Moana is an artist who is not easy to catch for a moment, and that is exactly what makes our conversation more valuable. Between tours, studio sessions, and sudden creative bursts, she rarely has time to pause, yet we managed to carve out this hour to talk. And there is plenty to talk about.

Her new single ‘Butterflies (Compromises)’ sounds soft and cozy on the surface, yet inside it holds a dense emotional core: personal memories, sharp confessions, and an honest look at herself in moments that would be easier to leave unspoken.

photo by Ellie India Rose

In the interview, we will explore how a song that chooses its own path is born, and why the contrast between a light acoustic sound and weighty lyrics only makes it stronger. We will talk about the balance between truth and grace, about the courage to release more intimate and complex work when the world expects dance hits, and about what it means to reshape one’s creative path without losing connection to oneself. Moana will speak openly about how growing up in a conservative family shaped her musical taste, why the experience of big stages helped her shed fear, and of course, how listeners’ recognition influenced her own perception of ‘Butterflies’.

Hi Moana, it’s a real pleasure to speak with you — your new single definitely doesn’t play it safe, and that’s what makes this conversation even more exciting. You’ve described Butterflies (Compromises) as “the song that loved you back.” That almost reads like a confession — as if, in the past, songs had to be dragged out of you, but this one arrived on its own terms. What came most naturally while writing this track — and what, on the other hand, felt hardest to share with the world? 

Thank you so much for taking the time to discuss my music! I’m truly grateful! This song came to me during a time when I was definitely in a writing rut so you’re 100% right when you say it arrived on its own terms. It felt like the song had its own agenda and I was just the observer. Up until now, music has felt more like a passion project than a real career just because of the life transitions I’ve been through in the last few years. This track marks the beginning of a new era for me — one where I feel like I’m finally showing up as an artist, fully and honestly! The lyrics poured out of me. They felt natural to write in a quiet bedroom, but intimidating to share. That’s because Butterflies reveals a mindset I used to have (one that wasn’t healthy). It touches on patterns I’ve carried in both romantic and platonic relationships so sharing it felt risky, but it is completely intentional.

What scared me most was the fear that people might hear the song and assume I’m still in that place, or that I condone the thinking behind it. I cannot stress enough that this song isn’t a message — it’s a moment. I’m not preaching truth here, I’m just being honest with where I was emotionally, and letting that honesty lead to growth. When I first read the lyrics back to myself, I realized how far I’d drifted from my own boundaries and was super embarrassed. That realization pushed me to start again and to give myself grace as much as the people I engage with. In a way, this song loved me back by helping me recognize what needed to change. Going forward, I’m committed to sharing the full spectrum — even the messy, unflattering parts — if it can lead to healing. I believe there’s beauty in telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I’ve learned that sharing the darker moments can draw people out of isolation and into connection rather than a sad attempt to parade in perfection…that’s so unrelatable! (I’m preaching to myself).

There’s a deceptive gentleness to Butterflies. On the surface it feels soft, but underneath the calm acoustics, you’re tackling serious emotional complexity. Most pop artists might be tempted to hide that tension, but you embraced it. Did you deliberately set out to contrast these raw lyrics with a lighter sound, or was it something that happened spontaneously?

I’m so glad you picked up on this because that’s my favourite thing about this track. The contrast between the production and the lyrics was an accident but it makes it so much better in my opinion. We certainly didn’t sit down and decide, “we’re going to write a sad song today.” There was a phrase I had been keeping in my pocket all day for writing and when we started crafting the melody, the song felt like it wrote itself. I let whatever was inside come out on paper and we didn’t even really edit it. In hindsight, I think the ease of the instrumentation helped me find courage to write each line because the track masks the weight of the lyrics. I love the fact that you could listen to this song during a warm summer drive and totally by-pass its somber meaning. The potential opportunity for ignorance is quite on brand with the themes in the song which I find intriguing. 

You brought up the challenging balance of ‘truth and grace’ when writing about love—something easier said than done. Pop music often simplifies love into neat narratives, but your track doesn’t go for easy resolutions.When did you first understand that truth and grace were at odds?

I studied Theology for four and a half years and I can confidently say I now have a degree in something that makes me feel like I know less than when I first started studying. It humbled me because the deeper I got, the less certain I became. One of the biggest tensions we wrestled with was the relationship between Truth and Grace and I started realising how evident that struggle was in my personal life. It wasn’t until I started dating that I realised how likely I am to speak the truth without an ounce of grace. It was a rude awakening because I’d hurt a lot of people I cared about. Trying to fix that, I swung hard on the other side of the pendulum, letting people treat me poorly under the appearance of being “graceful”. I thought I was being kind, but I was avoiding confrontation. Defining truth and grace is a conversation for another time but learning to balance them especially in the context of love is one I’m still practicing everyday. Your life changes when you meet people who embody both.

Your earlier material had a brighter, dance-driven vibe—pop that belongs in playlists aimed at escape. With Butterflies, you stepped into something that feels more introspective, more stripped-back. What was the exact turning point in your career, or maybe your life, that pushed you to pursue this shift in tone?

I’m at a stage in my life now where I can take my music career more seriously. I’ve always had these kinds of songs on the backburner but I’ve never had the capacity to fully brand myself in a way that represents my artistry. It felt premature to share such an intimate side of my songwriting when I knew I couldn’t commit to the journey. I’m out of school, I’ve got lots of free time and I’m ready to create and share what hasn’t been heard by my audience yet!

photo by Ellie India Rose

Butterflies has already gotten some of the strongest reactions to your music so far, with a lot of people calling it your best work yet. That kind of feedback can be energizing, but it also adds pressure — especially when the song comes from such a personal place. What was your gut reaction hearing that feedback, and did it alter your own perception of the song?

A part of me was relieved to hear people really liked it because it’s a very different vibe to what I’ve released in the past; I know lyrically it’s not as cookie cutter so I think that’s what a lot of the feedback was referring to. At the same time, it’s honest so it’s unsurprising that it resonated with people. Of course what is special to some is just another song to others but what I’m realizing is that authenticity draws people in, especially these days. I’m a little nervous because it may be a very bad PR move to have built a small fanbase of listeners and then throw a totally different sound to them, but even if it resonates with one person, I think I’ve done my job and the song has served its purpose.

You’ve stood on some huge stages – FIFA Women’s World Cup, Australian Idol, even at Sydney’s Opera House backing Tones and I. It’s an impressive resume, but performing someone else’s music is a very different experience. Can you recall the exact moment on one of those big stages when you knew it was time to put yourself front and center, to stop telling someone else’s story and start telling your own?

If I could, I would support other artists for the rest of my life. It’s so inspiring to watch people accomplish their own goals on unimaginable scales (it also relieves the pressure off of me, HA). My first big gig was singing on the choir for Tones and I at the Women’s FIFA World Cup and that was obviously the biggest crowd I’ve ever performed for. That opportunity completely changed the way I viewed performing because it kind of normalised the ins and outs of what it takes to produce a large production. It’s not as scary as it seems when you realise it requires so many teams it takes to pull it off. I realised it’s not just about the performer, it involves so many people and every role is so important. It makes it less daunting and more fun when you look at it that way! 

Earlier in your career, you found success quickly—like gaining overnight superfans with your debut single. Those early tracks set listener expectations, but now your new music seems to defy those expectations deliberately. Or at least, that’s how it came across to me. Did you consciously decide to disrupt the image of the artist your fans had come to expect, or was that shift something that happened more instinctively over time?

It’s funny because despite what looks to be a somewhat impressive resume, I never considered myself a true artist with any type of “image” to portray. Like literally, my friend set up my spotify for me, organised the logistics of my first release and even set up all my socials and posts. Don’t get me wrong, I needed help and gave him permission to do it but that’s how completely oblivious I was about releasing music. You can imagine the shock I had when it blew up the way it did. I took it as a sign to keep rolling with it but it certainly wasn’t plan A. I wanted to be a ghost-writer (and still am keen btw). I’m more excited than I am nervous about adding in different genres of music because this is me actually giving it a go. I’ve always made music for myself and those closest to me and that will always be my reason for writing. People will likely come and go along the journey but I  hope I find an audience who loves the change and embraces it with me!

You’ve growing up in a conservative household where music was censored — needing to sneak pop songs under your covers late at night just to hear what your peers were hearing. That kind of environment can leave a long shadow, especially when you start creating your own work. Does any part of your songwriting today still feel like a quiet rebellion against that early restriction?

I still fear being completely vulnerable with my audience as I’m sure all artists do but I’ve personally had to give myself permission to fully embrace the “negative” and low moments in life; I used to think I was doing something wrong. I really had to fight that idea as a songwriter who wants to be impactful.I remember a songwriting class with Pat Pattison where someone shared a song about human trafficking. He offered tough feedback not because of the subject matter, but because the lyrics didn’t go far enough in painting a vivid, emotional picture that made the listener truly feel sick inside.He ended the class by emphasizing the importance of saying what others are too afraid to voice or acknowledge. It’s an extreme example but it stuck with me and I’ll never forget the power of writing from raw, unfiltered experience. 

Your influences—Julia Michaels, Taylor Swift, Shania Twain—are famous for lyrics that blur the line between confession and art. Their songs are hits, sure, but they’re also deeply intimate, sometimes painfully so. Was there a lyric in Butterflies or any of your recent songs that made you hesitate—something so personal you questioned whether to share it—and what helped you decide to release it anyway?

The entire song made me hesitant. Every time I sing, “I’d still die for you” it’s a painful reminder of how easily people pleasers can let themselves get trapped in a vicious cycle. I actually hate that perspective! However, when it’s paired with something so sonically carefree it tells a deeper story that I think is important to share; it’s very easy to play along like everything is fine when you’re secretly dying inside. This is like if gaslighting was a song and I kinda love it (?)   

Let’s say you walk into a karaoke bar and your song starts playing unexpectedly. Do you (A) hide in the bathroom, (B) own the moment and sing along, or (C) pretend you’ve never heard it before in your life?

If you catch me at a karaoke bar, it’s likely because my sisters dragged me out when I’d rather be at home reading. If I’ve already been dragged out, I’ve spent the last week mentally preparing to be social and fun so I’ll get up and sing the song. It’s already like pulling teeth to get me out of the house past 8pm so my girls would force me 10000% and I’m too proud to sit and be the Debby downer the WHOLE time. Shout out to the Moroka girls: the dancing queens of my heart and Creekside Pub forever.

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