I have written with some amazing singers and songwriters - the

Host: The desert dusk breathed gold and crimson over the horizon — the kind of color that felt like it belonged to another world, or maybe the first one. The air was warm and heavy with dust, carrying the scent of eucalyptus and the low hum of the earth itself. In the distance, crickets sang, ancient and tireless, like tiny keepers of time.

A small campfire flickered in the open plain, its smoke curling into the sky like a prayer. The night was coming fast, and with it, the first stars — sharp, bright, infinite.

Jack sat near the fire, his hands dusty, his face illuminated by the orange glow. He looked like a man who had traveled far, not just across distance, but through something heavier — memory, maybe.

Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged, her hair loose, her eyes deep brown reflecting the firelight. The faint sound of a didgeridoo drifted from a nearby camp, its tone low and ancient — like the sound of the land itself remembering.

Jeeny: softly “Jessica Mauboy once said, ‘I have written with some amazing singers and songwriters — the moment with Snoop Dogg was amazing — but being able to tell an Aboriginal story is bigger than anything that I have ever known.’”

Jack: looking up from the fire “Yeah. That one hits different.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “It does. Because it’s not just about fame or success. It’s about belonging — about carrying something that existed long before you.”

Jack: nods slowly “It’s like the story writes you back.”

Jeeny: softly, with reverence “Exactly.”

Host: The wind shifted, blowing a trail of embers into the dark. For a moment, they floated like living stars, then vanished — beautiful, brief, eternal in memory.

Jack: quietly “You know, people talk about collaboration like it’s the ultimate dream — working with icons, being in studios with legends. But what she said... it’s not about who she worked with. It’s about what she represented.”

Jeeny: nodding “Yeah. The moment she stopped chasing validation and started giving voice to her people, her ancestors — that’s when it became bigger than her career.”

Jack: staring into the fire “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we spend so much of our lives trying to make a mark, and then realize the deepest marks were made long before we got here.”

Jeeny: softly “And the best we can do is trace them — carefully, humbly.”

Host: The didgeridoo’s song deepened, resonating through the earth beneath them. It wasn’t music. It was history — vibrating through bone, soil, and soul.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about her quote? The shift. She’s amazed by working with Snoop — by that big, glittering world — but she realizes that telling her people’s story isn’t just another ‘moment.’ It’s purpose.”

Jack: quietly “Purpose feels heavier than fame.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because it asks more of you. It’s not about applause — it’s about truth. And truth is a hard song to sing.”

Jack: softly, almost to himself “Especially when the world’s been deaf to it for so long.”

Jeeny: gently “That’s why her voice matters. It’s not just sound. It’s survival set to melody.”

Host: The fire popped, a small spark leaping into the air and fading into night. The sound echoed like punctuation on her words.

Jack: after a long pause “You ever think about how stories outlive us? Like, the land remembers even when people forget?”

Jeeny: gazing toward the horizon “The land is memory. That’s the beauty of Aboriginal storytelling — it’s not entertainment. It’s connection. When Jessica sings her story, she’s not performing. She’s remembering out loud.”

Jack: nodding slowly “That’s what makes it amazing — not the fame, not the music, but the courage to be a vessel.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “You said it. The most powerful songs are the ones that don’t belong to you alone.”

Host: The night deepened, the fire’s glow the only light for miles. The sky above burned with constellations older than language — galaxies that had watched countless lives, countless generations of storytellers keeping their flame alive.

Jack: softly “You think that’s what art’s supposed to do? Keep the old stories breathing?”

Jeeny: without hesitation “Yes. And make new ones that don’t erase the old.”

Jack: half-smiling “That’s a fine line.”

Jeeny: “It’s the line between pride and appropriation. Between voice and echo.”

Jack: quietly “And she walks it beautifully.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because she’s not just telling a story about her culture — she’s telling it with it. Every lyric is a bridge between ancestors and audience.”

Jack: sighing softly “That’s something most artists never reach — that kind of authenticity.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe because they’re too busy trying to be understood, instead of just being.”

Host: The sound of the wind moved through the grass, long and low. Somewhere in the distance, the faint cry of a bird echoed through the dusk — both lonely and full.

Jack: quietly “You know, when she says ‘bigger than anything I’ve ever known’ — that line, it feels like surrender. The good kind. Like letting something greater speak through you.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s exactly it. The moment when you stop being the center of the story and become the channel for it.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And that’s what makes it art instead of ambition.”

Jeeny: gently “Yeah. Because the world doesn’t need more noise. It needs more remembering.”

Host: The fire crackled, a small piece of wood collapsing inward, sending up a burst of sparks. The stars seemed to lean closer, listening.

Jeeny: after a pause, voice quiet but full “You know, every time she performs songs like ‘Little Things’ or ‘Yolngu Girl,’ I hear pride in it — not ego, but reverence. She’s saying, ‘I am my people’s voice, and I carry their joy and pain.’ That’s… powerful.”

Jack: softly “And rare.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because most of us are still trying to find ourselves. She already knows who she belongs to.”

Jack: after a long silence “You think we all have a story like that — something we owe to where we came from?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Of course. We just have to stop running long enough to hear it.”

Host: The didgeridoo’s tone rose once more — deep, echoing through the valley. It vibrated the air, the fire, their chests. For a heartbeat, it felt as if time itself bowed to the sound.

Jack and Jeeny both sat still, eyes reflecting flame and starlight — two modern souls listening to something older than language.

Host: The camera pulled back, the fire shrinking into a glowing ember beneath the vast sky.

And Jessica Mauboy’s words hung there, like smoke and prayer:

That collaboration is beautiful — but heritage is holy.
That working with legends might thrill the ego,
but telling your own people’s story feeds the soul.

That music, at its truest,
isn’t about fame or fame’s echo —
it’s about being a voice for the land,
a vessel for those who came before.

Host: And as the stars brightened above them,
Jack whispered, almost reverently —

Jack: “She called it amazing, Jeeny — but it’s more than that.”

Jeeny: softly “Yeah.” pauses “It’s eternal.”

Host: The fire crackled once,
and in that moment — the sound of flame, earth, wind, and voice —
you could almost believe that the land itself was singing back.