The question that breaks Kate Ceberano’s heart
Singer Kate Ceberano opens up about reinventing herself, her surprising connection with Sia – and almost throwing up in terror at the thought of wearing gold lamé tights on national television.
Stellar
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Singer Kate Ceberano opens up about reinventing herself, her surprising connection with Sia – and almost throwing up in terror at the thought of wearing gold lamé tights on national television.
You were on The Masked Singer last year. How was that pitched to you?
“You probably won’t want to do this, but we guarantee you it won’t taint you.” They said they don’t use your career as a platform to ridicule you. It’s not so much a talent contest as an identity contest.
I’m heartbroken we don’t have a Countdown or Hey Hey It’s Saturday these days; there is nowhere Australian artists can get into people’s houses and show kids we have our own music industry here. It seemed like a good format to go, “G’day, I’m an Australian singer who’s been around for donkey’s years.”
It was fun to be like David Bowie or KISS, get dressed by Academy Award-winning costume designers and sing contemporary songs like Billie Eilish. I nearly threw up in terror wearing gold lamé tights on national television.
You’ve just made an album with Steve Kilbey of The Church called The Dangerous Age. Despite you also being in an ’80s band, I’m Talking, is it true you’d never met him?
Never. Isn’t that wild? And we never met during the composing of this album. It was all done by correspondence. Steve made poetry with a writer called Sean Sennett. Sean was the matchmaker between Steve and I; he’d send me the poems. I was sending them back compositions to their poetry.
It’s a perfect way to meet someone on a literary level. In the old days of snail mail you could learn to love someone through the way they spoke on paper. This album has that laboured love-letter vibe to it.
It’s fascinating at 53 you’re making an indie-rock album.
Like Cher, I reckon this is my Moonstruck [1987] era. That was the film that brought her back into herself. There’s a second skin a woman comes into at a certain age. You shed the last skin and invent the next one for the way you want to be for the rest of your life.
You pioneered being genre-less – you were singing jazz standards when you were doing cutting-edge funk with I’m Talking in the ’80s.
You have to apply yourself as an artist like Prince did. He stamped his mighty purple foot and said I won’t be limited by labels.
Last year, you won an ARIA for Best Jazz Album for your record Tryst with Paul Grabowsky. Your previous ARIA was for Brave in 1989. Are awards important?
For a woman in music, and when there’s still so few of us, winning awards tells people you haven’t stopped being an artist. You’re still around. It breaks my heart a little bit when you go to the supermarket and someone asks, “Do you still do music?” I feel like saying, “Do you still breathe every day?”
After last year’s ARIAs, you had a chat to Tones And I. What did you say?
I had to validate her for being entirely herself. She’s so honourable and it’s great to see someone being successful simply for putting their work forward and having it speak for them. I wanted to give her a big squeeze and tell her what a wonderful example she is.
Sia has said she was a huge fan and she used to jump onstage when you played in Adelaide. Have you spoken about working together?
Can you imagine? I lost my mind when I saw that. I remember a young girl coming onstage each time we went to Adelaide. I didn’t even make the connection the grown woman was the young girl.
That would be the dream collaboration of my life. She’s like the apex of high art and pop music now, like a modern Kate Bush, and Kate Bush was always my muse. Come on, Sia, call me!
The Dangerous Age is out now.