Who we are: Rob Edwards, musician

WHO WE ARE: Rob Edwards

It’s dark and cold until the sun rises behind Mount Billy in Hindmarsh Valley. This is the magic moment when kookaburras – nature’s laughing alarm – start to sing. And everything, right down to the morning dew in tree-top spiderwebs, glistens.

Bird Song

Story by Zoë Kassiotis. Photograph by Jason Porter.

There are two types of people in this world: sunrise or sunset, dawn or dusk. Local singer/songwriter Rob Edwards, unusually, is both. If Rob was an animal, he’d likely be a kookaburra: wise, driven, cheeky and filled with song. Like many animals, kookaburras are creatures of habit and so is Rob. Each morning starts the same way for the thirty-yearold muso, whose devotion to his dawn coffee-making practice can be likened to a moving meditation that carries him into his Hindmarsh Valley home studio to create jazz, soul and blues-inspired music.

Rob is still depleted from what was a wildly mad March, but his smile says he wouldn’t change a thing: ‘I gave my all, shared my heart and am so fulfilled by the whole experience.’ With a residency at The Stag Public House, Fringe Garden Sessions, Sanaa festival and a sneaky premier of his new song via the HEXADECA art experience at WOMADelaide, it seems Rob might need a manager before next festival season.

As a First Nations Arrernte man whose lyrics focus on mental health, Aboriginality and sharing his own family’s story of the Stolen Generations, Rob finds great purpose in storytelling. ‘We still haven’t found our family, but the story we have and the effects of it is something that so many identify with,’ he says. It wasn’t until Rob toured remote Western Australia that he realised sharing his family’s disconnection is important. ‘Music is a vessel that allows me to bring conversation and awareness into this space and touring is a way for me to connect with the Country I’m on,’ he reflects. For Rob, the magic lies in post-performance connection, when First Nations children come up and thank him with a gutsy high five, while others linger to share their own stories.

Rob grew up as an only child in country Victoria, where he first started morphing his six-year-old fingers into clumsy shapes to make songs on his dad’s guitar. ‘It would’ve sounded atrocious, but I remember it being pure joy, I could feel it then and it’s definitely still there now,’ he reminisces. Raised to the sounds of Stevie Wonder by a mum who sings and plays piano, and a dad who took him to see Tommy Emmanuel at age ten, music was rooted early and deeply in his gentle soul.

The Edwards family relocated to South Australia, eventually finding their piece of Hindmarsh Valley paradise, backing onto Mount Billy Conservation Park. ‘Having a base bordering Ngarrindjeri and Kaurna Country has been so incredible; it’s become such an integral space for me to create and heal,’ he says. As with many artists, Rob first went down the university path, studying to become a paramedic. Many may think ‘chalk and cheese’ when it comes to music and the ambulance service, but there’s a thread that ties the two professions together: care.

Whether it be on station, or six years later when leaving the ambos to relocate to Byron in his van, music has always found a soul friend in Rob. ‘Whether it’s a profession or a hobby it’s always going to be there for me to confide in, express and share,’ Rob explains of his natural transition from paramedic to full-time musician. Four pivotal years on the east coast brought Rob to every musician’s worst nightmare: 2020. Cancelled gigs forced a move to Hindmarsh Valley, where he now lives nestled at the base of Mount Billy in the twentytwo foot caravan he inherited from his grandmother. ‘I’ve evolved hugely since coming to the Fleurieu. It’s a paradise for birds, nature, and for me as well,’ Rob says.

With two EPs on the horizon – one to be produced by Rob in his valley studio – we can expect lofty things from the multi-talented musician, who admits it’s hard to sit still musically. ‘I’m excited to keep growing while playing and travelling as much as possible, knowing that I now have a consistent base,’ he says.

As the autumn sun dissipates from Hindmarsh Valley, kookaburras call to establish territory among family groups. It’s poetic and Rob tells me it’s this time each evening when the birds encircle his studio, prompting him and his two dogs to retire to his hammock and call back with soul and blues.

‘In the age of slowing down I’m all about sustaining my music,’ he says. ‘I want to do this for a long, long time.’