Kate Ceberano is an Australian music legend. In her 40-year career she has released no fewer than 30 albums, including her successful solo debut “Brave” in 1989. She has played on stages large and small all over the world and is preparing for a nationwide greatest hits tour with Jon Stevens.
But even after four decades of singing, Ceberano still sometimes feels vulnerable in front of an audience. To feel empowered, the singer-songwriter wears a special hand-crafted instrument across her body. Here, she tells us about that second skin and the stories of two other important possessions.
What I would save from my house in the event of a fire
During the Covid pandemic, I managed to escape Victoria for a short break in New South Wales, but I felt so guilty and uncomfortable leaving my house, my city, my family and friends behind. After the dreaded two-week hotel quarantine, I finally stepped out into the Sydney sun and cried like a baby. It didn’t stop, even when I arrived at Kathrin Longhurst’s studio a day later to pose for her Archibald Prize entry.
Normally, I have such a hard time being photographed from the front. But I was looking straight at her through the lens. I barely knew I was doing it. My face was filled with judgement (from whom, I’m not sure), anger, and an expression that said, “Hurry up, I can’t see where we’re going.”
To our great joy, this portrait won the packing room prize and I asked Kathrin if I could keep it. She looked at me and said: It was always yours.
It stands in my library, her face too strong to preside over dinner or TV chatter. I would rescue her from a fire – although I feel she could probably survive it on her own.
My most useful item
I’ve played in big bands, small bands and orchestras. I’ve played piano, drums and foot stomping instruments. But nothing gives me more joy than a hip little snare that I’ve converted into a snare drum.
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I carry it like a bow and arrow across my body, in a woven leather case, and it clatters and wobbles as I walk. Sometimes I bang the drum just because I can. Sometimes I neglect it and let it swing like a guitar, strutting around as if to say, “Yes, I’m in the band. I’m the singer. And the drummer!” I have never seen such a device for sale, and many people have asked me to build them one. I should probably patent it, but I’m pretty sure most of my friends know about it. Exactly who is crazy enough to create this little percussive gem.
I think it also helps me to hide behind the performance when the singing gets too personal. When you’re in front of the band and you meet an audience for the first time, it’s like being naked. You think people are talking behind closed doors and deliberately turning their backs on you. But in reality, they just want you to join in and entertain them.
I find this works best when I’m having a conversation at the same time, so my drum is perfect. It gives me a wild, decorative, experimental and absent-minded feeling.
The item I most regret losing
I tend to give away valuable things with the expectation that the recipient will appreciate the value and beauty of the object. In this case, I don’t think this person ever really did. I know you shouldn’t give things away with the expectation of praise or gratitude – you should just give it away with love and then let it go. But I wanted something in exchange that I never got, and that left me bitter and frustrated.
I mentored an artist who didn’t think much of me – in fact, she thought so little of me that if I ever offered her any advice or mentorship, she did the exact opposite. In my very last attempt to win her over, I gave her a precious piece of jewelry that I had been given by a dear friend. It was priceless – to me. She looked at it and said with dead eyes, “Um, thanks,” then tossed it into her jewelry bag. Not only had my attempt not worked, but my precious object was now someone’s junk.
It still hurts. It was foolish to try to buy someone’s respect or interest. But I still like giving things away – I just look for more honorable recipients and never expect to get anything in return. Lesson learned.
