‘Baby Mama Drama’ arrives as a groove-heavy, emotionally grounded track. What was the moment that first sparked the idea for this song?

Well, to be honest, it came from the rhyming words: even Obama has baby mama drama… then I kind of worked backwards from there. I originally thought of it coming from the perspective of a relationship counsellor. You know, an old guy in a tweed jacket and bow tie…he’s got a sign out the front of his office that reads something like, “Been Married Seven Times, Each One A Success..” and his basic message is, tough times in a relationship are inevitable, it’s how you deal that counts. 

The song speaks openly about holding onto love even when things get messy. Was there a specific relationship experience that shaped the message behind it?

Haha, more than one, I’d say. Also, I’ve drawn from friends’ experiences, not just mine. But yeah, if you ever hear someone say they never have any conflict in their relationship, then that union is probably not fully formed. Conflict is essential and part of the game.

You recorded vocals across hemispheres, directing the session from Sydney at 3 a.m. What was that experience like, and how did that pressure shape the final take Arica Jackson delivered?

It was kind of like a Teams Meeting with high fidelity audio equipment. We got the girls into the studio in Brooklyn; they were super professional and quick studies, so they nailed their parts really easily, which was a joy for me. It was so crazy hearing them chat in the vocal booth over there whilst the engineers were setting up… “hey, how are you? I love your hair! Oh, thank you!”.. Like they were in the next room…

We didn’t have a lot of time before they had to take off for work (on Broadway), so there was definitely pressure to get everything done. But it came out great.

The outro vamp from Arica Jackson was a one-take moment. How did it feel hearing that performance come together in real time?
By the time all the written stuff was in the can, we literally had minutes left when I asked Arica to do a vamp on the outro. She had time for one take, and it was surreal. It meant a lot to finally get this part of the puzzle complete because we went through so much to get to this point. Not only the lockdown, but the studio had to close down halfway through the project, so there was a delay there until we got set up in an in-between studio, plus it took ages to finally get the right singers… I was like a dog with a bone and not willing to compromise. I knew what I wanted, and I eventually got it.   

 

Your influences span Teddy Atlas to Steely Dan and The Roots. Where do you hear those inspirations most clearly in ‘Baby Mama Drama’?Well, in the case of Steely Dan, it’d be those half-diminished chromatically descending jazz chords that create the harmonic environment for the track. And would I like to hear Teddy Atlas sing my song? Would I what!! 

You made much of the upcoming album while living in your family’s granny flat during lockdown. How did that stripped-back, solitary environment affect your writing and emotional approach?

I had no distractions except for the welcome ones, like my 2 year old nephew, who was in the main house with the family. Nothing but a bed, a piano and my little studio set up. I got to go really deep whilst on that 3 and a half month sabbatical. And the results are there. A strong case for a universal basic income for artists!! Alas, it’s Australia, so don’t hold your breath.

This track carries both groove and vulnerability. How do you balance storytelling, humour, and honesty in a song that deals with conflict and reconciliation?

Everyone can relate to this to some degree, so I guess it’s about relatability. And humour is a good way to take the edge off of something that can be all-consuming. I suppose when you’re past it, you can look back and think, maybe I’ll do things differently next time… 

You spent years fronting a nine-piece roots-reggae outfit. What feels different about sharing music under your own name and shaping every detail yourself?

It feels easier and very liberating doing it this way. I can perform these new tracks on a piano or a guitar, or with a couple of spoons and get the message across. Yeah, the nine-piece thing was amazing when it all came together, but it was a challenge doing it in a tiny scene like Australia… 

The lyrics nod to the universal nature of relationship tension — “even Obama has Baby Mama Drama.” Why was it important to approach the topic with warmth and relatability rather than blame?

As I’ve said, no one escapes the harsh reality of relationship conflict, and you can use it for good. And you can’t go around carrying grudges and hatred toward people who you feel did you wrong. Well, maybe for a bit, but then you have to let it go. The Obama line is about the fact that he presents this almost god-like persona of perfection, you know, the way he carries himself, you know, he’s a cool guy, but I guarantee you he’d have spent his fair share of time in the dog house.

‘Baby Mama Drama’ is part of your upcoming 2026 album Dealin’ Out The Healin’. What larger story or emotional arc does this single represent within that new body of work? 

Well, if I look at the themes throughout the record, a lot of it is about experiences I have had or those of close friends’ experiences that I witnessed first hand, dealing with relationships. Hopefully the references are opaque enough for them not to recognise themselves, haha. I think I did. I’ve never done this before, where the stories are all of the same arc… I thought, let’s make it relatable, cos it’s about getting the music heard by as many people as possible, isn’t it?

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What inspired the emotional direction of Better Say, and when did you realise this song needed to exist?

‘Better Say’ was born from a place of emotional limbo – when you like someone and you’re pretty sure they like you back, but both parties refuse to actually say anything. ‘Better Say’ captures the struggle of pretending to be chill when internally, you’re spiraling. I was noticing how often my friends and I would assume these effortless, nonchalant personas, even when we cared deeply, and that’s when I thought, “okay I want to write a song about this”.

How did the push-and-pull energy of modern dating shape the way you approached the lyrics and delivery?

I think modern dating is basically a masterclass in ambiguity. Everyone’s trying to act casual, play mind games and ultimately, avoid saying the wrong thing and appearing too interested. That’s exactly why I chose to sarcastically open the song with “I am casual, I’m non-committal… I don’t have needs, don’t have expectations”. It’s the persona so many of us put on in the dating scene, this performance of being impenetrable and unbothered whilst we’re secretly hoping this person might be our happily-ever-after.

You wrote this track entirely on your own — what was happening in your life creatively or personally that fed into the writing process?

I wrote ‘Better Say’ after I found myself back in the dating scene. I realised I’d been shrinking my needs to seem cooler and more laid-back, and writing the song really forced me to confront that. I had a lot of fun exploring the juxtaposition between my internal and external personas – the version of me that acts chill and unfazed, and the version that actually cares a lot. I really lent into that contrast, and here we are!

Working with Gabrielle Emery and an all-female production team adds a strong layer of meaning to the track. What made that collaboration feel right for this release?

‘Better Say’ is primarily about speaking up for yourself and clearly outlining your expectations, so working with women who really understood that feeling was special. Gabrielle Emery isn’t just a brilliant producer, she’s also a great friend. I always feel so comfortable with her, like I can completely unleash and leave everything on the table, and we have so much fun creating together.

We really leaned into the chaos of an internal spiral, and having such an encouraging space is exactly why things like the last-minute intro “well, he took four hours to text me back, what do you think that means?” made it into the song. That moment came out of us laughing and oversharing stories about the trials and tribulations of modern day dating. Honestly, I just had the best time.

Your music often feels like a diary entry that hits hard. How do you walk the line between vulnerability and empowerment in your songwriting?

I think I’ve realised that pretending you’re fine is actually the opposite of empowerment. It might sound cliché, but being vulnerable and naming how you feel can be incredibly difficult and takes a lot of strength. When I write, I try to sit with my emotions long enough to understand them and then shape them into something listeners hopefully recognise in themselves. That’s why I knew I wanted to release ‘Better Say’, because it’s about finally telling the truth and asking for the clarity you deserve.

Better Say has a very punchy, confident tone. Was there a moment in the studio when the sound locked in and you knew you’d nailed it?

I think the moment it clicked was when we nailed the final vocals. We really wanted to capture the chaos of that internal versus external battle, and I’m so happy with how they turned out. One moment that stands out is when we were literally jumping around the studio screaming “I don’t care!!!” for the group vocals before the second chorus. The second I heard that back, I knew we’d hit the nail on the head.

You’ve been compared to artists like Holly Humberstone and Olivia Rodrigo, but you also have a very distinct voice. Where do you feel your sound sits right now?

I like to think I sit in this pocket between soft-spoken vulnerability and sharp, witty storytelling. I love writing from a really emotional, introspective place, but I also want the choruses to pack a punch. Holly Humberstone and Olivia Rodrigo do that so beautifully – their emotional precision is something I really admire and draw inspiration from.

You’ve had some huge early milestones — songwriting comps, radio play, strong media support. How have those experiences shaped the artist you’re becoming?

For a long time, I treated music like a secret passion, but things like media support, radio play, and competition recognition helped me realise that people genuinely connect with what I’m making. That’s been really motivating. I think we often feel like we’re alone in what we’re feeling or going through, so having people respond to my music and see themselves in it means everything to me.

What do you hope listeners feel when they hear Better Say for the first time?

I hope it makes listeners think, “I’m done with mixed signals and hot and cold behaviour! I do deserve clarity!” That’s the energy I’m embracing right now – either show up clearly and honestly, or not at all.

As you move toward your next chapter, what can fans expect from the music you’re creating after this release?

I think I’m exploring themes that feel central to your early to mid-twenties – identity, self-worth, discomfort, relationships, and the emotional intersections between them all. I’ve been doing a lot of self-reflection, and I think that’s really evident in the music. Sonically, it feels bolder, but it still carries that intimate, diary-like storytelling.

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What headspace were you all in when “No Reason At All” first began to take shape, and how did those early ideas evolve into the final version?

I was feeling fairly existential when I started writing the chorus. The lyric “I hope I feel like this for no reason at all” was floating around in my head and was included in a couple of different demos before being fleshed out into the song it is now. 

The song speaks to a kind of generational fatigue and existential doubt. How much of that came from your own experiences over the past five years?

I think most people experience some kind of malaise in their mid-late 20s. Going through a global pandemic framed that period of my life in a really interesting way. When you couple that with the current state of the world, socially and politically, I’d be surprised to find anyone who’s not slightly fatigued. 

Max mentioned that action is the ideal response to the state of the world, even when despair feels easier. How did that emotional tug-of-war influence the writing and performance?

I’m not as much of an activist as I wish I was and certainly not as much as some of my friends (who I respect a lot). Some of that probably comes from fear but I also tend to see the world through the lens of music. This song is my best attempt at capturing how I respond to the world around me. 

The track has that nostalgic pop-punk energy but still feels grounded in something real and current. How did you find the balance between familiar influences and your own voice?

There’s a few subtle nods in this track to bands we love like Motion City Soundtrack, Hot Mulligan and The Story So Far. All of those bands have such unique sounds that we could never even try to imitate them. I’m fascinated by the idea of pairing elements of pop-punk with other sounds to try and create something that’s both fresh and familiar. 

Lachy Pitcher came on board for production. What did he bring out of you that wasn’t there before?

Lachy has one of the best sets of ears in Australian music and he’s a huge asset to our sound. He and I tend to think the same way about music so collaborating in the studio is always really seamless and enjoyable. He’s basically a secret member of the band at this point. 

The music video adds a cinematic layer to the song’s themes, especially with the imagery of the burning couch. What was the initial concept behind the clip, and how did it come to life?

We worked with the director Pete Williams on his film The Last Grind (out now on SBS On Demand and Apple TV). He and cinematographer Johanis Lyons-Reid did a tremendous job of capturing the messaging of this track for the music video. Pete’s concept of the burning couch is quite a resonant way of representing the struggle faced by many Australians to keep a roof over their head and stay afloat.

Your jazz backgrounds at the Elder Conservatorium plays into your songwriting in subtle ways. How does that training shape the textures or structures you lean toward in Superdose Gangway?

What I love about jazz is the way that musicians keep finding unique ways of interpreting familiar pieces of music. We try to do that when we pick a cover for our live set. For years, we used to do a punk version of Hollaback Girl which worked out great. To me, jazz music (and all music) is freedom of expression. Everything that Superdose Gangway does tends to follow that mantra. 

You’ve experimented with unusual release approaches in the past, did that early hustle play a part in this release? Has it made it easier to connect creatively/write music together?

We did a project called ‘26 Songs in 2016’ which involved releasing a new song every fortnight for a whole year. Each song title started with a different letter of the alphabet and we tried to learn something new or do something different with every song. The biggest lesson we learnt from that process is never to be married to an idea. Everything is a placeholder until the song is released! 

The new single captures a sense of tension and uncertainty that feels very of this moment. What do you hope listeners take away from it when they first hear it?

I hope this track helps people feel a little bit less alone and encourages people to be even kinder to those around them. I’d be happy with any result like that. 

You’ve shared stages with an incredibly diverse group of bands over the years. How have those experiences influenced the direction of this single and where you see Superdose Gangway heading next?

Next year, we’ll be celebrating 10 years of being a band. We’ve played with so many incredible bands, toured some amazing parts of Australia, released heaps of music and had so much fun doing it. We’ve been pretty quiet for the past year or so but I’m looking forward to our 10th year as a band being a big one, hope to see you at a show! 

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When you started curating this lineup, what first connected you to Mathilde Anne, R.EM.EDY and Cooper Smith? What did you see in each of them that made you feel, yes, these are the voices we need in the room?

They are all incredible artists, I love their music. Mathilde Anne has this ethereal, intimate way of writing that feels like she’s letting you into her internal world, my favourite song of hers is ‘Haunt You When I’m gone’- it’s rare to find an artist who can make vulnerability feel powerful. R.EM.EDY is a force; she shapeshifts through genres with such confidence, and she uses her music to speak boldly about identity and disability. I first saw her perform at BIGSOUND and she was incredible! Cooper Smith brings an electricity and joy that’s completely infectious – he refuses to fit into anyone’s expectation of what a DJ “should” be, and it’s been incredible to see him write original music. I first saw him perform at ABILITY Fest.

Putting this event together must have involved a lot of instinct as well as intention. What were the qualities or stories you were determined to spotlight within the disabled artist community?

I wanted voices that were unapologetically themselves. Artists who are pushing against the grain musically, but who are also shifting the culture about what it means to be a disabled musician. They’re all incredibly talented, hardworking musicians. I also wanted to make sure I showed a cross section of styles and different disabilities.

Your own experiences as an artist with disability are woven into everything you do. How did that perspective influence the way you approached shaping this night?

My lived experience was at the heart of every decision. I know what it feels like to be the only disabled person at a gig, or to arrive at a venue and realise it hasn’t been considered whether you can access the stage. I didn’t want any artist on this lineup to feel that way. So, I curated the night with the same care I wish I had been given earlier in my career – making sure the environment is safe, the team is supportive, and the artists feel uplifted rather than tokenised. It’s about building the kind of industry I want the next generation to inherit.

ONES TO WATCH has a reputation for picking the artists who will shape the next wave. What did you want this particular edition to say about where the industry is heading – or where it needs to go?

I wanted this edition to say, loudly, that disabled artists are not a footnote in Australian music – we’re part of the future. It’s incredibly exciting that Live Nation have decided to take this step and champion this night, I think it’s exciting and a sign of the times. The industry is realising that inclusivity isn’t an add-on; it’s essential if we want a scene that reflects the real world. The next wave of music in Australia isn’t defined by one sound – it’s defined by perspective, authenticity and diversity of thought. These artists represent exactly that.

You’ve been vocal about the barriers that still exist in this space. From your point of view, what changes feel genuinely urgent if disabled artists are going to be supported properly in this country?

Accessibility is still the biggest barrier – physical spaces, schedules, expectations, and the assumptions people make before we even start performing. We need venues, festivals and studios designed with disabled people in mind, not retrofitted as a last minute thought. And we need meaningful representation: disabled artists on festival line ups, on radio, in writer’s rooms, at award nights. It’s also crucial that funding and professional development opportunities account for the realities of disability.

The three artists on this bill all occupy completely different sonic worlds. How deliberate was it to bring that range of genres and identities together on one stage?

Very deliberate. I wanted to show that disabled artists are not one genre, one narrative, or one aesthetic. We are as varied and expansive as any other group of artists. By bringing together pop, R&B, soul, electronic and indie energy on one stage, I’m hoping audiences feel that. It’s important to challenge the narrow ideas people often have about disability – including how our music “should” sound. There’s no singular disabled artist experience, and this lineup makes that undeniable.

When you look back on the curation process, was there a moment that made you stop and think, this is exactly why this event needs to exist?

I think just seeing how excited the artists are, that Live Nation have thought about including them in a line up like this! Hearing this from the artists reminded me that visibility can be transformative when it’s done right. That was the moment I thought: this is why we’re doing this – so disabled artists can feel celebrated and amplified, not sidelined.

You’re hosting the night and closing it with your own performance. What does sharing the stage with these artists mean to you right now, both personally and creatively?

I feel like I’m standing alongside artists who truly get what it means to navigate this industry differently, but who also refuse to let that limit their artistic ambition. Personally, it feels like being part of a community I’ve always wished existed when I was starting out. Sharing the stage with them feels like a full-circle moment.

You worked closely with Live Nation to bring this together. How did that partnership help you realise what you wanted this event to stand for?

Live Nation genuinely listened. They didn’t just want to put on a show; they wanted to build something meaningful with me. They trusted my vision and let me lead with my lived experience, and they backed that up with real support – from resourcing to accessibility considerations. That kind of collaboration allowed the event to become what it needed to be: not a token moment, but a night that creates actual pathways for disabled artists.

Because the event aligns with the International Day of People with Disabilities, it carries a weight beyond a normal showcase. What conversations do you hope this night sparks – not just in the room, but across the industry in the months ahead?

I hope it sparks conversations about what genuine inclusion looks like – not the glossy version, but the real, everyday work of uplifting disabled artists. I want people to think about who’s missing from their lineups, their writer’s rooms, their playlists and why. And I hope this night inspires more events, partnerships and opportunities that centre disabled artists. If the ripple effect is that more disabled musicians feel seen and supported, then we’ve done something meaningful.

HOSTED BY ELIZA HULL
FEATURING MATHILDE ANNE, R.EM.EDY AND COOPER SMITH

Continuing to redefine their status as one of the premier live music discovery platforms in the country, Live Nation’s ONES TO WATCH series today announces their final edition for 2025:

an event held in Melbourne on Wednesday 26 November, to coincide with

International Day of People with Disabilities (IDPWD) – observed on Wednesday 3 December.