Miss Kaninna Will Ruffle Feathers. Get Used to It.

Miss Kaninna is not to be fucked with.

Her ethos as an R&B and hip-hop artist and a proud Yorta Yorta, Dja Dja Wurrung, Kalkadoon and Yirendali woman is to speak freely, protect her peace and make those in charge of oppressive systems eat it.

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On the funk-infused ‘Blak Britney’, she speaks of a government that operates on the failure of her people. The lines, “Death to invader, and all the land takers, and all the treaty breakers, and all the dictators,” are more than just lyrics she jotted down over a beat; they’re a fearless, brash reflection of a reality that’s fuelled by survival and cultural reclamation. That valiance is nothing new to Miss Kaninna.

“I was raised by the Tasmanian-Aboriginal community, the Palawa mob, and they don’t fuck around when it comes to what they want and making demands in regard to human rights and Blak rights,” she told VICE.

“My Nan was the first state secretary of the Aboriginal Centre and she’s been ruffling feathers. My Mum then took that role and she was also ruffling feathers, so I feel it’s only right for me to take on that legacy and keep the family name good.”

In a world where big-suited politicians and “higher-up” industry folk will wave opportunities over your head if you threaten the status quo, Miss Kaninna stays unfazed, nourished and absolutely deadly. Her truth will always prevail; the music is just her scripture.

In between music drops, international festival slots and a heap of hard-earned rest, we caught up with the artist to talk about her rapid rise, the state of humanity and balancing soft and staunch.

VICE: A lot has been happening in your world lately. What can you share? Have you been resting? Have you been eating? Tell me about it.

A lot has been going on since the release of my last single ‘Pinnacle Bitch’. It’s been good though, because I’ve had a bit of a break. I’m still doing live shows, but we’ve taken a step back. I just got back from Toronto, Canada, and that was really nice because I got to spend lots of time with other Indigenous people over there and really fill up my cup. But I’ve been eating good and I’ve been sleeping good.

Good, that’s important. It’s easy to get lost in the sauce so it’s good to hear that you’re taking a necessary break. You’ve been in the music game for a little while. What’s something that’s drastically changed for you?

I guess my privacy has changed. I’ve only been releasing music for a year and a bit now. And even just people expecting a lot from me has changed. People talk to me differently now. I understand that’s part of the game. Even people that I’ve known for my whole life talk and interact with me differently. It’s a blessing and a curse.

How do you manage that? Do you feel like you have to adjust yourself in certain ways?

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I think as an artist, you always have to be really grateful to people who will listen to your music. And so I really do try and offer that space for people. But sometimes, it can be overwhelming. So, I guess it’s just about adjusting your energy levels to make sure that you’re not spreading yourself too thin. But I don’t want people to think that they can’t approach me, so every single time somebody talks to me, I tell them I appreciate them. Them approaching me makes me feel like what I’m doing is good.

Something that’s integrated into your music heavily is this admirable and unapologetic realness both as an artist and a First Nations woman. You don’t really give a fuck about ruffling feathers or making people uncomfortable. Where does that approach and energy come from and how has it manifested into the art?

I was raised by the Tasmanian-Aboriginal community, the Palawa mob, and they don’t fuck around when it comes to what they want and making demands in regard to human rights and Blak rights. I guess from a very young age, I’ve seen people stick up for themselves and not be afraid to tell it how it is, even if it means receiving backlash. I feel like that’s given me a real fire. My Nan was the first state secretary of the Aboriginal Centre and she’s been ruffling feathers. My mum then took that role and she was ruffling feathers, so I feel it’s only right for me to take on that legacy and keep the family name good. I guess just being around a lot of really staunch individuals has given me the confidence to also be like that and sometimes I don’t even feel like it’s me that’s doing that. Sometimes, I feel like it comes from my ancestors, and they speak through me. Or my mob is speaking through me. That’s where I get a lot of that fire.

How would you describe that ancestral exchange? It sounds almost out-of-body.

100 per cent. A lot of the times when I come off stage, I’ll look at my partner and be like “I didn’t rehearse any of that”. But it just feels right. I’ll be in the green room like, “these are the points that I want to bring up” and I guess I just let my ancestors speak for me. It’s hard to explain.

Do you ever sow any seeds of doubt when it comes to performing or making music? How do you overcome that?

From a very young age, I’ve been told by other people that I wasn’t good enough, or that my story isn’t important. I do recognise my privilege as a light-skinned Indigenous person. I do understand my privilege in that I didn’t grow up in some of the poorer communities. Having a lot of self-doubt as a child has flooded through to me as an adult and in my art. But I have to recognise that I’m able to do this, because of my privilege. I really try and anchor on to that and understand that I’m doing this so that people who look like me or people who look more Indigenous, hopefully get more opportunities in the future because they can see that I can do it. I’m trying to open up the space more, having lots of doubts about my music kind of go away when I know that it’s not just about me.

That leads me to your appearance and performance at SXSW Texas. I know that you had a specific response to the ties that SXSW share with certain arms associations and sponsors. Tell me about that experience and your need to push your story and the stories of generations of oppressed people to a stage like SXSW.

What I’ve experienced during this genocide in Gaza and what I’ve experienced as a First Nations woman is that there are a lot of people who are “hyper-woke” and they’re all of a sudden now figuring out that they can make a difference from protest and that they actually care about something. For me, my first march was when I was in the womb. I’ve been fighting for Aboriginal rights since my great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother. And for me, I found it really frustrating because during a lot of these protests, people would come to me and hold such high expectations over me in a way that’s super unrealistic, because what you’re asking me to do, you wouldn’t do yourself.

As an Aboriginal woman, I experience racism every day. I can’t post anything on social media without having 100 comments to do with racism. And since I’ve been travelling a lot with my music, I’ve realised that the whole world doesn’t know about Aboriginal people and they don’t know about the oppression that we go through. It’s isolated to Australia because the Australian government wants it that way. They don’t want people outside of Australia to know the conditions that Aboriginal people are living under, the rates at which children are being taken away, and the deaths in custody because if we start explaining that to other people, other people will start caring. It will put pressure on the government. As soon as I started music, I knew that I wanted to become international because I wanted other people, other black communities, other POC people or other people of minority groups to band with us and to work with us and educate people.

So when I got the opportunity to perform at SXSW and do a performance internationally, I was so excited. The only reason why I was able to go over there is because we got a grant. We were over there for two weeks, visiting my partner’s family in Los Angeles, which was beautiful because I got to understand the African-American culture a lot more rather than through a screen. And I remember I was absolutely devastated when I posted something saying, “I’m so excited SXSW is one week away, I can’t wait to share my story internationally”, and then all of a sudden, I got a bunch of comments on my post – which again ties back to unrealistic expectations – that were just like “I can’t believe you’ve done this”. People were really attacking me and I was really confused. I felt like there was no grace for me. It felt like I was supposed to know.

I was really upset and taken aback when I found out about arms being the major financial support for SXSW. I had to do a lot of critical thinking. I’ve been flown over here, I’ve been given a massive grant to be able to speak my truth and tell my story. But also, I have a conflicting issue about SXSW and their sponsors. And so I was thinking, okay, if people on the SXSW lineup are going to boycott because they don’t agree with what’s going on, then who is actually going to be at SXSW talking about what’s going on.

[After VICE spoke to Miss Kaninna, SXSW announced it would end its partnership with the US Army and the defence contractor RTX Corporation in 2025 after more than 80 artists on the festival’s 2024 lineup withdrew in solidarity with Palestine. The festival said in late June: “As a result, the US army, and companies who engage in weapons manufacturing, will not be sponsors of SXSW 2025.”]

A lot of the time boycotting is really effective. But if we’re boycotting programs and festivals and events to the point where our voices aren’t even being heard, that’s actually when things become really dangerous.

Those communities of Zionist and white supremacists only get to mingle with people like them, they don’t become uncomfortable by our conversation. That’s something that I’ve learned my whole life and my Nana and my Mum have taught me that you actually have to go into those facilities and into those systems and make people uncomfortable. And so I guess I just weighed up in my mind that if I’m going to do this SXSW thing, I’m going to make the most of it, and I’m going to talk about how oppressed my people are.

I’m going to talk about genocide, I’m going to talk about ecocide, I’m going to talk about how an attack on one Indigenous group is an attack on us all. And so I really did utilise my performance time to talk about those issues. And honestly, I feel it was the right decision. It’s easier just to walk away and not say anything.

It’s also just a big “fuck you” to the industry and to that corporation because you’ve utilised your time in a way that they would not want you to. In the music industry, it can be so easy to silence someone and strip opportunities away from those who go against the grain. How do you go about navigating that?

Knowing my track record, it’s difficult to navigate. I feel like I’m taking it a step at a time and I’m learning from every experience. Even though one platform might take your voice away, another platform may uplift it. It’s about surrounding yourself with people that you trust and that you feel safe with where you can actually get your voice out. We live in a world where the white man controls everything. And if they don’t like what you say, they just silence you. So I guess it’s just about understanding that that is going to happen and not taking it too hard. I’ve been silenced so many times throughout my whole life. And I just keep going because I know what’s going to happen. Eventually, people are going to catch on to the truth and support the truth because the truth will prevail.

Why do you think the truth is something that people feel so threatened by?

The truth is fucked up. Look at the Australian legislation, for instance. The reason why they don’t teach Blak history or Aboriginal history in schools is because if you educate people on what actually happened, people aren’t going to want to be a part of this system. If you educate people on what’s happening in Gaza, people aren’t going to want to support Israel. When we’re talking about McDonalds or Coke, people don’t want to stop having that. So they hide from the truth. And I think what’s happening in Gaza challenges your moral compass right now. For me personally, if you don’t believe in a free Gaza, then I don’t want you around in my space. I feel like people don’t want to hear the truth.