From music to government and back again. 

I enjoyed a long stint as a music publicist – freelance and at labels. Working with internationals was a thrill, but I particularly enjoyed touchpoints with the early careers of Illy, Birds of Tokyo, Xavier Rudd, Allday, Seth Sentry, and Courtney Barnett. 

After ten years, I decided to leave the industry.

I was offered work with the ABC, then landed a dream gig leading media and comms at Museums Victoria. I got hooked on the complexities of culture, and grew to love strategy, issues and risks: things like decolonisation, repatriation, curatorial censorship, and the ethics of commercial fossil dealing 🦖.

In 2020, instead of returning to the Museum after maternity leave #1, I chased a secondment with the Department of Premier and Cabinet to support Victoria’s pandemic response. I became obsessed with the role of communications in a crisis, and stayed on to work as a strategic comms and media advisor on the housing crisis, First Peoples’ projects like the Referendum, Treaty, and Native Title, and official state events like the Inauguration of the Governor, a visit from the Sultan of Brunei, and state funerals including for Michael Gudinski and Shane Warne.

The depths of government felt new and scary, but I soaked up as much as I could: the mechanics of governance, accessible communication principles, change management, and the fine art of the ministerial media response. I worked alongside strong and talented comms leaders.

In my own time, I was ready to bring my learnings back to music. My 5-year-old said to me, “Do you miss working with bands, Mum?’ Yeah mate, I do.

Fast forward to now: I’ve joined the team at Sound Story, a strategic communications and reputation consultancy grounded in music and tech. It’s the perfect intersection of music + culture + government, and a home for my love of big issues.

I’m most proud of the sidestep I took from music.

In industries driven by passion – particularly media and the arts – career and identity are intertwined. There’s no divide between your social self and work self. I didn’t know who I was without the music industry, and I was curious about how I could grow and learn in other environments.

Leaving wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t sure if I would be back. Detaching myself from the industry triggered the identity crisis I needed. I travelled. I wrote. I enjoyed being a music fan. The time I spent in other fields has been incredibly rewarding, and when I’ve been challenged and grown the most.

In music, my highlights have been pushing press for some of my fave punk and metal bands, touring with Soundwave Festival, running on-ground press at Laneway Festival in Singapore, and supporting album campaigns for Adele, Queens of the Stone Age, and The National.

In government, it’s been contributing to important moments for First Peoples, like the Yoorook Justice Commission, Treaty and the determination to grant Native Title rights to the Eastern Maar People.

I moved from Gunditjmara Country in rural Victoria to Naarm/Melbourne at the height of early-2000’s emo/screamo. I threw myself into pathways at The Push and interned at record labels until somebody gave me a job.

My parents suggested I study a Bachelor of Business at Uni instead of a Music Industry degree. I wasn’t thrilled at the time, but in hindsight, it was wise advice that set me up for a diverse career.

My parents went out of their way to support me to learn music early: classical flute until Year 10, then trombone with the unfulfilled fantasy of joining a ska band. In high school, my art folios were filled with posters for made-up music festivals and sketches of Grinspoon, The Strokes and the Vines.
 
My brother lent me his Nirvana and Oasis CDs and would blast triple j through the house after school. I joined my local FReeZA group and helped put on all-ages shows with Frenzal Rhomb, Bodyjar, One Dollar Short, 28 Days, Airbourne and Mach Pelican.

There was never a Plan B: a career in music was the only goal.

Working in music has never been easy. The issues might change, but the hard slog remains.

At Sound Story, we support our clients to navigate the complex challenges of our industry: how to advocate for Australian music, how to embrace AI responsibly, how to protect the Copyright Act, and how to lead conversations about arts policy and legislation.

My favourite part of my role is crisis communications – being called in to quickly mitigate reputational impact or respond effectively when things go pear-shaped. This could be a cancellation, bad press, or a good-idea-gone-wrong: all symptoms of the broader issues facing our industry, and I love that I get to work in the thick of it.

But overall, I think we’re doing pretty well.

• Natalene Muscat: the best example of leading with care and bringing others up with you.
• Vanja Bezbradica: intentional, clever and grounded. 
• Georgia Cooke: self-assured and values-led.
• Em Kelly and Bec Reato: creative and utterly authentic.

I’m inspired by people who are bold, who innovate or build their own thing.

And everyone who’s ever given me a shot. There have been many.

I live on Gulidjan and Gadubanud Country, and it’s buzzing around here.

I’m impressed at how engaged and embedded regional festivals are with the communities they operate in: Beyond the Valley, Pitch Music & Arts, Meredith, Golden Plains, the Port Fairy Folkie, Down South, Loch Hart, OK Motel are all flying the flag, and Torquay Common now hosts Lookout, SummerSalt and Here Comes the Sun.

I’m often at the Barwon Heads Hotel or Torquay Hotel, both now firmly on the national tour circuit. The intimate shows by the Sound Doctor in Anglesea are a blast. There have been loads of acts landing at the Birregurra Mechanics Hall lately. I’m often at Alt Road for music, pizza and a glass of red. And in Melbourne a lot, of course.

There’s an excellent group of connected music industry people living and working on the Surf Coast and across South West Victoria, doing their bit to elevate our local scene.

‘Havana Moon’, The Rolling Stones in Cuba, 2016.

I was standing in a baseball field with half a million people – they’d all been there since the early morning, jacked up on rum and cigars. It was a free show that marked a monumental shift in the cultural and political landscape of a country that had previously been cut off from global music, culture and arts.   

Their two-plus-hour set was incredible. From an event management perspective, I have never seen so little infrastructure or facilities in place for so many people. It was loose.

• Grow with intention: what skills will the industry need in ten years, and how can you shape yours now to add value later?

• The people you work with are more important than what you’re working on.

• Your skills are transferable. There’s a whole world outside of music, and you shouldn’t be scared to expose yourself to it – it will only make you stronger. 💪

• You’ll make mistakes, lots of them. But the harder you beat yourself up, the harder it will be to learn and move on.

Coffee. Lots of coffee.

If I hit a wall or feel overwhelmed, I might wander around the garden and pull some weeds.

I’m grateful that Sound Story genuinely values flexibility and wellbeing. I can be forthcoming when I need to pick the kids up from school, work from the V-Line, step out for an appointment or take a break to exercise. It’s invaluable to be able to be your whole self at work – warts and all.

My spare time is spent on the Great Ocean Road and in the Otways, tackling projects around our 1930s weatherboard, or asserting a love of music on my kids. I go to Melbourne as often as I can to soak up food, gigs and mates.

House of Pain – Jump Around