During a major label meeting early in her career, Megan Washington was told to put her face on her album cover—with her eyes clearly visible—because, statistically, that sells more records. “It’s like how sunset photos get more likes,” she explains. “There’s some Malcolm Gladwell logic that people connect better when they can see eyes.”
She only half complied. On her platinum-selling, ARIA-winning debut I Believe You Liar, she hid behind a sheet with eyeholes cut out. For There There (2014), her face was sketched in faint pencil lines, and on Batflowers (2020), it was mostly obscured by a cartoonish flower.
But for her latest album, Gem, she finally followed that old advice—the cover shows her looking straight at the camera, no gimmicks, just her face. It’s ironic, since this is her first independent release, free from major-label pressures about sales.
“After 13 years with a major label, I had to ask myself: Why do I make music? Is it just for money? No, not at all,” she says with a dry laugh.
When we last spoke in 2020, Washington was still signed to Universal. Since then, she’s launched her own label, Batflowers Records; moved from Brisbane to the Gold Coast with her husband, filmmaker Nick Waterman, and their son; covered The Killers’ Hot Fuss; and continued voicing Calypso on Bluey. She even tweaked her stage name again—originally just “Washington,” then “Megan Washington” for SEO, now shortened to “Meg.”
Most of the past five years, though, were spent making How To Make Gravy, a film adaptation of Paul Kelly’s Christmas song (she wrote the script), and working on Gem in stolen moments.
Today, we’re in a Sydney hotel lobby after her late-night gig and an early photoshoot left her running on three hours of sleep. Exhaustion hasn’t dulled her sharpness—she asks bluntly what I thought of the album and fires back questions of her own. But there’s warmth too—she jokes about capitalism being “the dominant religion” and sticks around after the interview to chat about shoes and parenting.
Last time, she wondered how happiness—marriage, motherhood—would affect her music, after her turbulent 20s fueled her early work. Is that still a struggle?
“That’s interesting,” she says, sipping the green juice Waterman brought to fend off tour sickness. “This album is different because now I’m wrestling with the future. As a parent, looking ahead feels… cloudy.”I’ve been really questioning why we even make art—what’s the point? Sometimes I feel like the violinist playing as the Titanic sinks.
Washington decided that what’s worth making music about now is “a deeper exploration of nature”—and she means nature in multiple ways. Most obviously, there’s the natural world, which she celebrates with wonder on her album Gem. The music video for the dreamy, tropical lead single Shangri-La (directed by Waterman) shows Washington dancing on a beach with crashing waves behind her, then in a lush rainforest. The lyrics mention the sky, treetops, spiderwebs, seashells, and flowers pushing through weeds.
While it’s not strictly a climate-themed album, Washington acknowledges: “I don’t think anyone can make art right now without it being influenced by what’s happening in the world.”
Gem also reflects on her own nature and the experience of being an artist today. She sings about the way we turn teenagers into pop idols (“We’ve got a brand-new Jesus / She’s only 17”), her desire to “live for more than money,” and even throws in a line about superannuation.
“I never thought I’d put the word ‘superannuation’ in a song,” she laughs. But money kept coming up in her writing because of her mixed feelings about it. “As an artist, you’re not really driven by money… but when your passion becomes your job, the garden can start to feel like a factory.”
Though some lyrics touch on anger and despair (“don’t you cry at the news?”), Washington describes Gem as “a hopeful, forward-looking, open-hearted album”—an escape from pessimism. She chose to write about what she wishes were true, “like a rapper!” Take the track Kidding, where she declares over an uplifting beat: “I believe in the future.”
“You could sing, ‘I’m terrified about the future because of who’s in power,'” she explains. “Or you can say what isn’t true yet—but what you want to be true. Which would you rather sing?”
The album closes with Fine, a song originally performed by Brendan Maclean in How To Make Gravy. Washington’s version features vocals from both her and Paul Kelly. Working with Kelly after adapting his song into a film was “like a lovely bow on a grape,” she says—one of her signature quirky phrases.
She already has two more albums written but not recorded. The more music she makes, the more she realizes she has to give—even if it sometimes feels like singing on a sinking ship.
“With each record, it’s like wading deeper into the ocean. The further I go, the more I learn, and the more I learn, the more I want to create,” she says.
“I’m a singing animal—I just do it. I honk. And I’ve realized that if I were stranded alone on an island, I’d still sing all day.”
Gem by Meg Washington is out August 8.Sign up for our newsletter
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Meg Washington’s Life Soundtrack
Every month, we ask our featured artist to share the songs that have shaped their journey through love, life, desire, and loss.
Best year for music? Name five tracks that prove it.
1997! Shania Twain’s You’re Still the One, Radiohead’s No Surprises, Kylie Minogue’s Did It Again, Bic Runga’s Sway, and Leonardo’s Bride’s Even When I’m Sleeping.
What do you listen to while cleaning?
Paul Simon’s Graceland or Glen Campbell. Housework feels more elegant with a nostalgic soundtrack.
If your life were a movie, what’s the opening song?
Part of Your World from The Little Mermaid.
Go-to karaoke pick?
Valerie by Amy Winehouse/The Zutons. It’s mostly talk-singing, perfect for a relaxed karaoke night.
A song you can’t stand anymore?
Bananarama’s Venus. Heard it nonstop as a kid in the car—now it triggers instant motion sickness.
Underrated song that should be a classic?
Delta Goodrem’s Solid Gold. That track is massive.
Favorite song as a teenager?
I’ve always loved lyrically dense, puzzle-like songs, like The Real Slim Shady or Augie March’s One Crowded Hour.
First album you bought?
The Australian cast recording of Hot Shoe Shuffle, a tap-dancing musical.
Best song for sex?
Anything instrumental, please!
