Kathleen Halloran: 'If You’re A Young Woman Picking Up A Guitar & Wondering If There’s A Place For You, There Is'

As Melbourne-based guitarist, singer-songwriter and composer Kathleen Halloran prepares to release her debut album, Nobody’s Baby, she opens up about the highs and lows of her experiences in the music industry.

Nibblin’ Round The Edges of Me and My Guitar

I didn’t grow up thinking it was unusual to play guitar. I just picked it up, like a lot of people do, and fell deeply into it. Obsessed over it. Practised, until my fingers needed to be covered in band-aids, and then kept going.

There was no grand statement — it was just what made the most sense to me. The guitar had nothing attached to it beyond the fact that I loved playing more than anything. Music had no labels, no gender, no age. There was no fear in it — it just was.

I was a cripplingly shy, but happy teenager. I lived in my own head, practising five hours a night, chasing the goal of being the best guitarist I could be. There was never really anything else for me, and I didn’t look beyond that simplicity until my late teens, when I started stepping out into the real world and playing shows.

I’m grateful for that kind of blissful ignorance at the beginning because, in hindsight, if I’d been aware of the risks and all the reasons why I shouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t have made it. By the age of 18, I’d built a steady foundation surrounded by an incredible community of champions and mentors — people hovering close enough to catch me if I fell. Looking back, in a rare and beautiful way, I already knew who I was — and even as a shy child, I was hard to shake.

It wasn’t until I started heading out into the world and working as a musician that I was first exposed to the realities and the inequalities for women in the industry.

My first real wake-up call came at 18, when I was invited to join a nine-week tour of China in a house band. I was ecstatic when the email came through. Fresh out of school and ready for the world, I felt like I’d made it. It was also the first time I truly understood how uncommon it was to be a female guitarist. I was the only female on the tour out of a party of around twenty.

There was something about that environment and the group mentality. Everyone seemed to be working overtime to outdo each other — in charisma, musicianship, confidence and partying after shows. Through the lens of a young, shy girl, everyone seemed to have it all worked out and like they belonged to a club that I wasn’t in.

At that stage of my development, I was completely overwhelmed, and I couldn’t cope. I’ll never forget the moment, alone in a hotel room in Shenzhen (after a show), when I seriously considered quitting for the first time. I was heartbroken at the thought, because there was nothing else in the world that I felt like I could spend my life doing.

This mindset, in itself, has been a massive lifeline throughout the early years. It kept me coming back time and time again.

One of the realest challenges I’ve faced, as a young woman, in this industry is never really knowing if any success attached to you is for the right reasons. The inner dialogue that says:

Why am I really here?

Am I being taken seriously?

Am I here because of what I can do?

Or because of how I look… or what I represent?

The hardest part is that I don’t think you will ever get an external answer.

The uncertainty can get in your head. It can make you second-guess your instincts, your playing and your place.

Below is an excerpt from a message I wrote to myself (in my notes app) during a low moment in 2023, trying to reassure myself through a time of professional doubt:

Your only true guide, protection and measure is your own, very private relationship with your craft.

It’s the only thing that can’t be distorted.

Your dedication. The hours you put in. The preparation. The consistency. The way you show up, day after day. That’s the truth of it. And if you’re honest with yourself about those things, you know where you stand.

Because the moment you start believing the hype — or absorbing the criticism — you lose that clarity. Either one can throw you off, just as quickly.

All I really have is my own ability to judge it. Whether I’ve earned it. Whether I’m working hard. Whether I’m progressing. And whether I still love it.

Wolves Like You was born out of this space.

For a long time, I resisted letting gender into the conversation at all. I just wanted to be a guitarist — not a female guitarist. I didn’t want gender to be a qualifier, or something people filtered the work through. I wanted the music to speak for itself.

And it became disheartening when most of the feedback I received landed somewhere along the lines of, “WOW! Never heard a girl play guitar like that before!”

But the truth is, that’s not always how it works.

Sometimes people don’t just hear the music — they see you first. And what they see comes with its own set of assumptions, projections, and ideas about what you could be for them. And music becomes the way in. That’s where it gets complicated.

Because it doesn’t always present itself clearly. It can look like interest. It can sound like support. It can even feel like an opportunity. But underneath it all, there’s often something else — something that has nothing to do with the work itself.

That feeling of being circled. Of people hovering around the edges, trying to find a way in — not always to the music, but to you.

And, for a long time, I questioned myself and my own intentions in those moments. This song is about me returning to my instincts. Not reacting. Not engaging. Just simply being. I think that's where my power sits - staying anchored to the work, and to the part of yourself that knows exactly why you’re there.

I think there is great power and freedom in being underestimated.

Women are constantly underestimated in this industry — even by our loveliest, well-meaning allies.

At 30, I’ve spent most of my early years in the industry moving quietly along the sidelines, while no one’s really looking. I've been left alone to figure it out without too much expectation or interference... And now I have a completely independent, self-managed debut album ready to share - that I am so deeply proud of.

So if you’re a young woman picking up a guitar and wondering if there’s a place for you — there is.

It might not always feel obvious. You might walk into rooms where you feel you’re the only one. You might be seen before you’re heard. Stay close to your purpose. Stay honest. Build your own relationship to your music - privately and quietly.

Find your people. Find the ones who see you clearly, who respect the work, who don’t need you to be anything other than who you are. Community matters more than you realise — they will hold you steady when everything else feels uncertain.

Trust your instincts when something doesn’t feel right. You don’t owe anyone access to you just because they show interest in your music. Not everything that looks like an opportunity is worth taking. Not every expert has the answers.

And you don’t need to shape yourself into something more acceptable to belong.

You already do.

Let them underestimate you.

Kathleen Halloran’s upcoming album, Nobody’s Baby, is set for release on Friday, 8 May. It’s now available to pre-save and pre-order. Halloran will also promote the album with a national tour - tickets are available here.