No, I’m not the drummer of

A lot of it comes down to my parents.

Back in 2016, they were regulars at the Adelaide Cabaret Festival, and that year Artistic Directors Ali McGregor and Eddie Perfect introduced more family-friendly shows. Mum and Dad basically realised that buying me a ticket was cheaper than a babysitter... so they took me along.

It changed my life.

I fell head over heels for this art form. I loved that performers spoke directly to the audience. I loved that it didn't have to be perfect. I loved that every performance felt like it could only happen in that room, on that night, with those people.

Some of the greatest performances I've ever seen have been cabaret, and I still carry those experiences with me every time I walk on stage.

It's a difficult art form to define and I think that's part of its magic. It can be funny, heartbreaking, musical, theatrical, ridiculous or quietly profound, sometimes all in the same hour.

I feel incredibly lucky that I get to call myself a cabaret artist. It's the art form that made me fall in love with live performance, and now I get to be part of the community that first inspired me. That's pretty special.

A bit of everything—except country (sorry, not sorry).

Cabaret is my home, but within that I blend jazz, soul, funk, rock, pop, the occasional ballad, and even musical theatre from time to time. I love taking familiar songs and asking, "What happens if we do it differently?" Reimagining music is probably my favourite creative exercise, and almost every show I make starts with that question.

Every single time.

I'm quite an anxious person by nature, so stage nerves have always been part of performing for me. For a long time I thought that was something I needed to "fix"—until I heard a piece of advice that's stuck with me ever since.

In 2021, during Adelaide Cabaret Festival, I had the chance to ask Alan Cumming how he dealt with stage nerves. His answer was simple: if you're not nervous anymore, it probably means you don't care.

I've never forgotten that.

These days, I see nerves differently. They're there because I care. I care about doing justice to the work, about supporting the musicians and creatives I'm sharing the stage with, and about giving audiences an experience that's worth their time and money.

So yes—I still get nervous. Every single time. And I hope I always will.

Absolutely. In fact, I'm really focused on making them easier to tour.

Australia's a big place, and I'm based in regional South Australia, so making work that can genuinely travel has become a huge part of my practice. A lot of what I'm developing at the moment is about creating shows that can fit into more spaces, travel easily, be financially sustainable, and still feel exciting whether they're in a theatre, winery, town hall or somewhere completely unexpected.

So yes—the answer is yes. If you've got an audience, let's chat.

I do, and I genuinely love them. Most of my workshops revolve around singing, vocal health and live performance, but really they're about helping people become more confident performers.

I don't pretend to know everything, and I don't come with a long list of teaching qualifications. What I do bring is years of professional performance experience, incredible mentors who've invested in me, and a genuine love of passing that knowledge on.

Whether I'm working with experienced performers or someone stepping onto a stage for the very first time, my goal is always the same: to help people leave feeling more confident, more curious, and a little braver than when they walked in.

Probably that most of my job has nothing to do with being on stage.

Sure, there are rehearsals, performances and writing songs, but there's also grant applications, budgets, contracts, emails, travel bookings, marketing, producing, planning... and an alarming amount of admin.

When I finally get a moment to switch off, I don't usually listen to music. That probably surprises people the most.

Instead, I watch stand-up comedy.

Comedy has always been my reset button. I love the craft of it—the timing, the storytelling, the way one perfectly placed sentence can bring a room together. It's how I unwind, and looking back, it's probably influenced my cabaret just as much as music has.