"I think the longer you play the game, the more delusional that confidence needs to be," Salty writes in an op-ed for The Music.
Salty (Supplied)
I knew from a young age that my purpose was to be on stage.
When I was three, my mum put my name down for my first dance class, and slowly, I moved into musical theatre. I have a clear memory of struggling to even skip - I could only skip on one leg, so I stood out from the rest of the group, but in an endearing “Aww, at least she’s trying” kind of way - and that remains a joke in my family to this day. But even in that awkward no-idea-what-I’m-doing phase, there was something about performing that felt so right.
It wasn’t until high school that I discovered the concept of writing songs. I was in Year 7, watching a Year 12 music showcase, and one girl took the stage and introduced that she was performing a song that she had written. The song was called Lions Tigers And Bears. After the show ended - without really thinking - I rushed to her and asked her, “How do you write a song?” She responded, “... you just write it”. That moment was the very first time I knew that that was what I wanted to do with my life. Her candidness was the perfect invitation to a world I am now incredibly fascinated by, one I’m so grateful I get to explore, and one I have found - for better or worse - I’m not alone in.
I grew up as a competitive dancer and, by nature, was always surrounded by other people who were striving for the same thing as me. I always thought there was someone ‘better’ than me; Objectively ‘different’, but subjectively better. I was taught within that culture to never get complacent. That, even if you were in the front row or centre stage one week, it wasn’t guaranteed the week after. Doing ten hours of training seven days a week and being forced to stare in the mirror, comparing yourself to the girl next to you, was inevitable and created a lot of pressure for a 16-year-old who was already insecure and confused.
This engrained in me a desire and drive to “be better”.
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When my journey as an artist began, I had no community and no one I could turn to for advice or to point me in the right direction. Learning what the “first steps” were was a process of throwing myself into whatever I could. I did a Google search of “Sydney music producers”, and the first person that popped up was Taka Perry, who went on to produce my first song. I reached out to friends who were already within the industry “doing the thing”, and the more questions I asked, the more doors opened. I pivoted when things didn’t resonate with me and gravitated toward the things that felt right. It somehow has gotten me to the place I’m at now, where my desires and the clarity of my artistic vision have started to take shape and come into reality.
As an artist, the creative stuff is beautiful, but the things that come with it can be really hard. It’s scary. It’s vulnerable. It’s hot, then it’s cold. It can be scary one second, then joyous the next.
But beneath all of that turbulence is an unwavering belief in myself.
I feel like there isn’t much room to not be confident as a female pop act in today's climate.
I pride myself on my confidence. I think the longer you play the game, the more delusional that confidence needs to be. Delusional in the way that you may have absolutely nothing going for you on the surface, but that feeling deep down that you have to stay the course always remains.
Sometimes, there are days I wake up and really feel like everything is on track, and I am the coolest person ever. But it takes one thing to come up on my Instagram feed (and to be transparent, it's usually a fellow music friend) to knock me into a deep dark hole, and thoughts like “what I’m doing isn’t enough” or “they got that opportunity, why didn’t I get it” are loud, and relentless.
I have struggled with a lot of guilt towards feeling that way, particularly toward my peers… but I can acknowledge it as a valid feeling, especially in today's social climate, where everyone's highlight reels are in the palm of your hand. But I think without that competitiveness, it would be much easier to be comfortable and settle for less, and there's beauty in that if you are in the right headspace.
As an independent artist, it can be easy to compare yourself to those signed to a big label, which is something else I battle with. There is so much incredible talent in Australia, and often I feel quite small and yet to be discovered. It can make you question whether there is enough room and lead to you pin yourself against other artists - and that’s the quickest way to turn you away from the reason you’re even doing music in the first place.
I consider myself so fortunate to see my friends and fellow peers making the moves and pushing boundaries the way they are. Years ago, we were all writing songs together and finding our feet, dreaming of some of the things we are all doing now. That’s the perspective I always bring myself back to, and as we continue to go down our unique paths, on our own time and at our own pace, it’s one that will never leave me.
Salty is a Sydney-based pop artist who recently released her newest single, Hollywood Baby, following the triple j success of See U In 3. Her latest single is available on all major streaming platforms.