Kobie Dee knows the power of music as a positive force that can steer young people towards a less destructive path. He knows the road they're on.
"I was very fortunate that I didn't end up in jail," he tells Double J's Michael Hing.
"I was very much walking down a road that was leading that way. For me, it was, 'If I don't get my life right, if I don't get myself help, these opportunities aren't going to last for me.'
"There were so many opportunities that came when I was heavy in addiction, and all the stuff I was doing. I missed out on so much stuff. There were big shows that I was supposed to do that I didn't do because I was heavy in addiction."
The 29-year-old Gomeroi man and award-winning musician has recently spent weeks working as part of the Hear Me Out, Music Behind Bars initiative from the Australian Children's Music Foundation, an intensive six-week songwriting pilot for those detained at the Cobham Youth Justice Centre.
He was joined by Rhyan Clapham, a Filipino Murrawarri musician who performs as Dobby. Both rappers believe there are few more powerful and accessible ways to escape.
"We've seen the power of music play out again and again with young people," Dobby says. "It's a platform with which to express themselves, and also to just make dope music."
See it to be it
Both rappers are Indigenous men and take seriously the responsibility of being put up as examples of the power of music in one's life.
"We are so over-represented in these centres," Kobie says. "So, to have other black fellas come in and to be able to speak to stuff that they can be working towards outside, showing them how to make music…
They got to watch Dobby do his thing in there. Those young fellas' minds were blown. To see that it's also accessible for them to be doing too, I think it's so important."
"You've got to see it to be it," Dobby agrees. "It's representation.
It's also self-fulfilling. When you create something that you can own and hold and say, 'That's my song,' it gives you a sense of pride and motivation to keep creating. I think creativity cannot be taken seriously enough."
The two rappers know creating music needs a safe environment conducive to accepting self-expression in whatever form it takes.
"We're helping create a space in which they feel safe enough to share their story and bring it out in a musical way, whether it be rap, whether it be singing or playing the guitar or whatever," Dobby says.
"Because we're fostering that environment, they're able to sharpen their sword and practice their skills and become a better musician.
That should be afforded to anyone. It doesn't matter what situation you're in doesn't matter who you are. Music is a universal language, and we can all speak it. It's one of the most powerful forces of energy that we have here to work with."
Music as escapism becomes especially profound when talking about youth in detention. No one wants to be in jail, and Kobie says making music provides a momentary but powerful escape.
"They're completely in the moment of creating and expressing themselves and speaking about things they probably wouldn't be speaking about in everyday life within these centres."
'I was expecting drill music'
Rap and incarceration have been closely aligned for decades; countless hip hop classics reference prison and the behaviours that will land you in there.
"I'm very biased as a rapper, but I think it's one of the most influential forces," Dobby says. "It's so direct.
It helps tell their story. I mean, hip hop is famously a counter narrative against the mainstream, against the government, against wider Australia in this context.
Where racist stigma and stereotypes are put upon them, hip hop is a place where they can say, 'No, that's not me. This is my story, let me tell you the real side of what it is'. That's incredibly powerful."
Some preconceptions about the music being made in these sessions are natural, but that doesn't mean it's always correct.
Rap wasn't the only sound participants gravitated towards. And not every song was born from anger.
"When I walked in, I was expecting to hear a rap song," Kobie says. "I was expecting to hear some drill music, just from my own experience of doing workshops in juvies in different states. It's mostly what the kids want to be making.
This is the stuff that is on their minds already."
Making such a song requires a level of vulnerability that can be hard for any young person to access, let alone when in a prison environment.
The program provides a level of safety that hopes to allow participants the chance to air the gamut of their feelings.
"To be able to provide a space where they can let that out like that, I think it's just so important that we're doing this for these young people," Kobie says.
A bright future
Both Dobby and Kobie know the limitations of a program like this. They know they won't influence everyone, and that those they affect won't always carry these lessons with them.
That doesn't mean it's not worth doing. As active members of Australia's music industry, they see the opportunities that exist.
"Showing these young people, 'This is out there for you. You have the opportunity to change your life through music,'" Kobie says.
"It doesn't have to be being on stage or anything like that; they could even be doing what we're doing right now and teaching other young people music.
"Showing the different opportunities and showing the different avenues."
Vitally, they know the most influential people in a child's life are their peers.
"You could do workshops with 20 kids, and there might be only one kid that comes out with that thought," Kobie says.
"But changing that one kid is so powerful, because that one kid can then go on to start his own programs and save another five or six kids from that lifestyle.
It's more about showing them what's possible and telling them, like, 'If you want this in your life, there are some things that need to change.' It's sowing those seeds."
