It's about listening to the land and being patient and being ready to absorb our dreaming or our path or our destiny slowly, with patience, being ready to absorb that when it's time and not chasing it.

Playing yidaki, for me, is a meditation. It's incredibly deep breathing, but also, it's a structured process where you're circulating air.

I love New Zealand and don't get to come there much. The south coast of Australia and New Zealand have a similar vibration, and a lot of the music comes from this kind of space.

The music industry is not set up well at all, environmentally. But I sing about what I feel, and I'm very inspired by activists and friends that I get to connect with.

I was always drawn to the didgeridoo.

The spirit of yidaki is like a guardian for the song and the journey of my music.

We're not just on the earth, we're of the earth.

Didgeridoo is a name that white people gave it when they came to Australia, from the sound that it makes. Its traditional name is yidaki.

My music is roots music: it's a combination of growing up on the coast and mucking around with wood and wooden tones and sounds, salt, sand, fire, dogs, and heaps of brothers.

Most of my instruments are handmade.