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The Guardian - AU
The Guardian - AU
Lifestyle
As told to Katie Cunningham

Three things with Kate Ceberano: ‘I’ve never seen one like it for sale … I should probably patent it’

Kate Ceberano
‘My punt not only didn’t work but my treasured object was now somebody’s junk’: Kate Ceberano on a long-lost piece of jewellery. Photograph: Justine Walpole

Kate Ceberano is Australian music royalty. In a 40-year career she has released no fewer than 30 albums, including her smash 1989 solo debut, Brave. She has played stages big and small around the world and is gearing up for a greatest hits national tour with Jon Stevens.

But even after four decades of performing, Ceberano sometimes still feels vulnerable in front of a crowd. To feel empowered, the singer-songwriter wears a special handcrafted instrument across her body. Here she tells us about that second skin, as well as the stories of two other important belongings.

What I’d save from my house in a fire

During Covid, I managed to escape Victoria for a short reprieve in New South Wales, but found I felt so guilty and troubled 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 bawled like a baby. It didn’t quit, even when I arrived a day later at Kathrin Longhurst’s studio to sit for her entry for the Archibald prize.

I usually find it so hard to be photographed face on. But I looked at her straight down the lens. I barely even knew that I was doing it. My face bore judgment (of whom, I’m not really sure), anger and a look of “Hurry up, I can’t see where we are going.”

This portrait won that year’s packing room prize, much to our delight, and I asked Kathrin if I could keep it. She looked at me and said: it was always yours.

It sits in my library, too strong a face to have her preside over dinner or over the TV chatter. I would save her from a fire – although I get the feeling she could probably survive it on her own.

My most useful object

I have played in big bands, little bands, orchestras. I have played piano, drums and foot stomps. But nothing gives me more pleasure than a little hip snare that I fashioned into a small drum.

I wear it across my body like a bow and arrow, in a braided leather holder, rattling and shaking as I walk. Sometimes I beat that drum just because I can. Other times I neglect it and let it swing like a guitar, swaggering around as if to say, “Yeah, I’m in the band. I’m the singer and the drummer!” I’ve never seen one like it for sale, and I’ve had many people ask me to make them one. I should probably patent it but I’m pretty sure most of my mates know exactly who is bonkers enough to create this little percussive gem.

I think it also helps me to hide behind the act of performance when singing becomes too personal. When you’re stranded out the front of the band, meeting a crowd for the first time, it’s like being naked. You imagine that people are talking behind their hands and turning their back on you on purpose. But actually, they’re just wanting you to kick in and entertain them.

I do this best when I’m also entertaining myself. Ergo, my drum is perfect. It makes me feel wild, ornamental, experimental and preoccupied.

The item I most regret losing

I tend to give away precious things, expecting that the receiver might appreciate the value and beauty of the object. In this case, I don’t believe this person ever really did. I know you shouldn’t give things expecting praise or gratitude – you should just give with love and let it go. But I wanted something in exchange which I never received, and it left me bitter and frustrated.

I was coaching an artist who didn’t think too much of me – in fact, thought so little of me that if I ever gave her any advice or mentorship, she would do the complete opposite. In my last-dash attempt to win her over, I gave her a valued piece of jewellery that was given to me by a dear friend. It was priceless – to me. She looked at it and, with dead eyes, said, “Ummm, thanks,” then threw it into her jewellery bag. My punt not only didn’t work but my treasured object was now somebody’s junk.

It still hurts. It was a silly thing to try to buy somebody’s respect or interest. But I still love to give things away – I just look for more honourable recipients and I never look to receive anything in exchange. Lesson learned.

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