Don’t Sleep on Us: The Power of Blak Music

My journey through the music industry has been different from most. I didn’t come into this to chase fame or personal gain. I came in with a purpose to uplift my people, speak our truths, and showcase the strength and beauty of Aboriginal culture. From the start, I’ve used my music to talk about the issues our communities face, to shine a light on what often goes unseen.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, is how to keep momentum. It’s not enough to just make powerful music; you need to move in a way that keeps your audience engaged. You need to plan, release, and perform with intention.

The spaces I’ve felt safest in have been those built on genuine respect not just for hip-hop, but for culture, truth-telling, and shared purpose. When music is treated as something bigger than ego, when it’s a tool for connection and change, that’s where I want to be.

What I wish more people understood is that as Aboriginal artists, we are more than just our culture. We aren’t just here for NAIDOC Week or when a political issue arises. We are artists in every sense of the word storytellers, lyricists, creators with something to say year-round. Yet too often, we’re only brought out when it suits a particular narrative or token moment.

Right now, there’s no denying the power and versatility of Blak music. Take Barkaa, for example, her raw, fearless lyrics hold up a mirror to the realities our communities face, all while giving young mob, especially young Blak women, someone powerful to look up to. Kobie Dee brings storytelling and activism together through hip-hop, using his platform to amplify justice issues and inspire the next generation. 

Then you’ve got JK-47, whose music balances political truth-telling with hope, pushing the boundaries of what a conscious rapper can be. And it’s not just hip-hop. Artists like Electric Fields are blending Language with electronic soul-pop, taking our stories to global stages in a completely new way. Drifting Clouds, hailing from the Northern Territory, brings a fresh sound by blending synth with nostalgic, modern vibes, all while keeping Language at the forefront. These artists all reflect on the struggles we face and how these shape us, giving us a stronger sense of identity. They also challenge the notion of what true success looks like for us as Indigenous people, emphasizing the importance of uplifting and empowering future generations.

First Nations music can showcase the diversity of language groups and introduce our stories in many different captivating ways. Groups like the 3% show how collaboration across communities and genres can build something bigger than the sum of its parts. Blak music isn’t one sound or one message, it’s dynamic, multi-genre, and deeply connected to who we are. They remind us that our music is powerful because it’s grounded in culture, and fearless enough to push into new territory.

Navigating the industry as an Indigenous artist

Being an Indigenous artist often means putting your whole identity out there and that comes with vulnerability. It opens you up to racism, criticism, and being misunderstood not just from outside our communities, but sometimes from within as well. That can be painful. People assume opportunities come easy because of funding or some perceived special treatment, but that couldn’t be

further from the truth. We work just as hard, if not harder, to be seen and taken seriously. And while there’s a lot of support within the scene, there’s also gatekeeping. Some people get chosen to be the face of something and they cling to that role thinking there’s not enough room for others to rise. But that mindset only weakens us. 

There’s also cultural responsibilities when we travel and perform, especially on someone else’s Country. For me, that’s not something I take lightly. It’s important to make deep connections with local mob, to listen, to show respect, and to build two-way relationships. This goes beyond music; it’s about honouring country, kin, and culture.

When I first started heading up to Broome, it was all about connecting with local artists and soaking up their stories. It was a real eye-opener, especially when I got to record at the Pigram Brothers’ studio and learn about their culture and music style. One of the best parts was working with a young artist named Lyrical Instinct. We clicked instantly, and it was awesome to bring him down to Perth for our block party last year. This journey really showed me how important it is to respect and honour the culture of the places we visit and the artists we work with.

We’re stronger when we lift each other up. That’s why artist/industry development programs like GRID Series matter. They help us break down those barriers and create space for new voices.

The benefit of having new voices heard is that our artistic community expands, offering more avenues for networking and connection. It also brings fresh perspectives that reflect the true diversity of society. This not only enriches us as artists but also provides listeners and viewers with a broader range of music to explore.

As someone who went through GRID myself, I know the impact firsthand. It gave me tools I still use today. Since then, I’ve started my own music business FNFocus and now co-lead the GRID program through First Nations Focus (FN Focus.) Our team is stacked with deadly artists and creatives, each bringing different strengths in songwriting, production, mixing, mastering, and mentoring. What we do well is create a safe space where people from underrepresented backgrounds feel seen, heard, and supported.

And while I’ve come a long way, I’m far from alone. There’s so much talent in our community right now who are not just creating great music, they’re shifting culture. They’re driven by purpose and community, and their work is grounded in truth and legacy. 

Closer to home, I’m incredibly proud of the young artists I’ve mentored, especially my son INKABEE and my little brother JJ Vacant. Watching them find their voices and thrive as artists is a blessing. They’re talented, passionate, and have something to say and the way they represent gives me real hope for the future.

So to any young Blackfellas out there thinking about music my advice is this:

Know why you’re doing it. Start with purpose. Build a team that shares your values. 

Network. Learn. Move with integrity. The music industry can be hard to navigate, but you’re not alone. There are people who want to see you win.

And to the wider industry: DON’T SLEEP ON US. Aboriginal artists have stories that are deep, ancient, and powerful. We’re not a trend. We’re not a checkbox. We are a vital part of the music industry and we’re only just getting started.