Turning Music’s Collective Power into Climate Action

Tim Shiel is a musician, campaigner and broadcaster living on Wurundjeri land. Known for his radio work at Double J, triple j and 3RRR, award-winning video game soundtracks and collaborations with Australian musicians, he now works as Campaigner and Community Organiser for Green Music Australia. He connects artists with one another and the broader climate movement through grassroots community-building and national campaigns, including NO MUSIC ON A DEAD PLANET.

Describe your career trajectory and how you got to your current position.

I’m grateful to have done a lot of interesting work across music over the last 20 years, but I wouldn’t describe it as a career trajectory. Working in music is consistently precarious and ephemeral. I’ve never had a plan or a clear picture of what’s coming next; I’ve tried to preserve my curiosity and build resilience.

In some ways, working in the arts has prepared me for the uncertain labour market we all live in. I joined Green Music Australia after attending its annual Artist Leadership Retreat as an artist in late 2024. I was impressed by how the team translated the unique social and cultural power of music into action on the climate crisis.

When the organisation announced a new position focused on organising and campaigning, I applied because I felt I could do a good job. Musicians, especially those emerging from community music, are often effective organisers and campaigners even if they don’t use those words to describe themselves.

What drives you to do the work that you do?

Like many people, I feel anxiety and struggle rising among my friends, family and myself as we adapt to increasingly insecure times. It’s becoming clear to more people that political, economic and social change is urgently needed, but many of us feel powerless to make that change happen.

A few years ago, I reached a crossroads and asked myself: if the climate crisis requires all hands on deck, where do I fit in? My skills are creative and intuitive. I’m not a scientist, policymaker or lawyer, so I wondered how I could help.

I’m grateful to Green Music Australia for helping me find a role where I can use skills learned across music and media to empower others to step into community, compassion and truth-telling. I see these as three pillars for meaningful collective action, and music is uniquely placed to help with each of them.

If you could go back in time, what advice would you give yourself?

I’d focus on resilience, because committing to the arts as a lifelong pursuit can be incredibly turbulent and precarious. People are increasingly aware of the financial and psychological uncertainty of being a musician, but many are still surprised by how few artists can sustain themselves through their art. Even local bands you hear on the radio often return to day jobs when a tour ends.

I’m grateful that my current day job is flexible enough to accommodate my creative practice and aligns with my values, but most artists aren’t so lucky. It took me 20 years to reach this point, and I’m still balancing things month to month.

Creative labour is deeply undervalued, and structural issues and the rise of AI may accelerate that. My advice to young artists is to create, put their values at the centre of their work and accept that financial stability may come from somewhere else. We need artists now more than ever, even though it has become harder to pay the bills through art.

Any words you live by day to day?

“Progress over perfection.”

What are you currently watching, reading or listening to?

I’m reading Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor’s *End Times Fascism*, which explores why authoritarianism and apocalyptic narratives are on the rise. I’m only halfway through, which means I’ve learned a lot about how difficult everything is right now but haven’t yet reached the part about how to fix it.

The last time I read a Naomi Klein book about climate, I became so overwhelmed by grief and anxiety that I stopped halfway through. I didn’t get to the section laying out solutions—compassion, community and labour organising—until months later. I spent that time in a kind of existential purgatory before finally closing the loop with a hopeful ending. So here’s a warning: read these books to the end, because that’s where you may find the part about how we make things better.