It was 2007 and I was heading out to work on the regional program of an Indigenous arts festival called Stylin’ Up. A car entourage of arts workers were headed to Cherbourg to run beatmaking, songwriting and dance workshops.
As I drove up into Highgate Hill, the sun was just coming up. Ahead of me I saw Patty leaning against a yellow ute wearing a striped ’70s men’s T-shirt, a rat’s tail catching the light. She looked electric. I remember thinking: Uh oh. This person is literally shining.
I felt something inside me when I spotted her. My stomach turned, and I knew something big was about to happen, almost like a premonition. In Queensland back in the 2000s, the queer scene still felt quite small. Seeing her in that morning light, I fell for her straight away.
I was nervous to meet her properly, and even more nervous that we were about to spend five days sharing a cabin. But we were there to work, so I played it down and tried to keep my cool. Connection came easily. We bonded over music – Patty is a drummer and producer, I’m a songwriter and guitarist – and our shared belief in art as a force for social change. I had recently returned from working in East Timor, and Patty was working in youth transitional housing programs.
Months later, Patty invited me to a gig she was playing in Lismore with her queer band Bertha Control. That night, our crush just opened up. We ended up pashing in a tree in a nearby park. The next day she had to play another gig up the coast, and texted me from a payphone (which used to be a thing): I’ve got the biggest crush on you.
Right from the start, I loved how her spirit made everything feel like an adventure. Jumping on trampolines, exploring forests and oceans, going to gigs, running around at festivals or along beaches at night – we built a world together.
There were many moments where we were so consumed by the experience of being together, it was like time would stop. We would look at each other and the magic in her eyes would draw me in.
We moved to a massive house deep in the forest in the Channon, between Lismore and Nimbin. It was a six-bedroom house with a big orchard. We had the whole place to ourselves to set up a little music studio. It was a really beautiful time to fall in love in paradise.
Since then we’re done a lot of regional and international touring – amazing, but also exhausting. Our work is political and sits on the fringes of many art forms. We’ve had situations where the venue manager would kick us off stage saying: we don’t want to hear that fucking lesbian shit.
But we just keep coming back to knowing that this is what we want to do in the world.
Creativity brought us together, and it continues to be the way we love, work, and imagine new futures. I still look at her and am amazed at this incredible person, who is always trying to learn and grow with me. The rat’s tail disappeared among a million haircuts and costume changes over the years, but the love and her shining heart is with me – in life, on stage and in our continuing adventures together.
