‘It does something to the soul’: Meg Washington on the power of singing en masse

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week, he talks to Meg Washington. The singer-songwriter, 38, has won ARIA Awards for albums I Believe You Liar and Batflowers. She voices Calypso in Bluey and is a writer, producer and actor on the movie version of Paul Kelly’s song How to Make Gravy.

Meg Washington: “Singing with other people is a very powerful human experience and we don’t really get to do it very much any more.”Credit: Joshua Morris

POLITICS

“All art – including music – is political.” Discuss. Strong agree for me. I don’t think of my music as a place to write thoughts that should be adopted by other people but, more than ever, taking time and making space to create anything beautiful, in this sociopolitical climate, feels like a vulnerable act of devotion.

You’ve adapted Paul Kelly’s song How to Make Gravy into a movie. What was it about the song that compelled you and your husband [director Nick Waterman] to do that? Well, the song itself is so ripe with subtext; every line in it is like the tip of an iceberg. And the song activates people’s sense of nostalgia and that bittersweet feeling of family. It also struck us that gravy is often the best part of the meal, but you make it out of leftovers. There was something lovely about these men in prison – forgotten by society in a lot of ways – deciding to make something beautiful at Christmas. Which is really what the gravy is, right? It’s that last 10 per cent of effort you go to to bring it all home.

If you had the power to change one thing about the world, what would it be? I would outlaw leaf blowers in all high-density areas. If you have a neighbour living within 10 metres of you, you shouldn’t use a leaf blower.

MONEY

Why did you decide to become a musician? For all the financial security? [Laughs] Wanting to make music is a … I want to say “vocation”, but that’s the wrong word. It’s a compulsion, I think. If I spend a few days away from the piano, it feels like I’m missing a mate. Money is never something I’ve really cared about, but I wish I’d been smarter with mine.

What are the lessons you’ve learnt the hard way? When my first album was really successful, I spent a lot of money on Net-A-Porter; I didn’t buy an apartment! If I’d had a more long-term view of my life and myself, I would’ve made more sensible decisions. Instead, I moved to London and had experiences. But maybe if I’d bought an apartment, I would’ve wished that I’d had experiences. I’m still a novice with money, but I’m getting better.

Still, you’re doing what most musicians dream of, which is living off your work. Any advice as to how to make that work? Well, I’ve also been making a slow but steady inroad into film, TV and narrative storytelling for eight years now. I’ve scored other shows as a composer. A lot of Australian musicians have other jobs. For some people, there’s a sense that if you’re not living off your music, then you’ve not really made it. I challenge that idea. If you’ve got something that enables you to have a regular, healthy and boring practice – well, that’s rock’n’roll, in my opinion.

What’s the most expensive thing you own? Oh my god. A painting, Night Dive, by Ken Done.

What do other people spend their money on that you can’t abide or understand? Leaf blowers.

RELIGION

Tell me about your relationship with religion. I grew up not Catholic but Cathol-ish. I was confirmed when I was young, but I don’t really remember it: it was more about the outfit for me. But then, when I was 14, I had a really real spiritual experience on a Christian youth camp and became a born-again Christian. It was pretty cool.

What was cool about it? The first rock concert I went to was a Christian one when I was 15. The church that I went to was really musical, and it was the first time I’d experienced worship in music, which was a really positive experience. I felt that I was able to look at the world with a lot of love and at myself, too, with a lot of love, which was meaningful to me. In grade 12, we went on a missionary trip to Vanuatu and rebuilt a high school that had been damaged by a hurricane. Another time, we went to Borneo and built a community centre in the jungle for a month. It was really amazing, and I thought I was going to live my life in that space. But then  …

What happened? I realised that that feeling – that transcendental feeling that I got – I could find it in other places. I went to uni and I got that same feeling listening to John Coltrane. I started to realise that bliss was available through lots of different avenues. It doesn’t just belong to organised religion: it belongs to everybody. But I also think that singing with other people is a very powerful human experience and we don’t really get to do it very much any more. We’ve outsourced it to the “experts” and everybody’s just an audience member. But humans have been doing it for millennia. So that’s another thing that I would change if I could: I’d enforce community choirs.

You know, I sang in a choir for the first time in a long time recently and came out thinking, “Wow, that should be a weekly practice.” [Nods] It releases something. It does something to the soul and connects you to your humanity beyond this prism of capitalism.

So what do you believe in now? I believe in the teachings of [author] Ryan Holiday. And in taking each day as an opportunity to have a small, quiet, meaningful life.

What’s your personal vision of heaven? A sparkling beach with my family.

What’s your personal version of hell? Living next door to people who own leaf blowers.

[e-mail]

To read more from Good Weekend magazine, visit our page at The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and Brisbane Times.