men do, he said this”, is made. Their ears perk up. So many of them feel attacked by that. I just wish we were more focused on educating the boys. J: I don’t think that should be your responsibility though. Men need to educate themselves. That's absolutely true. It’s not really up to the women at this point - they’re doing fucking great. What I mean is in society, as a whole, there needs to be more energy put into educating the boys.  Reform, in a way, comes from empowering women, absolutely, but men need to sort out what they need to do in order to fix this huge issue. And I wish that was more of a priority.  Even the terminology used about women being harassed… rather than saying, “Woman sexually harassed”, how about saying, “Another man has, yet again, sexually harassed a woman”? We're conditioned to talk about this stuff in a certain way, you know? That needs to change. I’ve spoken to a few guys in the industry about gender inequality and they have the opinion that, “If you’re good, you’ll get the gig”. What’s your opinion on this? Oh, well, that's just completely not true, is it? This industry is still very much dominated by men. Certain genres are even more so dominated by men. That is so disappointing to hear. Have you spoken to any other women about this? J: Oh, everyone thinks it’s bullshit. Of course it is. You know, that just further exemplifies my point that there needs to be so much more of a focus on educating men. That’s an ignorant comment, and I would think that there’s no doubt that the people who said that actually genuinely believe that it is the case. Boys: there is so much that you don’t know; there’s so much going on that you don't see, or worse, have come to normalise. You say that because the issue at hand doesn’t affect or impact you personally, and never has or will. I vividly remember playing a gig with Japanese Wallpaper when I was 17. At the merch desk after the show, I had these drunk boys towering over me, wrapping their arms around me without my permission. Like, the number of times I’ve had a guy run up to me after a show and assume he can hug me, kiss on the cheek even, or tell me “you’re hot”… that kind of stuff is so rampant. And what’s worse is, I remember at that particular gig, being so conscious of what I was doing, and assuring that I didn’t do the ‘wrong thing’, or behave too defensively… I was a young girl, I had no idea how to handle that scenario and shouldn't have had to. I just had this ingrained misogyny in my own brain telling me to “be nice” and “not make things difficult”. If there was anything that I could say to those guys who have that opinion of “if you’re good you’ll get the gig”… (apart from the fact that they need to do their research - remember when there were only 9 women in total on the 2018 Falls Festival line up?)… actually look for the gender inequality, I promise it won’t take you long to see it. Notice the issue rather than dismissing it. Look for the mistreatment, and then call it out. If you notice behaviour that doesn’t quite sit right, say something. Hold your mates accountable. Have the conversations, and do the work. The chain effect that I can only imagine that would have, would do a lot of good. Keep up to date with Gretta here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. Thank you dearly to Gretta for your time. ​ Interview with Gretta conducted by phone on 24 July 2020. Article first published 2 August 2020. Photographs taken by Liam Pethick. Written and edited by Jake Amy, Ella Clair and Hugh Heller with contributions from Yara Alkurd, Rose Bassett and Emma Volard.

  • Gretta Ray: @re._stacks and Online Activism

    By Jake Amy, Ella Clair, Hugh Heller, Yara Alkurd, Rose Bassett and Emma Volard Halfway through a year that has seen eruptions of public outrage at systemic discrimination, victims of sexual misconduct at the hands of Melbourne photographer Jack Stafford rallied together to share their experiences and call for justice. In a time when the isolated nature of life has necessitated an increasing reliance on online activism, Gretta Ray has sought to use her platform to support victims, and add her voice to the call for those in a position of privilege to take responsibility. This is the first interview in which Gretta has been outspoken on these issues since rising to prominence in the Australian music industry in her late teens. Jake had the opportunity to speak with Gretta last week. Recently, photographer Jack Stafford admitted to being an ‘abuser’ after Jaguar Jonze posted #MeToo accusations. What was going through your mind when this happened? That was a very confronting week. For all of us. And it did hit quite close to home because there were so many people that I knew, or knew of, who were affected by that particular scenario. I’ve always felt that the Australian music community is so close; we all know each other and collaborate with one another, and I love that. It seems that we all have each other’s backs until something like this occurs, and suddenly becomes very public. I mean, of course you hear about how these things are still very much prevalent in our scene all the time, but it is shocking when someone in your circles turns out to be causing damage to the people you know and your community. In terms of what was going through my mind, it’s hard to verbalise, to be honest. For the most part, I just feel really sad. There was a lot of anger, and of course a lot of frustration and concern for the people that came forward. I didn't have experiences [with the perpetrator] similar to those people. As much as I’m in awe of their bravery, I’m overcome with disappointment that this is still such a massive issue. If there was a silver lining amidst it all, it was the fact that women (and gender non-conforming) in the industry really flocked together instantly. It was really beautiful to see, and definitely restored some of my faith in knowing that there is an immense amount of support for each other in our circles. I had a lot of inspiring conversations with other women in the industry over the phone that week when the news broke… not to mention that it was definitely quite a shock for many of the guys as well. I found myself in multiple conversations with male friends of mine who asked, “What can I do better?”. Should bystanders still speak up if they fear falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct? Yes, absolutely. Sure, at times there is a grey area to navigate before it becomes entirely clear that someone has done something really bad and really damaging, but the consequences of falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct are nowhere near as bad as refusing to believe the victim. In doing so, you invalidate that victim’s experience, you potentially silence them forever, and furthermore contribute to the trauma that they’re already having to work through. And I know that the fear of falsely accusing someone of sexual misconduct is seemingly more difficult for men to navigate, because often it’s their male friends or family members who are the potential perpetrators. But I have always thought that until a case has been further unpacked and reached a point where it’s a “yes” or “no”, “this did or didn’t happen”, you believe the victim. You only have to see how many people were victim [to this photographer] to realise how ridiculous it is to not. As I'm talking to you, I'm realising now… like… wow, yeah. It's such an emotional topic. "The objective success of someone can be so blinding and disgustingly powerful in how it can silence somebody else, or in this case, so many people. It’s never enough to assume that everything’s okay, just because of someone’s success or popularity, in fact it’s incredibly dangerous." Why do you think there’s been a recent spike of artists speaking about this issue on social media, considering that this type of discrimination is happening all the time? Well, for me, the most shocking aspect of that scenario was the sheer amount of people who were affected by the same perpetrator (105 different people). Jaguar Jonze and @sheisaprodite have really helped shed light on the fact that these victims aren't alone. And not only are they not alone, but speaking up about their experience is potentially going to help somebody else speak out, and name their own experience. I’m really grateful to see the amazing, supportive space that has been cultivated and expanded over the past couple of weeks. Everyone should feel that this massive community has our back. Do you think that online activism has taken the place of offline activism? Hmm. It's interesting to think about that during this period of time, actually. I’ve usually associated offline activism with getting out into the real world, going to protests, showing up and having conversations with lots of different people in order to learn and to grow. I guess right now there are limitations that mean we can’t physically do that. I wouldn’t say that online activism has totally replaced offline activism. Regarding the current civil rights movement, I think online activism has assisted in further amplifying a) the issues at hand and b), the voices we should be listening to. I think the fact that we’re all connected on the internet at the moment has helped us to inspire one another to go out into the world and do that activist work properly. However, with online activism, I think there is a huge danger in people feeling like they’ve “done their part” by sharing one post or resource on their Instagram story. Doing one #blacklivesmatter post and then resuming your shit as normal is very worrying, and appears to be an easy vortex for people to fall into. I am trying my best to not do that, because there is so much work that I need to do; a lot that I need to learn and also to unlearn. To me, a big part of my offline activism right now has been reading, watching documentaries, listening to podcasts and learning from the incredible resources that are being shared. It’s unsettling how little I know, but I am inspired by my discomfort to remain as switched on as possible. I’m slowly but surely beginning to do the work that I need to. How do we spread these messages outside of our bubble? Yeah, that’s something that I’ve been really fascinated by. Naturally we surround ourselves with people that share our views. For a while there I thought, “Well, we’re all reposting the same thing”. It's good that we’re on the same page, but how can we actually push this further? For me, it’s come down to listening, being patient and open minded, and becoming more enlightened about certain topics so I can support my arguments when I find myself in a difficult discussion with someone who isn’t entirely on the same page as me. Working independently as a freelance creative, you’re not employed by anyone. Where can you go for help if you’ve experienced incidents like this? I’m mindful of speaking on someone’s behalf when I shouldn’t do so. I haven’t personally experienced an incident like this, so I don’t know where I would feel like I could or couldn’t go for help if I did. What I can say is that it has been really inspiring to see Jaguar Jones giving the victims of this recent incident a voice. She provided us with this amazing research she’d done about what next step those victims could take if they chose to, saying, “These are some options that you can take forward, here is why it would be good, here is why it’d be helpful”. Doing something like that… I just thought that was so incredible, selfless and responsible of her. I feel as though our industry is so small. We’re all mutual friends and most people are just a stone’s throw away. At its core, I think that this community is trusting, and particularly amongst women, I feel like we can talk about anything. In these scenarios, having those conversations with one another is a good place to start. You were 16 years old when you entered the industry. What was your experience? Yeah, I stepped into this industry when I was very young, and for the most part I've been lucky to have had a really wonderful community around me who inspire me to work hard and ensure that I’m connecting with great people. I worked with Charlotte Abroms for years and have had a lot of other really incredible women in my circles. When I started working on my first EP, I had no experience in working in studios, but I had so many ideas for how I wanted my songs to sound. I was 16. And I was so fortunate that the first producer that I worked with was Josh Barber. I feel like it’s a very common story for a young female artist to get put in a room with a male producer who, often without even realising, plays into the stereotype of taking control, overriding a female’s project just because they’re excited about it. That did not happen to me at all. Josh would wrap up every recording session with, “Are you happy? What is it that you want to do? You make the final call here”. It’s fundamental for mentors to provide emerging artists with the space to discover who they are. At the end of the day, it’s the artist’s project; they’re in the driver’s seat. The type of behaviour and approach to working with a younger artist who is trying to find their feet, is more impactful than I'll ever be able to put into words. I’ve never felt that I can’t use my voice, express my opinion, or make the final call and influence decisions in every session, co-write or rehearsal that I’ve gone into since working on my first EP. Josh’s brilliant mentorship played a large part in this being the outcome. Then again, amidst everything, it’s wild to think about the fact that, as a female, I’ve felt the need to thank men when they’ve provided this space for me…when that should actually just be the norm! The reality is, unfortunately it still isn’t. As women, we have this shitty ingrained tendency to thank a man just for being a decent human being, or apologise for things when we don’t need to. There are so many phenomenal female-led projects oozing confidence and boldness right now. That energy is solely because that woman is doing her own thing, trusting her gut and taking charge, and not because a man permitted her to do so. Does reformation come from empowering women? Um, yes, but not entirely. There has been a huge increase in conversation around gender inequality in the media, and though I feel like that has made an impact, and that we have made a lot of progress, there is still a heap of work to be done. I mean, to be specific to the music industry, one day I’ll be like, “Wow, look at all of these incredible female artists that are topping the Hottest 100. This is so great”, (Billie Eilish won the Hottest 100 this year and that was the first time a female has EVER won it). But then only two years ago at the Grammys, there was this insanely backwards comment made from the Recording Academy President, a male, who said, “Women need to step up”. I do think change has been made by empowering women, and of course we need to continue naming the issue and being loud about it. Gender inequality is something that we’re dealing with in every industry, and if we look at the issue globally… just look at who America voted in as their president. That alone clearly demonstrates that despite the fact that great things are happening, ultimately women are still being dismissed and spoken over. We’re still under threat and suffering. Empowering women isn’t all we need to do to make this change. I think while that’s great, let’s look at where the issues are actually coming from… what are we going to do about the men? You can gauge the extreme sensitivity within males when a comment such as, “And then, like all men do, he said this”, is made. Their ears perk up. So many of them feel attacked by that. I just wish we were more focused on educating the boys. J: I don’t think that should be your responsibility though. Men need to educate themselves. That's absolutely true. It’s not really up to the women at this point - they’re doing fucking great. What I mean is in society, as a whole, there needs to be more energy put into educating the boys.  Reform, in a way, comes from empowering women, absolutely, but men need to sort out what they need to do in order to fix this huge issue. And I wish that was more of a priority.  Even the terminology used about women being harassed… rather than saying, “Woman sexually harassed”, how about saying, “Another man has, yet again, sexually harassed a woman”? We're conditioned to talk about this stuff in a certain way, you know? That needs to change. I’ve spoken to a few guys in the industry about gender inequality and they have the opinion that, “If you’re good, you’ll get the gig”. What’s your opinion on this? Oh, well, that's just completely not true, is it? This industry is still very much dominated by men. Certain genres are even more so dominated by men. That is so disappointing to hear. Have you spoken to any other women about this? J: Oh, everyone thinks it’s bullshit. Of course it is. You know, that just further exemplifies my point that there needs to be so much more of a focus on educating men. That’s an ignorant comment, and I would think that there’s no doubt that the people who said that actually genuinely believe that it is the case. Boys: there is so much that you don’t know; there’s so much going on that you don't see, or worse, have come to normalise. You say that because the issue at hand doesn’t affect or impact you personally, and never has or will. I vividly remember playing a gig with Japanese Wallpaper when I was 17. At the merch desk after the show, I had these drunk boys towering over me, wrapping their arms around me without my permission. Like, the number of times I’ve had a guy run up to me after a show and assume he can hug me, kiss on the cheek even, or tell me “you’re hot”… that kind of stuff is so rampant. And what’s worse is, I remember at that particular gig, being so conscious of what I was doing, and assuring that I didn’t do the ‘wrong thing’, or behave too defensively… I was a young girl, I had no idea how to handle that scenario and shouldn't have had to. I just had this ingrained misogyny in my own brain telling me to “be nice” and “not make things difficult”. If there was anything that I could say to those guys who have that opinion of “if you’re good you’ll get the gig”… (apart from the fact that they need to do their research - remember when there were only 9 women in total on the 2018 Falls Festival line up?)… actually look for the gender inequality, I promise it won’t take you long to see it. Notice the issue rather than dismissing it. Look for the mistreatment, and then call it out. If you notice behaviour that doesn’t quite sit right, say something. Hold your mates accountable. Have the conversations, and do the work. The chain effect that I can only imagine that would have, would do a lot of good. Keep up to date with Gretta here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article.

  • Scott Tinkler: Cancel Culture and James Morrison

    Written by Jake Amy In the last fortnight, it emerged that James Morrison, a titanic figure in the Australian jazz community, wrote a character reference for a male student, helping to strike a plea deal to 'downgrade his two rape charges to indecent assault'. After a surge in demand on social media for one of the Australian jazz “boys club” members to speak up about the misogyny that has plagued the scene, Attaboi invited 50 elite male musicians to discuss the issue. Only three replied, and one declined. Internationally-renowned trumpeter Scott Tinkler accepted our request for an interview. Jake spoke with him at length about the Morrison incident and the role of men in addressing inequality. Here is an abridged version of the conversation. Recently, Australian jazz musician and educator James Morrison wrote a character reference for a student who admitted to indecent assault. What do you think about this? It’s very difficult to comment on James writing a character reference for someone as I only read the ABC article. I don’t know what James’s relationship is with the perpetrator, but personally, it feels like he’s taking sides. To allow a student (who’s under a curfew) to enter Victoria in order to perform with his band, especially in a town where the victim was living, is just outrageous. It’s very hard to see any way that James will come out looking ‘good’ on that front. Not that it should matter. A whole other level of the problem comes from people worrying about how they are perceived politically. People are scared to comment on this James Morrison issue because it may affect their future relationship with him. Your relationship with James Morrison is not as important as upholding women's rights. (I guess I can talk so openly about this because any power that might be perceived of me or my name in the scene doesn't actually equate to anything. I'm not part of any university or corporation. No one has power over me and I don't have power over anyone else. I'm just a freelance musician living on a little island down south. I have nothing to lose. By talking to you about this, maybe I can actually learn something about the way I think). We could say that James wanted to help support both the victim and the perpetrator to help them through this? Maybe he didn't want to just ‘cancel’ this kid? I think it doesn’t matter what the reason is: the support to the perpetrator should not be given in the public realm. I think the way to do it is to offer therapy and change the way they think about life. I think James’s support given to the perpetrator is allowable to be very angry at. Why has there been such a code of silence in the jazz scene about these issues? It seems to me that there might be a large part of historical jazz culture which is quite misogynist. I mean, without a doubt there was. But I think the problem is a ‘systemic’ thing. Inequality exists throughout society on such a huge level and we can’t just say that there’s a problem in the jazz scene without addressing the fact that this problem exists in every aspect of society. I think the ‘code of silence’ you say may exist is not a vindictive thing, it’s just a horrible reflection of society and how people live. When I was younger, this was something that I didn’t think about. You’d hear little niggles here and there about things…  ‘I can’t believe that teacher is going out with that young girl’... but it just wasn’t as open, as talked about, as acknowledged, and as in-your-face as it is now. Nowadays, these subjects are talked about more openly. The change is fantastic, but these issues are so deep and very systemic, and I think the level of inequality is rife beyond just ‘men and women’. (There’s obviously inequalities between people of differing colours, and on top of that, if you’re on the lower end of the income spectrum, to even think about having the life of a musician is pretty privileged anyway). "Inequality exists throughout society on such a huge level and we can’t just say that there’s a problem in the jazz scene without addressing the fact that this problem exists in every aspect of society." Why aren't we hearing from the older generation? I just don't know… Perhaps discussion is most visible online, and the perception that we’re not hearing from the older generation might be because they're simply not on Facebook. I guess I'm an older person now. Personally, I don't find Facebook to be a very healthy space in a lot of ways. Certainly I find it difficult to have discussions like this on there. Invariable trolls. As far as virtue signalling goes, I feel I've been far more active behind-the-scenes than I have on social media. If we're not hearing from the older generation on social media, I’d like to think that those people are actually being very active offline. The whole virtue signalling thing is a very touchy area… In a world with something such as ‘cancel culture’, things could go very badly for you if you hold a position at a university and you do say something which is interpreted a certain way. I have a problem with that. As a society, we need to be careful of knee-jerk reactions. It can be counterproductive to say ‘you're fucked, you’re out of here, we all hate you’. It can scare people away from growing. It should be okay for people to make a ‘slightly wrong’ comment because discussion is so important. (There's also a fine balance between allowing people to be wrong and convincing them that they're right). There are misogynist, racist musicians who you do find out about on places like Facebook. Those people do need to be taught in a positive, healthy way. In fact, I got ‘cancelled’ by someone the other day for no other reason than liking a post on Instagram. People might say, ‘oh God, that's typical of someone like him, he doesn't even realise he's being misogynist’. The truth is, they might be very right. I just need to be told. Then I'll learn and hopefully I won't do it again. I’ve definitely had ingrained, socialised ideas within myself that I didn't even realise I had. So many men I’ve talked to have the opinion that ‘if you’re good, you’ll get booked’. In relation to the recent issue, does that mean that ‘if you’re good, then criminal charges don’t matter’? That statement totally highlights the severe level of inequality in the scene. I would like to see James make a public statement on this. I'd like to watch his face and see him try to explain to us why he supported this perpetrator. Is it really just because he's a good musician? Being a good musician doesn't mean you're a good person. I was watching Alexandria Ocasio Cortez, a senator in America. She’s this young, vibrant, intelligent woman who was verbally abused by Ted Yoho, another senator. She rightly outed him. He apologized, but she said, ‘I'm not accepting your apology. I'm the same age as your daughter and you’re calling me a “fucking bitch”. It doesn't matter if you've got daughters. It doesn't matter if you’ve got a wife. It doesn't matter if you love your mother. You still abuse women’. It was a powerful speech. Just because you've got daughters and you love them, doesn't mean you can't be a rapist. Facilitating education is obviously a huge responsibility. Do you think that the values of our educators in tertiary systems reflect the values that we want to pass on to the next generation of musicians? I mean, we actually need to pass our values onto students much earlier than at university. Somewhere along the line in primary school and high school, females drop out of music. Historically, there've been a hell of a lot more male auditions for university music courses, compared to female. So, it's really not just at the university level that this needs to be addressed. It needs to be addressed well before that. There's a lot of boy-ish behaviour that occurs in high school. That teenage boy attitude probably needs to be put in check more than anything. Unfortunately, some boys carry their teenage attitudes into their 20’s and through into university. The education system has definitely changed a lot in the past 20 years. Places like Monash University and the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA) are actively hiring amazing women and seeking parity in the student body. It’s so fantastic to see empowering, female role models such as Andrea Keller and Sunny Kim being employed. J: What do you think about the implementation of quotas in universities for staffing and student intake? It's incredibly complex. It would be lovely to see parity in student intake, but I mean, one year I’d love to see 80% or even 90% women, just because most of the students were that good on a meritocracy level and it just so happened to go that way.  My wife pointed out to me that there may be an overreaction to quotas. If we do try to achieve a quota, letting more women into a course may not be such a bad thing. Men have been so privileged in the past… Surely it doesn't hurt for there to be a bit of an opposite reaction for a while to try and balance it out. Have you experienced sexist ‘locker room’ talk, and is that when only males are present? Oh yeah, I reckon. And it depends on the scene, too. There's a ‘functional’ music world, like the ‘commercial’ music world, and in my experience, it can be a lot more misogynist and blokey. The ‘creative’ music scene is another sort of world that I've existed in since I was in my mid to late 20s, and I think it’s different. It’s such a different environment when you're playing in small jazz groups or working with people like Andrea Keller or international artists like Cindy Blackman. Do you think that there are different expectations from bookers for female and male musicians? I think that bookers do have different expectations. I think that there’s an expectation for women to ‘dress’. Not seductively, but in a way that they will have a ‘look’ about them. I don’t think that anybody would ever have a go at a guy about the way they dressed. I may be speaking out of my ass here, but this is actually what I see in advertising. But then again, I don’t think that my favorite female artists have ever presented themselves that way at all… For example, Linda Oh seems to be in control of her image. She presents herself honestly. I guess the thing is, it's not the really strong people that we have to worry about. It's the people who might be influenced the other way. [Again] it's not just a jazz thing: that’s a society thing. If you were tasked with forming a group to educate and rehabilitate young men in the music scene, where would you start? I actually think that the young men in the music scene would rehabilitate the older people in the music scene a lot better. Nowadays, I think there's a lot more ‘wokeness’ happening in the music scene, but young men still need to work with young women, play music together, and get the fuck over it. There was an all-male band who posted a big rave about supporting women in music. It was really positive and then someone else commented something along the lines of, ‘yeah, but you're all white blokes… what are you doing about it?’. I think that’s an interesting debate, and had the band leader sacked two guys and replaced them with women for the sake of ‘looking better’, that would not be the best way to go. There are other ways to allow women their strength. If someone asked me ‘how can we do better as men in the scene?’, I don't want to relinquish my identity [as a male]. I think [guys] need to be really conscious of how our actions and words affect others. It’s not that dissimilar from picking up your instrument and improvising. You need to have the same attitude with music as with the people around you. When you play, you'll learn how notes change in the environment that you're in. You'll learn how to change the sound of the chord, or the rhythm, or the texture, the tune or where the tunes are heading to, or what's happening dynamically in that situation. It's the same with your actions and words. We need to address those things and learn from them. When you play, you’ve got to have no fear in doing what you think is right. Keep up to date with Scott here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. ​ Thank you dearly to Scott for your time. ​ Interview with Scott conducted by phone on 24 July 2020. This is an abbreviated version of our discussion. Article first published 26 July 2020. Photographs taken by Andrew Cowen and Shervin Lainez. Written and edited by Jake Amy and Hugh Heller with contributions from Yara Alkurd, Rose Bassett, Ella Clair and Emma Volard.

  • Scott Tinkler: Cancel Culture and James Morrison

    By Jake Amy, Hugh Heller, Yara Alkurd, Rose Bassett, Ella Clair and Emma Volard In the last fortnight, it emerged that James Morrison, a titanic figure in the Australian jazz community, wrote a character reference for a male student, helping to strike a plea deal to 'downgrade his two rape charges to indecent assault'. After a surge in demand on social media for one of the Australian jazz “boys club” members to speak up about the misogyny that has plagued the scene, Attaboi invited 50 elite male musicians to discuss the issue. Only three replied, and one declined. Internationally-renowned trumpeter Scott Tinkler accepted our request for an interview. Jake spoke with him at length about the Morrison incident and the role of men in addressing inequality. Here is an abridged version of the conversation. Recently, Australian jazz musician and educator James Morrison wrote a character reference for a student who admitted to indecent assault. What do you think about this? It’s very difficult to comment on James writing a character reference for someone as I only read the ABC article. I don’t know what James’s relationship is with the perpetrator, but personally, it feels like he’s taking sides. To allow a student (who’s under a curfew) to enter Victoria in order to perform with his band, especially in a town where the victim was living, is just outrageous. It’s very hard to see any way that James will come out looking ‘good’ on that front. Not that it should matter. A whole other level of the problem comes from people worrying about how they are perceived politically. People are scared to comment on this James Morrison issue because it may affect their future relationship with him. Your relationship with James Morrison is not as important as upholding women's rights. (I guess I can talk so openly about this because any power that might be perceived of me or my name in the scene doesn't actually equate to anything. I'm not part of any university or corporation. No one has power over me and I don't have power over anyone else. I'm just a freelance musician living on a little island down south. I have nothing to lose. By talking to you about this, maybe I can actually learn something about the way I think). We could say that James wanted to help support both the victim and the perpetrator to help them through this? Maybe he didn't want to just ‘cancel’ this kid? I think it doesn’t matter what the reason is: the support to the perpetrator should not be given in the public realm. I think the way to do it is to offer therapy and change the way they think about life. I think James’s support given to the perpetrator is allowable to be very angry at. Why has there been such a code of silence in the jazz scene about these issues? It seems to me that there might be a large part of historical jazz culture which is quite misogynist. I mean, without a doubt there was. But I think the problem is a ‘systemic’ thing. Inequality exists throughout society on such a huge level and we can’t just say that there’s a problem in the jazz scene without addressing the fact that this problem exists in every aspect of society. I think the ‘code of silence’ you say may exist is not a vindictive thing, it’s just a horrible reflection of society and how people live. When I was younger, this was something that I didn’t think about. You’d hear little niggles here and there about things…  ‘I can’t believe that teacher is going out with that young girl’... but it just wasn’t as open, as talked about, as acknowledged, and as in-your-face as it is now. Nowadays, these subjects are talked about more openly. The change is fantastic, but these issues are so deep and very systemic, and I think the level of inequality is rife beyond just ‘men and women’. (There’s obviously inequalities between people of differing colours, and on top of that, if you’re on the lower end of the income spectrum, to even think about having the life of a musician is pretty privileged anyway). "Inequality exists throughout society on such a huge level and we can’t just say that there’s a problem in the jazz scene without addressing the fact that this problem exists in every aspect of society." Why aren't we hearing from the older generation? I just don't know… Perhaps discussion is most visible online, and the perception that we’re not hearing from the older generation might be because they're simply not on Facebook. I guess I'm an older person now. Personally, I don't find Facebook to be a very healthy space in a lot of ways. Certainly I find it difficult to have discussions like this on there. Invariable trolls. As far as virtue signalling goes, I feel I've been far more active behind-the-scenes than I have on social media. If we're not hearing from the older generation on social media, I’d like to think that those people are actually being very active offline. The whole virtue signalling thing is a very touchy area… In a world with something such as ‘cancel culture’, things could go very badly for you if you hold a position at a university and you do say something which is interpreted a certain way. I have a problem with that. As a society, we need to be careful of knee-jerk reactions. It can be counterproductive to say ‘you're fucked, you’re out of here, we all hate you’. It can scare people away from growing. It should be okay for people to make a ‘slightly wrong’ comment because discussion is so important. (There's also a fine balance between allowing people to be wrong and convincing them that they're right). There are misogynist, racist musicians who you do find out about on places like Facebook. Those people do need to be taught in a positive, healthy way. In fact, I got ‘cancelled’ by someone the other day for no other reason than liking a post on Instagram. People might say, ‘oh God, that's typical of someone like him, he doesn't even realise he's being misogynist’. The truth is, they might be very right. I just need to be told. Then I'll learn and hopefully I won't do it again. I’ve definitely had ingrained, socialised ideas within myself that I didn't even realise I had. So many men I’ve talked to have the opinion that ‘if you’re good, you’ll get booked’. In relation to the recent issue, does that mean that ‘if you’re good, then criminal charges don’t matter’? That statement totally highlights the severe level of inequality in the scene. I would like to see James make a public statement on this. I'd like to watch his face and see him try to explain to us why he supported this perpetrator. Is it really just because he's a good musician? Being a good musician doesn't mean you're a good person. I was watching Alexandria Ocasio Cortez, a senator in America. She’s this young, vibrant, intelligent woman who was verbally abused by Ted Yoho, another senator. She rightly outed him. He apologized, but she said, ‘I'm not accepting your apology. I'm the same age as your daughter and you’re calling me a “fucking bitch”. It doesn't matter if you've got daughters. It doesn't matter if you’ve got a wife. It doesn't matter if you love your mother. You still abuse women’. It was a powerful speech. Just because you've got daughters and you love them, doesn't mean you can't be a rapist. Facilitating education is obviously a huge responsibility. Do you think that the values of our educators in tertiary systems reflect the values that we want to pass on to the next generation of musicians? I mean, we actually need to pass our values onto students much earlier than at university. Somewhere along the line in primary school and high school, females drop out of music. Historically, there've been a hell of a lot more male auditions for university music courses, compared to female. So, it's really not just at the university level that this needs to be addressed. It needs to be addressed well before that. There's a lot of boy-ish behaviour that occurs in high school. That teenage boy attitude probably needs to be put in check more than anything. Unfortunately, some boys carry their teenage attitudes into their 20’s and through into university. The education system has definitely changed a lot in the past 20 years. Places like Monash University and the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA) are actively hiring amazing women and seeking parity in the student body. It’s so fantastic to see empowering, female role models such as Andrea Keller and Sunny Kim being employed. J: What do you think about the implementation of quotas in universities for staffing and student intake? It's incredibly complex. It would be lovely to see parity in student intake, but I mean, one year I’d love to see 80% or even 90% women, just because most of the students were that good on a meritocracy level and it just so happened to go that way.  My wife pointed out to me that there may be an overreaction to quotas. If we do try to achieve a quota, letting more women into a course may not be such a bad thing. Men have been so privileged in the past… Surely it doesn't hurt for there to be a bit of an opposite reaction for a while to try and balance it out. Have you experienced sexist ‘locker room’ talk, and is that when only males are present? Oh yeah, I reckon. And it depends on the scene, too. There's a ‘functional’ music world, like the ‘commercial’ music world, and in my experience, it can be a lot more misogynist and blokey. The ‘creative’ music scene is another sort of world that I've existed in since I was in my mid to late 20s, and I think it’s different. It’s such a different environment when you're playing in small jazz groups or working with people like Andrea Keller or international artists like Cindy Blackman. Do you think that there are different expectations from bookers for female and male musicians? I think that bookers do have different expectations. I think that there’s an expectation for women to ‘dress’. Not seductively, but in a way that they will have a ‘look’ about them. I don’t think that anybody would ever have a go at a guy about the way they dressed. I may be speaking out of my ass here, but this is actually what I see in advertising. But then again, I don’t think that my favorite female artists have ever presented themselves that way at all… For example, Linda Oh seems to be in control of her image. She presents herself honestly. I guess the thing is, it's not the really strong people that we have to worry about. It's the people who might be influenced the other way. [Again] it's not just a jazz thing: that’s a society thing. If you were tasked with forming a group to educate and rehabilitate young men in the music scene, where would you start? I actually think that the young men in the music scene would rehabilitate the older people in the music scene a lot better. Nowadays, I think there's a lot more ‘wokeness’ happening in the music scene, but young men still need to work with young women, play music together, and get the fuck over it. There was an all-male band who posted a big rave about supporting women in music. It was really positive and then someone else commented something along the lines of, ‘yeah, but you're all white blokes… what are you doing about it?’. I think that’s an interesting debate, and had the band leader sacked two guys and replaced them with women for the sake of ‘looking better’, that would not be the best way to go. There are other ways to allow women their strength. If someone asked me ‘how can we do better as men in the scene?’, I don't want to relinquish my identity [as a male]. I think [guys] need to be really conscious of how our actions and words affect others. It’s not that dissimilar from picking up your instrument and improvising. You need to have the same attitude with music as with the people around you. When you play, you'll learn how notes change in the environment that you're in. You'll learn how to change the sound of the chord, or the rhythm, or the texture, the tune or where the tunes are heading to, or what's happening dynamically in that situation. It's the same with your actions and words. We need to address those things and learn from them. When you play, you’ve got to have no fear in doing what you think is right. Keep up to date with Scott here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article.

  • Charlotte Abroms: Gender Inequality in so-called Australia

    Written by Charlotte Abroms and Jake Amy From Jake: Around March/April, Rose and I sat down to discuss an issue that had been getting on our nerves for some time. In late 2019, we both posted a Facebook status calling for specific experiences surrounding gendered discrimination. I couldn't believe how many comments and private messages I received... Crude passing comments. Inequitable opportunities. Belittlement. Unconscious discrimination. Stigmas I didn't think still existed. Wake the fuck up, Jake. My naivety as a privileged white male had blinded me from realising the blatant extent of the gender divide. It had been staring me in the face for years. Why was no one in my tertiary music course talking about this?! I was so angry at myself. I felt that my previous silence spoke volumes and it became so obvious that we (the male gender) disproportionately perpetuate this shit and how we must step up our game. It was so good to speak to Rose about this. Previously, I had liked to think that I was supportive of women in the scene. I realised that I needed to take any opportunity I could to facilitate so many more conversations. Rose and I knew we would have Attaboi as a platform to push minority voices, so, we both present this gender inequality series to you. I still have so much more to learn. As does any male reading this. From Charlotte: I would like to preface this article by saying that I am writing from my personal experience as a female manager. I acknowledge that there are an array of genders people identify as. When I use the terms ‘male’ and ‘female’, I would like to acknowledge that there are also people who don’t fit into those terms and likely also experience prejudice. I would also like to acknowledge that there are men of varying races, ethnicities and sexualities that experience discrimination within the workplace. These answers are specifically addressing the misogyny I have experienced personally, without discounting or excluding the experiences of others. Could you describe, if any, the worst misogyny that you’ve experienced working in the music industry? I have only worked in the music industry full time for three years. Prior to that I worked in acting and creative agencies. There’s the obvious misogyny I have experienced in the workplace; the boss who asked me to wear heels, the client who assumed I was an assistant and asked me to do a coffee run, the boss who joked that I had to wear a bikini on casual Fridays, the colleague who asked me when I was going to have babies (in a boardroom meeting in front of 15 clients I didn’t know), the few men who have raised their voices at me aggressively on the phone for no justifiable reason. The notion of misogyny I have experienced within the music industry has taken me a long time to articulate. Historically, there is a music manager archetype. He wears a suit, he has slick hair, he drives an expensive car. He’s often controlling and dominant. He commands a lot of respect. He usually has money. Sometimes he’s a bit more rock ‘n roll, he gets loose with the band, he thrives off attention from female fans. He’s usually a middle aged man. He’s always a man (and he always has slick hair). Often we find out he’s robbed the band. He’s the guy we see in the films, we read about him in the news and the autobiographies. I’ve met him a couple of times in real life actually! I’m nothing like him. Like any ingrained discrimination, people cast judgements on people they perceive to be ‘different’. In my experience, some men within the music industry are more aligned with this archetype, or they have an expectation that managers should be like him. Occasionally from these men, I’ve experienced a subtle sense of hostility, a somewhat underhanded punishment. These punishments have come in all forms; in an office it might be a little put-down (negging I believe it’s called in the dating world), a disregard for the woman’s input, interrupting the women in the room, closed body language towards the women and open body language towards the men, encouraging her idea until it almost comes to fruition and then pulling it for no real reason. I’ve experienced men who have tried to prevent my progression. In a venue it might be completely ignoring the women in the room, shaking the hands and greeting the men while not even making eye contact with the women. It might be the bouncers questioning the honesty and legitimacy of the female manager when she tries to go backstage with her AAA pass. It might be the venue manager asking the male session players to make key decisions and knowingly ignoring the manager who has just introduced herself. For an artist, it’s sometimes crew inferring that she doesn’t know how to use her own instruments and gear. What I have come to see and understand is that there is often an expectation for a female manager to provide feminine qualities. Women are supposed to be compassionate and empathetic, right? They are often nurturers. Sometimes these sensitive so-called ‘feminine’ qualities are perceived as maternal, you hear the term ‘Tour Mum’ thrown around a lot. If that’s your role, then there’s an expectation that you step aside to allow the men to fulfil their ‘masculine’ roles. As a female manager, I am taught not to rob him of respect or his position of leadership and authority. I learnt about this topic listening to a podcast with Ezra Klein and Kate Mann. I was searching for answers. I’ve been victim to the unnecessary penalties for unknowingly competing for a leadership role. I have never seen it as competition, I like collaboration. My clients appointed me with this leadership role, so in order to fulfil it and be the best I can be as a manager, I’ve had to challenge these social norms and expectations. I’ve observed within myself that I carry a lot more guilt than my male counterparts. I’ve been a much more apologetic leader at times, than what I have observed of them. What if I am all of those things? What if I am nurturing, empathetic, compassionate, sensitive, but I am also a capable leader? I didn’t understand this narrative until I had experienced enough small ‘punishments’ to really delve into the psychology behind it. There were too many times I didn’t feel I was being heard. I’ve been faced with more resentment when I have challenged an idea, than when a male has challenged that very idea. I’ve observed being interrupted more than the men in the room. I’ve wondered why the lack of eye contact, specifically with me? I might have come up with the idea, but I’ve been subtly excluded in an email thread because I am not a ‘bro’ or a ‘lad’ or a ‘gent’ or a ‘chap’ or a ‘mate’. The obvious solution to me is that we can’t just destroy these social norms around the expectation of the woman. We have to also look at societal expectations of men. It’s pivotal for everyone to understand that women are also capable leaders and that should not be threatening to other men in the room. There can also be more than one leader, it doesn’t matter what gender they identify as. It’s equally as important to acknowledge that men are allowed to be vulnerable, sensitive, compassionate and empathetic. Now more than ever! Luckily I work for myself, so I’ve had the ability to be able to choose the people I work with. Our teams are made up of clever, kind, caring, respectful people who don’t showcase this kind of behaviour, regardless of their gender. "Sadly, when I have seen powerful men call out gender inequality to other powerful men, the message has been understood more clearly and quickly than when I’ve tried." What barriers have presented themselves with managing female artists? I don’t know what it’s like to be a male manager working with a male band, so it’s difficult to pinpoint the barriers. What opportunities would any of us get, if we weren’t already who we are? I’ve had the pleasure of working with both male and female artists. I cannot pinpoint a difference in the artists themselves, based on their genders. I work with artists because of how their music connects to me, their creative ideas, ambition, followed by their moral compass. Everyone I’ve managed (men and women) have strong feminist values. They all consistently have a great sense of humour, so that has worked out well. The obvious barrier I’ve experienced is when the artists I manage are being asked to do something because of their gender. Often people are open about it, in saying that they are asking because they would like more women on the bill, or the panel or to feature more female-identifying artists on their playlist. I’m in two minds about this. I think this is showing signs of positive progression. People you least expect are becoming more considerate about diverse line ups when it comes to race and gender. At the same time, when they point out that it’s the primary reason they are asking, it can be devaluing to an artist. It’s not often you hear the term “male musician” or “male manager”, but we are often approached because they are looking to include more “female musicians” and “female managers”. It can be obvious (and again, devaluing) when it’s an afterthought. At the moment it’s a conscious effort, so I can see why people are spelling it out. The hope is that eventually it comes naturally to include people of all walks of life, because their music is good. What barriers have you experienced as a female manager? Again, I would need to have experienced being a male manager to answer this properly. I have a lot of close male friends who are managers, I don’t see too much of a difference in what we collectively experience. We go through similar challenges and successes. I am a firm believer that success comes first and foremost from the music. If the music connects to an audience, the manager’s job is to facilitate, build and guide. I have been lucky to work with artists whose music has resonated deeply with people and collectively we’ve been in receipt of some wonderful opportunities. When it comes to these opportunities, I haven’t noticed gender being a barrier, as a manager. I was recently in a situation where I was a guest backstage at a festival where all of the managers of the bands playing the festival were men. I found myself more drawn to spending time with artist friends than the managers. It didn’t feel like I was part of their community. This stuff was never obvious to me when I was younger but through a number of disappointing experiences, I’ve become more aware of the energy in the room. I think I’ve probably received a few less high fives than some male managers, metaphorically and literally, when the artists I work with have achieved similar milestones to the artists they work with. I will say I’ve been interrupted a lot, by people who I don’t work directly with. The people on our teams are progressive in their thinking. We work with people who don’t subscribe to that kind of behaviour. Within our team, we receive a lot of high fives. And we don’t need high fives these days anyway, there’s a viral pandemic! In 2020, it’s bizarre to think we are working in an industry that still has gender inequality. Why do you think it’s such a persistent/resilient issue? Sadly, it’s across every industry. I have only worked in creative industries which are probably a lot more progressive than most. I can’t imagine what it might be like in other fields and within other cultures. The most important thing is that people are educating themselves and others. It’s important that people are listening to experiences of minorities and becoming more inclusive and understanding. Misogyny is engrained in our society, males aren’t the only people that can exhibit misogynistic behaviour. Like any movement, it can take time to make significant changes. I’m thankful to my mother’s generation who fought for women’s rights in the 70’s. Because of that, I never questioned if I was any different to a man when it came came to my ambition. It took a long time to understand that I was experiencing sexism. We need to keep fast-tracking the process by opening everyone up to seeing people as people, as equals - no matter their gender, race, sexuality. It baffles me that anyone ever thought otherwise, but unfortunately I’ve learned a lot of people do. We can’t just speak about it though, we need to provide solutions. In relation to the amazing artists you book on a global scale, and thinking about Australia and its music scene, where do you think we sit on a global scale regarding gender equality? I have definitely observed a lot more women in senior positions within the music industry in other countries. I can see there are efforts being made by people in positions of power within Australia to bring this issue to the forefront and call out bad behaviour. It’s important that it’s not just women’s voices speaking about women’s issues. I’ve been in situations where high up men have called out possible gender-inequality in meetings and that’s also very effective… dare I say, more effective? I was in London a couple of years ago where a study came out about the lack of women in senior roles at record labels in Australia. Being new to the full-time music world myself, I had noticed that it wasn’t just a lack of women, but a general lack of diversity. The person (the head of the company actually!) asked me why it was this way in Australia. She said, “What’s the deal with Australia, why don’t they hire more women in senior roles?”. I really didn’t know the answer. I don’t know. Does anyone know? My friend and I discussed this yesterday and she thinks it’s because it benefits men to stay at the top of the pyramid as the most powerful, the face of the job. She said, “Learning more about the experiences of women and being more inclusive would be inconvenient/uncomfortable for them”. A young artist told me that they learnt at school that you have to “see it to be it”, so I’ve been forthcoming in speaking on panels and doing guest lectures, I want young women who love music to know that they can be a music manager. This is where I can forgive the sub-section phrase “female manager”, because if it encourages a younger generation, then it’s igniting change. As a female-identifying manager, do you find that you are sought out more often than male-identifying managers to talk on these issues, and can you elaborate on whether you think it’s a good or a bad thing for men to reach out to women to discuss these issues? Absolutely! There’s this great quote in Fleabag where they’re discussing the Women In Business Award and the fantastic character Belinda who was awarded the ‘Best Woman in Business’ (played by Kristin Scott Thomas) describes it as “infantilising bollocks.” She says, "It’s a subsection of success - it’s the fucking children’s table of awards". This dialogue helped me understand why I felt uncomfortable about female-specific awards and events. I don’t want to be asked to do something purely because I am a woman, I want to be asked because I’m good at my job and work with fantastic artists. I don’t want to be considered a sub-section, I want to be a manager, not a ‘female manager.’ Where I have an internal debate though, is that I want to be proud that I’m a female manager, in a largely male dominated role, and I want to be the “see it to be it” for younger managers. Talking on panels and writing interviews so frequently about this issue can sometimes be exhausting. I do it because I understand that it can help make positive changes, but sometimes I would prefer the focus was on the amazing things the artists I’ve worked with have achieved. It’s so important that everyone is asked to speak on gender inequality, not just women. If everyone is prompted to think about it in the same way, everyone will be more aware of the subtleties that it took me so long to understand. As I’ve said, sadly, when I have seen powerful men call out gender inequality to other powerful men, the message has been understood more clearly and quickly than when I’ve tried. I will reiterate that it’s important that men (not just men, everyone!) are also encouraged to be vulnerable, gentle and emotionally-driven. It is unhealthy to feel like those raw, wonderful, expressive human traits are to be hidden. Keep up to date with Charlotte here We would like to acknowledge the Wurundjeri people who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we work and live, and recognise their continuing connection in our community. We would like to pay respect to the Elders both past and present of the Kulin Nation and extend that respect to other Indigenous Australians who have read this article. ​ Thank you dearly to Charlotte for your time. ​ Question responses written by Charlotte on 13 June 2020. Article first published 19 July 2020. Photographs taken by Lily Watkin, Ben McNamara and Michelle Grace Hunder. Edited by Jake Amy with contributions from Rose Bassett.

  • Facebook
  • Spotify
  • Instagram

Attaboi music magazine