"I come from the mish. We listen to Akon, listen to Tupac. We listen to all these different types of music as everybody does. We still have the human experience."
Ify Obiegbu: Good evening, everyone, and welcome to fbi Unscripted.
I'm Ify Obiegbu. I'm a broadcaster, writer and creative here in Sydney, and I'm part of the fbi.radio family. I spend a lot of my time talking to artists, musicians and people shaping culture in this city and beyond, so I'm very grateful that tonight I get to have this conversation with someone whose work has been doing something particularly powerful for Australian music.
And there's something especially fitting about having this conversation here, inside the Rocks Discovery Museum. Because this is a place built around stories.
Stories about people, about Country, about movement, about belonging, about the things that get remembered and the things that get carried forward. And Tasman Keith's work is deeply concerned with all of those things.
He's a Gumbaynggirr man from Bowraville. He's a rapper, songwriter and storyteller. But I think describing him only through those titles misses what makes his work so compelling. Because throughout his career, he's been exploring what it means to inherit a story, to carry a family name, to come from somewhere with a very particular history, and then to take all of that somewhere new.
He's made music about community and grief, masculinity and love, politics and belonging. He's challenged the expectations placed on him as an artist, and he's continually asked what it means to make work that is honest to where you come from without allowing anyone else to decide what that story is supposed to look like. So tonight, we're going to move through all of that.
Ify Obiegbu: when people hear the name Tasman Keith, they hear the artist. But before there was a career, a stage, an audience, there was Bowraville. When you picture yourself before music became a career, what does that kid recognise in the person sitting here now?
Tasman Keith: That's a good first question. Somebody that moved beyond what was said was meant for him.
As a young Black kid from a regional town of five hundred people on a mission, I've seen so many cousins, uncles, aunties and that get stuck in a certain cycle there. I never judged. I know exactly what it is, and I know how easy it is to fall into that. And so for me, I see somebody that's brave. And unashamed to be himself and to go forward regardless of mental obstacles and anything in the physical realm, the spiritual realm.
For me, I'm very aware of my upbringing and now privilege to be in these spaces that a lot of the people that I grew up with, find hard to navigate. And so for that, I think that you see somebody that's proud of the man and the artist. And I think that's the main thing for me.
As a young Black kid in that space, my escape was music. People on the mission arguing, fights happen. And I would put headphones on and listen to music while I watched the fight.
Ify Obiegbu: I love that it is always connected back to where you come from, which... Nine hundred people is pretty small. What did Bowraville put inside you that you think you couldn't have learned anywhere else?
Tasman Keith: I think, there's nothing to do there besides go to the river, play sports, do crime or write raps. And I did three of those four things.
You know, I was growing up with the cousins doing the crime and they would always say to me, "Nah, bro, you've got something. Stay in the studio. You do this."
For me, I think it taught me how to be secure within my own path. I think it gave me discipline through the things that I saw.
Ify Obiegbu: I want to say that one thing I really love about your entire body of work is that you've never treated your sound as a fixed thing. You like to venture, explore and do what feels right to you.
What do you think has changed the most in the way that you create over the years? Is it your taste, your confidence, your curiosity, or is it simply what you're saying?
Tasman Keith: I think it's definitely taste. Taking time to refine it.
I feel, especially what I'm writing lately, there's a lot of vulnerability. At first, you find yourself saying a lot and trying to get twenty words into that few bars.
But I think what I've found is the growth in “how can I say something really simply and in a way that just hits somebody on the nose rather than taking eight bars to get to that point?”
Where it's grown to is making the rap super simple but not dumbing it down. I don't necessarily believe in that term. I believe it's actually quite clever to distill meaning in that way. To relate to an audience.
You're doing a disservice to the audience if you’re not finding a way to relate. You're the artist. I can still make what I want to make, but how can I make something to communicate this idea that might not connect?
So somebody that doesn't know where I come from, a small town of nine hundred people or what it's like being a young Indigenous kid, how can they relate to it through their experience?
And so, to answer the question, it's grown to refining the pen and working on songwriting, on vulnerability. How to say the bravest thing I can say in the smallest amount of bars.
Ify Obiegbu: Do you think there's a part of your artistry that younger Tasman would genuinely fail to recognize as their own?
Something that you changed outside of your taste, anything about your artistry, the way that you create, something that younger you would be very baffled to see now?
Tasman Keith: In terms of artistry, maybe not. I feel super blessed to always have had a purpose at such a young age. I always knew what I wanted to do. And therefore I always kind of saw the biggest things.
I think it's just that a young kid had had enough confidence in his art, even when he didn’t have confidence in himself. And so there's nothing at the moment that's quite shocking. And I think in terms of artistry more than ever now and recently, I'm going back to that, that young kid and what he loved.
Ify Obiegbu: One thing I find really compelling about your work is that you've never seemed particularly interested in giving people the easiest version of Tasman Keith. You've moved through hip-hop, R&B, soul, singing, storytelling, political music, deeply personal writing.
How much of becoming an artist has been about discovering who you are, and how much has been about refusing to become who other people expected you to be?
Tasman Keith: I think refusing to be what other people expect is probably the biggest thing. I've always done quite a good job at navigating that. And for me, I am very aware that I have a father that made music that refused to be someone else.
So because my dad refused to listen to others, because my uncles didn't want to either, I don't think I did it especially as a First Nations artist here. (By the way, I don't really like that term. I'm an artist.)
For me, they spoke about certain experiences so since it’s already been done, I can't tell the same story. I would probably never write a Stolen Generation song. I'm not from that time. I'm aware of that time. But for me to honor them and the work that they've done, I need to look at taking music to the next thing and not sitting within their trauma, which takes a lot of work.
I think in an industry that sometimes always wants you to speak about those things out of their own guilt or whatever it may be, you find it quite difficult to see how somebody in some boardroom can't make sense of the fact that I rap in my own style and then dance on a pier with the girls. I come from the mish. We listen to Akon, listen to Tupac. We listen to all these different types of music as everybody does. We still have the human experience.
I think colonial Australia has done a very good job at making it seem like we're really different when we have a lot of similarities to minorities of the rest of the world. But somehow, they’ve made it seem like we're tucked away over here and nobody knows about us. And our experience is very individual but also it's still a human experience. And there are touch points that people from across the globe can relate to.
I say all that to say that I think for me my purpose is to make music that isn't what people expect. Specifically some white dude in the boardroom that has this perceived idea of what music a young Black man should be making. We’re trying to make stuff that crosses those barriers because hip hop does that. There's also Black joy, you know, as much as there is trauma.
Ify Obiegbu: We're going to jump back four years. You just released your debut album in 2022. And when ‘A Colour Undone’ came out, you described it as a spiritual journey. But listening to it now, it feels so much more complicated than that.
There's so many emotions packed into that project. There's the way of being an Indigenous person in Australia, of course, but when you listen to that record now, is there anything that you hear in it that you maybe didn't understand about yourself or about the project when you first made it.
Tasman Keith: Probably that the next one would take four years. Because that one took a week. I think what I didn't understand was how free it felt in the writing and just how quick we wrote it out.
It's a tough question to answer because what I wasn't aware of, I think is where it would take me personally.
I did not know that two years later after making that album would be when I finally said
“Okay, this is the rock bottom and this is where I need to sit for a minute for a year before I can pop back out.”
It’s so funny, I named it ‘A Colour Undone’. It was the two years after that, where everything came undone.
I don't think I saw that coming.
For the most part, that record feels like such a time of my life, but also such a small time as well. Because it's a big record, but we made it in a week.
Ify Obiegbu: You're obviously a rapper, but you're also really interested in melody, texture, tone and the way something feels when it's performed.
When you're building a song now, how do you decide what the song actually needs from your voice? Do you start with the words, the sound, the feeling, or can any one of those become the doorway in?
Tasman Keith: Sometimes it's just getting weird. Just trying weird shit and being like, that's Black or that's mad or that's cool and finding different facets in the subject at hand.
That's kind of the challenge for me. I grew up loving pop singers, R&B singers as much as I did rap so I think for me, I know that there's certain emotions that I can convey through melody that I can't through just straight rapping. So I always love to find what tool, rhythm, genre etc. I want to use for a particular mood.
But for the most part, it's just sitting by myself in the room and trying weird things that if somebody in the next room was here, they would be asking “What the fuck is he doing?”
Ify Obiegbu: I'm gonna take it back to those corporate men that you don't make music for.
Essentially, when your songs or your projects leave your hands and it enters an industry and an audience that will inevitably interpret it through their own lens.
Do you ever hear people explain your work back to you and think, this is not what I was saying at all?
Tasman Keith: We did a hometown show, three years ago at the Bowraville Theatre.
Back then it used to be a place that was segregated. Charlie Perkins, led the Freedom Rides to Bowraville Theatre. My great uncles and great aunties couldn't watch a film there; they had to be right at the front.
And people were running a story on it asking me to talk about how it used to be segregated. But for me, we're on stage. My mob's in the crowd. Also at the end of that show there's young Black kids and young white kids on stage with me. We bring them all up as a part of the show.
I had to tell the reporters I didn’t want that to be the narrative of this show.
I get that this is a part of the story in the history of this place. I'm well aware of it because my family was a part of that. But for me, I had to say that we can touch on that, but the whole story isn't going to be this thing. Because for me if the story stays in the past, it’s doing the people that have done the work before me a disservice. I feel like I'm doing Uncle Charlie Perkins a disservice for the work he did to stop that happening.
I think that's probably the best example of somebody trying to steer a certain narrative. For me, I'd rather, um, shine a light on what it is now, still honouring the past and telling the truth about the past. But it's just as important to show, you know, my nephews and nieces that this is what it is now.
Things have changed.
And we as a people want to move forward. But I feel sometimes other people kind of want to keep the narrative of that story of segregation for their own guilt, to probably be able to go home and say “I worked on this today.”
Half the time we just vibe and we're playing a mad show. This space is something that we've claimed and taken over. So it's important for us to stay moving forward while looking back for sure.
Ify Obiegbu: There's a difference between making art from your identity and feeling like you're constantly expected to explain your identity through your art.
What do you think you should never have to explain to people in your songs?
To people that think they expect something from you because of the person that you are, what do you think you should never have to explain?
Tasman Keith: I know exactly where I come from. One thing I never need to explain is why I choose to do what I do.
When you narrow it down, it's such a silly question that others may ask like, “Well, how can you do these genres and instead of those genres?” Well because I'm a human being and I grew up listening to music. I love music.
So for me, those really simple questions are almost backhanded and dehumanizing. I'd rather not explain that. I'd rather put my culture, be that traditional or modern, to the forefront because I'm proud of it and I represent it. And it's such a unique point of view.
I'd rather put that forward and, and have people almost see it like magic.
There is a need to over explain when a song comes out. Somebody that might not be from where I'm from might want me to really overly explain my artistic choices.
I'd rather just leave it open for interpretation. For an audience to be able to to hear it.
Ify Obiegbu: You've had the chance to move through a lot of different spaces within Australian music, and you've seen the industry from a few different angles.
What do you think Australian music is doing really well right now that we should be proud of? And where do you think there's still a massive gap between the music we're capable of making and the industry that's supporting it?
Tasman Keith: Everything that's being done really well in the industry right now is led by People of Colour. So I don't know if that's doing really well or if it's just an outcome of us being in spaces.
What I've done for the past year is very much just stay in the studio and shut up and work on what I'm working on. So it's hard to answer that because I've been kind of tucked away. I think we can get better at getting the right people in the positions, so we can make institutional change.
Though, I don't think it's a change that they specifically need to make. I think it's a change they can facilitate because they already have these structures in place.
But I do think everything that's happening now needs to be to the credit of People of Colour here that are making great music.
That's not to say anything about the allies that are in those positions and helping for sure. But I do think they expect you to be very thankful for it.
And of course we're thankful. I know for me, I wake up every day thankful.
But I don't need to be in a position where somebody's asking me to thank them. For a lot of these institutional changes, they say they want to make a change. But then when they start to, they either get very taken aback by a Person of Colour that's very staunch and upfront telling them “this is what we need to do”. Because they don't expect to be told what to do.
If you want to make a change, if you want to facilitate a change, you can't control what that looks like from the people that can actually make that change.
Ify Obiegbu: No, it's true. The industry as a whole or these people that are able and are capable of making changes don't do it, because they see it as transactional.
"You're not thankful, so it's not going to happen.”
And once again, the only reason that these changes would be made is so they have another puppet or a voice that they can use.
You've spoken a lot about community, access and creating opportunities for people coming through. What do you want the next generation of Australian artists to inherit that you didn't have? And what kind of space do you think young First Nations artists should be able to enter without having to ask permission first?
Tasman Keith: I think any space they want to enter. Though, I'm still very aware that the craft needs to be really good. That's always the forefront for me.
I don't expect anybody to hand me anything. Let me make my music as great as I possibly can. I don't want pity. I don't want somebody to come to a show because they're supporting a young Indigenous artist. Don't come. I'd rather you come if you fuck with the music because you fuck with the music. So I think for me, it's what I have always instilled in any young fullahs.
Work on the craft.
I think sometimes it's a fine line where, you know, we want these changes and we should be in these spaces.
But I think in terms of artistry and just purely artistry, regardless of industry, I just want there to be enough mentoring and facilitating conversations for young fellas to really thrive and work on this craft. Because if we're trying to stand up to the rest of the world, a lot of people also work on this craft.
And if you want to do it at a certain level, you've got to work at it.
And so I think that what I want to leave behind is work on the art and don't settle for anything less because we deserve the full extent of it.
We also have to also work ten times harder for the full extent of it but we need to find purpose in that work. But again, I think thriving off that pressure and being like, we've got to work ten times harder here. Okay, fuck it, let's work ten times harder. Because we can, we have the capacity to. I don't see it as a burden. I see it as a purpose.
Ify Obiegbu: You've told us a lot tonight about the person you came from. I'm really interested in the person you're becoming. What part of yourself are you yet to show the world?
Tasman Keith: It's so easy to answer, but I don't want to give too much. There's another side of my artistry that I've only now just found and explored by just being in the room by myself, with myself.
It was during the time, after losing my great grandmother, where I just stepped back from the industry and was like, “let me just put music over there for now and figure some things out”. And so I think there's a side of me that I'm excited to show, when the next project's ready, that I feel is probably the truest representation of me.
Ify Obiegbu: If you could work with any person in the world, one person, dead or alive, doesn't have to be just a musician. This could be a photographer, it could be a videographer, it could be a producer director. Who would it be and why?
Tasman Keith: It's gonna be MJ just cause I grew up on it. I also think Childish Gambino and the creative agency he has called 'Gilga'.
In terms of Australian, I would want to work with Uncle Roger Knox or like one of the old OG Blackfulla musicians. Or Charley Pride, Dolly Parton, or Randy Travis, anybody in a country world cause that's the music of Bowraville.
Ify Obiegbu: I think one of the things that becomes clear when you really listen to your story is that this isn't simply a story about becoming a successful musician. It's a story about learning how to carry things.
Family, country, history, grief, love, expectation, and then figuring out what to do with all that once you've been given a microphone. And I think that's why the work travels. Because you can tell a story so deeply, specifically yours, your family's, your peoples, and still make somebody on the other side of the country recognize something in themselves.
That's a very rare thing for an artist to be able to do.
So I want to leave you with one final question.
Years from now, when the career is over, when the releases have stopped, when the stages are dark, when someone encounters Tasman Keith for the first time through the music you've left behind, what do you hope they understand about you that could never have been learned from any type of biography?
Tasman Keith: It's a good question. I think just the human experience and the advocacy for the human experience as a young Indigenous man. The need and the purpose and, the lineage of wanting more and using a craft to get more.
Wanting more for my people, wanting more for me.
In Australia, where there is such tall poppy syndrome, when you start to speak from a place of agency, people feel provoked. But I've grown up in a community and seen the effects of shame and it's such a normalised word within my community.
And so I think to answer it quite simply. I want there to be this essence of like “That dude was unashamedly himself.”
I see what shame has done to my people. And what that word does to people in general. Shame is something viscerally deeper.
So for me, it's just a cool thing if this dude was just unashamedly himself. And I say all that to say that I still struggle with it. But by the end of it, that's what I want to represent, because I think that representation is so important within our communities.
Ify Obiegbu: Thank you, Tasman. I think that is a beautiful place to leave it.
Words by Ify Obiegbu