INTERVIEW: DancingWater On How “Self-Evolution Is A Revolution”

DancingWater. Photo supplied.

Meanjin artist DancingWater has just released her new single White Noise, and it captures the pain and suffering of First Nations people in Australia, not just through 2020, but ever since colonialisation.

The track is a sparse, haunting expression of anger, and I spoke to DancingWater about her relationship with music, the meaning behind White Noise and her plans for music moving forward. This is an interview you’ll want to read a couple of times - I’m really proud of this one.

Ben Madden: Firstly, can you introduce yourself and your music?

DancingWater: My name is DancingWater.

First Nation musician based in Meanjin. 

I’d say my music is a fun mixture of psych, neo-soul and lofi noises. 

It’s a lot of storytelling and spoken word from a First Nation perspective. 

Making music has different meanings for different people - it can be catharsis, help them reclaim a narrative and so on. Can you tell me about your relationship with music, and how it allows you to express yourself? 

Cliche answer but music really is my healer. 

It came naturally to me, having a musical family & parents. Music and singing plays a big part in my First Nations and Melanesian heritage. 

My mother raised me on 70’s disco-funk & soul singers that I still have immense appreciation for.

My dad is culturally the songman for our tribe, singing welcome to country regularly. 

He gave me the spirit name DancingWater actually. 

Listening to White Noise, I'm struck by how laser-focused I am on the lyrics - the song elevates your voice in a way that a lot of artists aim to capture, but fail to do so. Can you tell me the process of writing the song, and the emotions you felt when penning the lyrics?

The process of writing kinda feels like a therapy session. Unpacking and reflecting hard truths around me and in me. 

Creating White Noise was spontaneous, manic yet organic. 

I naturally reflected on the times and wrote down what I saw around me. 

I started writing around the time of the ‘australian’ bushfires, then it grew through the beginnings of covid (the Great Depression/capitalist economy shut down). 

I was living in a low economic area of Meanjin (so-called Brisbane) so I saw working-class people of all races & religions losing homes and jobs. More homelessness, desperation & systemic division and abuse. 

The song really grew when BLM started trending all over the internet. 

Like I said in White Noise, “that a black girl and a black boy, that black rights and black joy, ain’t anti-white, divisive but is criminalised”. 

Every time I scroll the internet, another black person is dying. 

The beginnings of that opened my eyes to overt colonial abuse and how little First Nations lives were prioritised by the so-called australian masses. 

Writing amongst all the maniacal events of 2020, it hit me hard that First Nation lives and stories were not being heard, ENOUGH. 

I watched a solid 8 months of the economy shut down and violently witnessed the rates of First Nation homeless, incarceration and deaths go up and continued First Nations rights shut down. 

So I had to write, to make sense of it all. I had to check in with myself and see how I was feeling as a First Nation woman living in the colony. 

The message of White Noise doesn’t stay in 2020 though.

It still reflects the constant and continuous 300-year-old colonial violence towards my people. 

Basically, White Noise is my diary.

It’s an open book.

White Noise features a combination of you singing, as well as spoken word. It's an artistic choice I haven't come across very often - can you explain the significance of the transition between the two modes of vocal delivery? 

I’m a big fan of spoken word.

I write like I’m writing a rap.

Rhymes, Rhythm and poetry.

Plus I’ve got a lot to say so I couldn’t not have some of my spoken word poetry in white noise, singing was not enough.

I wanted to drive home the message of what the fuck I meant when I said “all I hear is white noise, lies and silence”. 

I'd love to know more about the band/the people you work with on your music - can you tell me about them, and how they've helped you elevate your sound?  

Originally DancingWater was just me writing the lyrics and producing the music. 

Until I linked with a few musical friends from Meanjin to basically make it a band.

There’s always that support for the core message in my writing from the band.

It’s solid.

Your music fuses "neo-soul with ancestral songlines" - when mixing the modern with the ancestral, are you aiming to update the traditional, or pay tribute to those that have come before? 

‘Neo-soul fused with ancestral songlines’ is my interpretation of my love for neo-soul and RnB but also paying homage to ancestors by singing in my mother tongue. 

I am doing what they did for thousands of years, sharing our stories through singing songlines and dance. 

I am them. You know. 

We spoke before the interview about Sachem, who's become one of my favourite musicians of 2021 thanks to his fierce track Democracy. What other artists are you listening to at the moment? 

Sachem deserves more.

That’s the homie.

Watching him grow musically inspires the fuck out of me. 

It’s good to see friends step into their power.

READ MORE: INTERVIEW: KVNYL On Balancing Self-Forgiveness And Responsibility

Finally, what are the next few steps for you, both personally and music-wise?

Right now in my life I’m taking things at my own decolonial pace and nurturing myself. 

I’m always going to speak truthfully and do what my ancestors were denied, in and out of music. 

For me and my culture, self-evolution is a revolution. 

As for my music, it’s just the beginning.

Excited is an understatement for how ready I am for this seed to grow and see where DancingWater songlines take me & what I can give back to my community. 

You can follow DancingWater on Instagram here and Facebook here.