The Ties That Bind: Sound, Storytelling, and Surviving a Shrinking Industry

Australian media is a notoriously small pond, and lately, it feels like the water is evaporating by the minute. Newsrooms are consolidating, legacy platforms are tightening their belts, and the traditional career paths that once felt like solid bitumen are looking a bit more like shifting sand. Yet, despite the contraction, the sheer volume of remarkable audio being produced in this country across different sectors remains staggering.

For decades, though, we’ve insisted on treating these sectors like entirely different species.

If you look at the history of radio awards in Australia, the landscape has always been fiercely segregated. We had the ACRAs for commercial radio, separate recognition ceremonies for the ABC, distinct awards for the community broadcasting sector, and more recently, standalone events for the exploding world of independent podcasting.

Of course, the structural differences between these sectors are real. Commercial radio has to navigate client demands and sponsored categories. The ABC is driven by distinct public sector values, rigorous charter obligations, and investigative mandates. On the surface, there is a yawning chasm between the populist, high-octane spectacle of The Kyle & Jackie O Show and the forensic, slow-burn journalism of Background Briefing.

But despite those superficial divides, I’ve always found this fragmented approach to celebrating our industry a bit problematic. Stripped of the logos, the funding models, and the corporate structures, we are all ultimately working with the exact same raw medium: sound. More specifically, we are all trying to master the art of the human voice. Whether it’s a commercial breakfast skit, a community radio music show, or a deeply moving documentary, the goal is identical—to spark a connection in the dark space between a listener’s headphones.

That’s why I was genuinely excited about the inaugural Australian Audio Awards held on Thursday night at Carriageworks in Redfern.

For the first time last week, the walls came down. The event felt like a long-overdue acknowledgement that audio is a singular, interconnected industry. Even though I wasn’t up for a nomination myself, and quite separate from my official day job at the ABC, I decided to dig into my own pocket and fund a ticket. My motivation was simple: I wanted to be in the room. I wanted to catch up with old friends, swap notes with collaborators across the different sectors, and see how the broader landscape was shaping up.

Naturally enough, given my history, I kept a very close eye on how the ABC performed throughout the night. Securing a front-row seat gave me the perfect vantage point, and I spent a good portion of the evening snapping images of some incredibly well-deserved wins.

I’m the first to admit I no longer have the same boundless energy levels I used to deploy for industry gala nights. The spirit was willing, but the tank was running low, so I slipped out of the awards fairly early to head home.

Even with the early exit, the night left me feeling incredibly inspired. I’m already looking forward to attending again next year—and next time around, I hope to actually have something of my own to enter, specifically my Limb Shift podcast, which explores life, adaptation, and mobility after limb loss.

The theme of industry connection caught up with me again just a day later, though under far more somber circumstances. I joined a large contingent of colleagues, past and present, to attend the public memorial for our brilliant, late colleague James Valentine at Sydney Town Hall.

A group of us travelled down together via the light rail. As we stepped off and headed towards the Town Hall, I was absolutely amazed by the sheer scale of the queue snaking all the way down the street. The memorial was a ticketed event open to the general public, but even knowing how respected he was, seeing that massive crowd was a stark reminder of his reach. It made perfect sense, really; the event had sold out almost immediately. James possessed that rare, magical, and completely authentic connection with his audience. There was an overwhelming amount of pure love in that cavernous room.

There were so many deeply memorable moments throughout the service, but the finale was unforgettable. To close the memorial, a group of exceptional jazz musicians struck up a rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In”, physically playing and marching through the hall to lead the entire crowd out onto the street. It was joyful, poignant, and uniquely James.

Afterwards, a few of my old ABC colleagues and I migrated to a nearby pub for drinks. Amid the grief of losing James, it was wonderful to simply sit, catch up, and see faces I hadn’t looked at in years. For a few years now, I’ve been running a dedicated Facebook group aimed at organising a proper, comprehensive reunion for former station staff members. Sadly, as time has ticked on, a huge percentage of the posts on that page have wound up being notices remembering the beautiful, talented colleagues who have passed away.

As we sat over our drinks, the sentiment in the group was unanimous: It’s time.

One former colleague looked at me frankly and said she was utterly determined to make this reunion happen, even though she is now based down in Melbourne. Hearing her say that gave me a massive surge of confidence. Having worked alongside her for years, I know firsthand that she has successfully organised countless major events for the station. If anyone has the logistical grit and the industry connections to help me turn this long-overdue reunion into a reality, it’s her.

In an industry that’s getting smaller and tighter by the day, we can’t afford to stay isolated in our separate corners. Whether we’re celebrating the cutting edge of audio at Carriageworks or raising a glass to a fallen giant at Town Hall, it’s the human connections—and the voices we share—that keep the medium alive.