Interview: Kate Ceberano on money, creativity, performing live, keeping secrets
The Australian singer, songwriter and author on keeping backroom secrets, why too much cash can stifle creativity, and controlling her adrenaline to not peak too early on stage.
Australian singer, songwriter and author Kate Ceberano, 57, on keeping backroom secrets, why too much cash can stifle creativity, and controlling her adrenaline to not peak too early on stage.
The dirty little secret of being a professional singer… “She answers with a bawdy laugh!” (laughs heartily). There is no dirty little secret, although feels like it at times, because I’m often in the service entry out the back, metaphorically. I see a lot of background [insights] to politicians, royalty, big corporations; I see the dynamics of bad management, good management, suffering staff members. underpaid housekeepers ... Sometimes, I think that’s the dirty underbelly; it’s the Bukowski part of being a singer for sale. I feel like I have to host a lot of secrets on behalf of other people.
The last time I had to say no… I do get asked to do some ridiculous things. Someone asked me to sing an anthem for a brand new country that apparently was being established. I said, “I wouldn’t mind some more information about what kind of country this is…” (laughs) It was the most amazing amount of money, but for all I knew, I could be supporting something weird that’s going to have a backfire on me. That was probably the thing I can recall saying no to.
In the moments leading up to taking the stage… I’m very strange before a concert. I pace like a circus animal in a cage. I’m half loving the idea that, in just a few short minutes, I’m going to be on view in front of everyone, with my pants down; that’s the feeling. And yet, I’m half turned-on, tuned up, ready for it. All the adrenals kick in; they start to poison me. You’ve got to just keep it steady and don’t peak too soon. (pause) I hate that feeling, actually. I don’t know how sports people handle it. I can barely handle it. It’s sort of Pavlovian: the minute that the adrenals start, you could be singing for five people or you could be singing for 500,000. It doesn’t matter: it all feels like running towards imminent death. (laughs)
Immediately after a performance… I go straight out into a queue, often, of autograph seekers and whatnot, which is totally lovely. I meet and greet everyone. It usually takes about an hour and 40 minutes after the show. A couple of dozen-odd signatures, and chats about this and that; that’s my comedown, really. It’s gentle, and I get to hear feedback straightaway. I would hate to be an actress and not know until the film was delivered how my performance went.
The first money I made was… earning $600 to $800, cash in hand, every week at the age of 14. I had three dedicated (singing) gigs every week, and it may as well have been Monopoly money for what it meant to me. At that time, it was a wonderful, joyous way to play with the concept of money: nothing was too serious. I think sometimes creativity can be really ruined by too much available cash at its inception point. Because the artist, if they’re doing it for money, then the whole motivation changes, and they can be owned creatively. I just didn’t want to do that as a kid.
When it comes to money today… I miss the aesthetic of having a wad of cash in hand; I used to find that really fun. My idea of money at the moment is shifting and changing. I hate feeling nervous about it, but it’s definitely something to consider when you’ve got kids and you want to make sure that they’re all set up. My daughter (Gypsy) is a performing artist as well, a singer-songwriter, and I want to make sure she’s got independent cash to make her own choices creatively. I’d hate for her to have to take any advances, or to have not fulfilled her vision of what she wants to do first. I’d love for her to be able to pay for everything, right at the get-go ... but we’ll see.
Collaborating with other artists … has always got the best out of me. When I’ve had to be too solitary, it hasn’t ever worked. In fact, the most seductive collaboration I ever had was when I was physically isolated, but I was writing for Steve Kilbey (of The Church) – an artist who I’d never met, but have adored my whole life – and for a singer, songwriter and well-respected music journalist, Sean Sennett. The fact that I was writing for them from a distance, I found it really heady, and I worked 10 times harder, trying to imagine how they would receive it. It was quite a dance (and resulted in the 2020 album The Dangerous Age).
When I’m performing live… I try to make every moment count. I’m often driving my band to distraction, because I’ll have read the room, and I’ll change the set completely. There’s this universal sphincter that goes (screams): “No, no, no, she’s doing it again!”, and a flurry of charts come out (laughs). But I think when you are live, the exercise is to demonstrate that you’re not ringing anything in, and you haven’t planned for this: it’s something that’s happening in the moment, for them, and for them only.
Kate Ceberano’s national orchestra tour, My Life is a Symphony, continues in Brisbane (December 2), Perth (Dec 9), Sydney (January 3) and Melbourne (April 27). Her illustrated memoir, Unsung, is out now via Simon & Schuster.
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