Ok, first, listen to this.
Turn it up. Revel in it. Play it obnoxiously off your phone as your entrance song the next time you walk into a meeting or school or any room, really. It's an unbelievably confident, take-no-prisoners showcase of Kira Puru's immense musical talent.
And groovy! It's so groovy! Tension was groovy, but this is next level.
When I ring Kira and ask if I've caught her at a bad time, she says, "No, I was just making out with my boyfriend! It's fine, we can resume later."
Kira spoke honestly about something that many of us POC have to deal with on a regular basis - both in life and in the music industry. It's the constant sigh when another person spells your name wrong, or decides to call you something easier because they can't be bothered expelling the extra effort to ask you how to say it correctly. Then it's the gruelling mental dialogue you go through when deciding whether you should correct people and speak out about why it gets so old, and why we're so over it. Then it's the guilt about ultimately deciding not to speak out, because you just don't want the anxiety and stress that comes with being outspoken about anything political, though you feel that maybe you have the social responsibility to do so.
Anyway, Kira's far more eloquent about this than I am, so I'll leave it to her.
So welcome to two women with uncommon names bonding over strange jobs, serendipity and people not being bothered to spellcheck their uncommon names.
Truth
Kira: So, my first truth is that I used to work for a - I used to be a removalist.
Uppy: Oh, wow!
K: Yeah, for a while. But I think the reason I picked it is because I've had a string of really ridiculous jobs, and I think that IS because I'm a musician, you know? And like, when you're a musician, you get paid shit-all for creative work so I always found myself in these really ridiculous jobs that allow flexibility. And being a removalist is one of them. I used to work for this crazy dude that paid me $5 extra an hour because I was a woman.
U: That's kinda cute?
K: Yeah, it's kinda cute, but I couldn't figure out - like, it was kind of hard to reconcile that because it felt just grossly sexist. But at the same time, I was like, 'You know what? A man is giving me money to do exactly nothing more than anyone else, so I'm just gonna take that money'.
U: Yeah, it's rare that someone... yeah.
K: Yeah, and he was also someone who... like, the boss never walks backwards? So when we'd carry people's couches and fridges and stuff, he'd always make me walk backwards because he was the boss? It was a weird job.
U: That is such a weird rule.
K: Yeah. He had a lot of weird rules. And he used to whistle that tune, Whistle While You Work? All day long.
U: I dunno what that is. I can't whistle. I suck.
K: But, yeah, that was one of them. I also used to do some acting at the university as a psych patient.
U: Oh wow.
K: And the students would have to, like, diagnose me and I would get briefed for different characters and they'd have to diagnose what was wrong with me and whether or not I was able to - whether I should be discharged or not?
U: Oh, wow, I didn't know they did stuff like that. That's so cool.
K: Yeah, they do! You know that episode of Seinfeld when Kramer does it but it's for, like, heart disease and stuff? Yeah, it's a bit like that.
U: So you'd have to pretend you were, like, bipolar or something and then they'd tell you what to do?
K: Yeah, one character was like a 30-something journalist who had these delusions of grandeur and she was hypersexual so she'd like... they'd make you wear, like, a kaftan and heaps of necklaces because she was apparently really well travelled... and she'd run around the room and turn lights on and off and sit on students' laps because she was really hyperactive.
U: [squeals]
K: And then there was another one that was, like, a young girl who was suicidal and that was really heavy.
U: Of course.
K: And sometimes you could be TOO good at acting, because it'd be a bit triggering. It was a really hectic job actually and I stopped it because I found it too emotionally draining.
U: Yeah, I can understand! So did the students know that they were acting or?
K: Yeah they do, but it's set in, like, a fake hospital! So it's, like, very realistic. If you're a good enough actor, it's extremely realistic.
U: I had no idea they did stuff like that.
K: Yeah. I also handed out drink bottles... dressed as a grandma and the character was called Granny Cool.
U: I love that!
K: And around the drink bottles was, like, a piss chart, where you could check the colour of your urine and it would tell you how dehydrated you were.
U: Was that at a music festival?
K: It was at, like, a family-type festival.
U: Right! Oh, how funny. You weren't kidding when you said you've had jobs from all around.
K: Yeah. I had this other job where I basically got paid to buy people drinks at a bar.
U: Ok...
K: I'd just go swan around the bar and I'd see people and approach them, and kinda go, 'Oh! You guys look like you're having fun!' and kind of investigate whether they were having a good time at the venue, and then offer to buy them a round of drinks. But it was like me pretending I was just this nice person buying them a round of drinks, but it was actually the bar - keep people in the bar.
U: That's so weird. I'm just...
K: It's so weird. It's weird for a person who's alone to go up to a group of people and just buy them a round of drinks with no agenda.
U: Also, being a random woman, almost... like you kind of expect it from creepy old men, you know?
K: Yeah! [laughs] God, yeah, I've had so many strange jobs. The truth is, like, I've had a million bizarre jobs because it's really hard to get a job being in this industry because you need ultimate flexibility. And, hopefully, one day I won't need to have another job!
U: I know you work full time now, actually, so what do you do for work now?
K: I work for a headphone company called Nura and they make personalised headphones for your hearing. It's got some heavy science shit going on but basically they record your otoacoustic emission, which is the sound that comes OUT of your ears when sound is played INTO your ears. And they use those recordings and put them through an algorithm to tailor the way that you hear music, so when you play a tune, it'll filter and mix it inside your headphone to deliver a mix, like, tailored to your hearing.
U: Wow, that is wild.
K: They're incredible.
U: Man, you've just schooled me on, like, all these things that companies do for money?
K: [laughs] I know! It's so weird isn't it? Capitalism, man.
Truth
K: My second truth is that I moved to Melbourne six years ago, I think, to give up music.
U: Oh, wow, and then what happened? You obviously didn't!
K: No, I didn't. I'd just kind of hit this point with my band, my old band, where we'd been working really hard and toured quite a bit and I was just feeling super down. I had a lot of great friends in Melbourne that were living awesome lives, and I've always just... I dunno if other artists feel the same, but normal life is like my kink? Like, I get off on the idea of just having a house and some kids and living in the country, because my life is always so transient and weird that the idea of normal repetitive daily grind is sort of fascinating to me and super-interesting.
U: Right!
K: So I was just feeling really burnt out by the industry at the time, and how much work we were doing for seemingly no gain, so I decided I was going to have a little bit of a sea change and move to Melbourne and start a boring life, like being a barista or some shit and just starting again. And not long after I moved here, I think before I got into my first house, I got a phone call from a friend of mine asking if I wanted to do a collaboration with Illy.
U: Oh, shit. Sick!
K: I was like, 'I'm not really looking for work at the moment, or doing any music work but I'll do it,' because, you know, it's a nice thing to do and this person was a good friend of mine and was looking out for me. Not long after that, I got the Paul Kelly collaboration - Paul Kelly reached out and wanted to do something with me. And I think it just snowballed from there, like, I kept getting offered these amazing opportunities that I couldn't really say no to.
U: Isn't it interesting that... when you mentally wanna quit, life just throws it all at you? I've had that happen to me as well, it's seriously strange.
K: Yeah, it is strange, huh? Like, maybe when you don't put too much strain into moving your agenda forward, it allows things to just move with you?
U: Yeah, like almost when you stop trying so hard to make it happen? But then, that doesn't work all the time, either, because you can't just sit back and wait for stuff to land in your lap. That doesn't happen either, I dunno! It's a weird one.
K: Yeah, I mean, I obviously don't regret anything that happened. I love that I'm still able to have such a great career in music. But it was frustrating. I was quitting because I was frustrated and I still see my friends in the industry get to that point as well, frequently. It's not an easy job. Also because I think there's this idea that artists have to be thankful all the time for the opportunity to create art, yet Australia in particular doesn't quite appreciate art in the same way as other cultures do.
U: Yeah, and it's not that you don't have to work hard to create art. It's not that it comes all the time, right, so the low periods in between must be tough and frustrating and stressful.
K: Yeah.
U: Am I wrong in thinking you're from Brisbane or Queensland originally?
K: Me? Nah, I'm from Newcastle!
U: Oh, why am I thinking you're from Queensland? I think because the last time I saw you was at BIGSOUND.
K: Ah, actually the day I left Newcastle and moved to Melbourne - maybe this should've been my truth - my house burnt down?
U: [gasp] What, like actually?
K: Yeah, like five hours after I moved out. This is probably better, actually, as a truth.
U: Bonus truth!
K: So I moved out. My friend lives in Melbourne and she calls me up and goes, 'You're moving to Melbourne, because I'm sick of you talking about wanting to move and not getting your shit together to actually do it.' So she booked this day and she's like, 'Pack your shit, I'm bringing a car, I'm gonna come and get you and we're gonna drive to Melbourne.' So that happened. I had a car full of my stuff and we left and I was really distraught. I had a really great living situation, I lived in an old lawn bowls club in Newcastle they had converted into an arts space.
U: Wow!
K: So it had a dancefloor and a bar we used sometimes for parties, the old cool room was the recording studio.
U: That's so cool.
K: Yeah, it was awesome! It was a great space. There were, like, 12 organs there, we had a fucktonne of guitars and keyboards and whatever, it was a really awesome arts space. And I was devastated to leave but, like I said earlier, I hit this point where I was burnt out and just needed to get away. So we packed up the car and left and five hours later, I'm sort of half-ish way to Melbourne, I got this phone call from my friend, my housemate. I just thought they were getting ripped and having a party, they were quite sad to see me go so I just assumed they were partying and ignored the call. They kept calling me and eventually I went into the bathroom and answered it and they were all in their underpants just watching the house burn down.
U: [gasp]
K: And they'd all just gotten out by the skin of their teeth. ONE guy had to leave through a flaming window to get out and he singed off all his facial hair.
U: Fuck.
K: It was really... touch and go. And they could've died. Like, everyone could've died.
U: What happened? How did it catch fire? This is the lawn bowls club?
K: Yeah, it was super-old, like, pretty much the whole place was a fire hazard waiting to happen.
U: Holy shit.
K: Someone had left a candle alight... and there was a wall-hanging blowing in the breeze slightly that blew over the candle, it caught alight. The wall that that was hanging on caught alight. Then the fire went into the room, and the roof just acted as a connection thing, and things just started spontaneously combusting within the house. And the whole thing was just burnt to the ground.
U: Jesus. Like, I would call that serendipity, hey. Like, you moved to Melbourne, you wanted to quit and the HOUSE burnt down but your stuff happened to be OUT of it and YOU were out of it.
K: [laughs] Yeah, it's pretty crazy.
U: Yeah, that is luck or something. That is crazy.
K: I was, like, the only one left with any stuff remaining! Everyone had lost everything. My best mate and housemate left her phone and computer and everything on her bed because she was like, 'This is totally chill, nothing's gonna happen, we're gonna put it out and it's all gonna be fine,' but it just acted way quicker than anyone could have predicted and everyone lost everything. Like, they were barefoot in the driveway in their underpants watching the house burn to the ground. And, like, I had JUST left there, I had a car full of my own shit, it was just such a strange feeling after that. I was deeply grateful to be alive and have all my own stuff, but I also felt really guilty... and strange?
U: Yeahhh.
K: And the friend who was driving me said, 'Do you wanna turn around and go back?' after we got the call and I was like, 'Nah, there's definitely nothing to go back for now, except for being a support network for the rest of the people'.
U: That is wild, Kira.
K: It kind of sealed the deal for me to not go back. I think I would've really missed it and been really reminiscent and nostalgic about that place. It was such a brilliant place and you'd never find an arts space of that size. And the freedom we had you couldn't really find anywhere else - original and unique and, had it still existed, I might've been tempted to go back, but... it burnt to the ground.
Lie
K: So... I was gonna say, and the only reason I wanna say this is because I wanna get it out there, I don't really like... talking about political shit.
U: That's totally fair!
K: [laughs] I don't like it and I try to not do it. There's just fucking so many idiots in the world... and people ask me to comment on shit all the time and it's been on my mind a bit lately. Well, The Daily Mail ran this story about the fact that Listen Out - I'm playing Listen Out festival and I'm super excited to play it - but they spelt my name wrong in one of the promotional videos.
U: Ah, yeah, I saw that.
K: And I was like, 'Fuck, I'm really over this happening'. It's a MASSIVE national festival, surely someone's checking the spellings of the artists on the bill? I just feel like that's really basic. But the reason I was really angry was that it happens all the time, actually. Particularly with festivals. And I'm just baffled why it happens SO frequently. So I put a tweet out about it, but The Daily Mail read the story and tried to get us to comment on it.
U: Ugh.
K: Because between me and - I was talking to Sose [Fuamoli] from The AU Review on Twitter, and I wrote, 'It's actually racist!' thinking, you know, we were just bonding. Two brown women bonding. No one else's business. But yeah, they twisted it into saying I was slamming the festival for being racist for spelling my name wrong.
U: Ugh.
K: And then, my publicist called me and was like, 'What do you wanna do about this?' And, I dunno, I just feel like, of course it's super important to talk about your experience, and visibility's super-important, but it's so draining to constantly be talking about political shit. I actually hate it. And I would love to just talk about, like, fashion, and make-up, and dogs. You know what I mean? It's just annoying and draining that a great percentage of my public narrative has to be political.
U: Yup.
K: But also, like, I'm scared, you know, I don't feel... completely versed across it all.
U: I 100,000% agree with you there. I get that, too.
K: Yeah! And often I feel like I'm walking on eggshells because... it comes part and parcel with being visible and being outspoken and being a staunch, fierce bitch and saying, 'I'm not gonna stand for this shit'. Like, you also have to take the good with the bad and that means, like, being accountable for stuff that you say that may be wrong, or maybe taken out of context or whatever. You gotta show up for that stuff as well. But it's just... I dunno. I feel like a lot of cis, white, hetero people in the music industry don't get asked. People wouldn't even think to ask them about their political opinions. You know?
U: Yeah. I mean, at the same time I'd hope they weren't being asked about like, racism in the industry because it'd be like, what do you know anyway?
K: Totally! But, like, even any political thing, like, no one's asking Dune Rats what they think about the government. That shit's just not happening.
U: Totally, the emotional weight sits with the people of colour.
K: Yep. And I was actually hanging out with Miss Blanks last night, and we had a conversation about this kind of thing because you do have - you have a responsibility as a performer, as somebody with a public voice, to use that voice appropriately and as best you can. And you owe it to your community as well, to be able to speak when others can't. And you kind of owe it to the people that you're speaking for to be as well-educated and well-versed and able to articulate your stance, you know, but fuck... it's so... I feel fear a lot, when I'm in interviews and I get a phone call from my publicist about a tweet I've written. I feel fear, often. And that feels like a yuck place to be in. And I think some people think that I get off on it? I get off on the drama, or getting a bit of extra air time is something that I enjoy, and the truth is that I... don't want that. Like I said earlier, I just wanna live in a little house and have a cute dog and make music. And I don't wanna have to comment on this shit. I dunno... I wanted to pick this as my lie because I know there's people like Thelma Plum and Miss Blanks and myself to a degree, even though I'm not as outspoken as those ladies, but, like, we're drained. We're drained from constantly having to comment on this kind of political shit. And it's obviously something we do because we feel strongly about change and positive movement, but none of us like doing it! [laughs] It's tiring. And shit.
U: I think it's important to be said, so I'm really glad you're saying it right now. 100%. Also Twitter becomes such a forum for people to just heckle you for any minor little thing you say, I get the same thing. Like, I don't wanna speak out on stuff because even though I feel strongly about it, there's sometimes no point because I know I'm gonna have to spend the next hour telling someone why what they've just retorted back to me is wrong. It's just exhausting, I'm with you there.
K: Yeah, and each day's different, each day you gotta choose whether you're gonna be an educator that day or not. Because it is super-draining. But it's also hard to let shit slide. Like, I do dislike involving myself in these political, heavy conversations, but I also hate feeling complicit in bullshit! You know what I mean?
U: Yeah.
K: I feel TERRIBLE about being part of an industry that allows certain things to happen when they just... should not. And I feel terrible for having a voice and not using it.
U: It's a catch-22.
K: It's an interesting place to be in, it's a hard place to be in - constantly weighing up your responsibility... but wanting to protect yourself as a soft, gentle, human being that has feelings! And has a desire to just go with the grain and have a peaceful life [laughs]. I dunno, it's just really heart-breaking to watch the way people go out in these crazed - mobs attacking people for being outspoken... but yeah, it's been on my mind, this idea of social responsibility. I think a lot of people think it's something I enjoy or feel passionate about, but it's not at all. It's something that I really hate. I don't wish it wasn't part of my narrative, because I can't imagine my life without struggles in those areas, it's really formed who I am. But it'd be nice to... elect out of it. Politics.
U: Yeah, totally. Thank you so much for sharing that. It's important and needs to be said. I think that's something we should definitely get out there so music media know to lift the weight off people like you and Miss Blanks and Thelma. Thank you for sharing that, it's close to the heart, I can tell, and I'm sorry that it's something you guys have to keep doing! It's exhausting.
If you or someone you know is in need of crisis support or suicide prevention assistance, please contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 or talk to one of their available crisis support staff. See their website for further details.
