That spark became a Foundation that lasted a decade, dedicated to helping young Tasmanian musicians chase the same sort of opportunities Nick worked so hard for. Through the generosity of supporters across the state, the Foundation backed a remarkable list of emerging artists: Maddy Jane, Jed Appleton, The Sleepyheads, A. Swayze & The Ghosts, Grace Chia, Lasca Dry, The Tinderboxes, and many more. Some recorded EPs. Some toured. Some bought essential gear. Some took their very first steps into the possibility of a life in music. All carried a piece of Tasmania with them.

Every one of them represented what this island can be when we choose to invest in creativity: hopeful, ambitious, and proud of our own.

And it’s no coincidence that so much talent emerges from this place. Tasmania is an extraordinary place to create: a sanctuary of sound, reflection, and possibility. There is something about the light, the landscapes, the pace, the edges of this island that invites imagination. Our mountains, rivers, and coastlines hold silence and space in a way few places do. The distance that once made us feel far away now feels like an advantage: a buffer from noise, a place where an artist can think, compose, experiment, and tell our story to the world in a voice shaped by this island itself.

We don’t just have gifted musicians, we have world-class creative assets.

MONA’s Frying Pan Studio, home to the mind-blowing Studio 54 desk, is the kind of playground most musicians only dream about. The Hedberg and the UTAS Conservatorium are, quite simply, globally significant. The acoustics, the engineering, the architecture — these are world-class facilities, right here in Hobart. And across the state, from the North-West to the Huon, incredible new studios and creative spaces have emerged, led by passionate people doing extraordinary work.

But while our creative tools have grown, our live music ecosystem has become more fragile. Over the past decade, we’ve lost venues. It’s becoming harder, not easier, to find places to play, to rehearse, to record, to collaborate. It’s especially difficult to find spaces that aren’t driven by alcohol sales. For young artists — or artists who don’t want their craft tied to booze, the options are increasingly thin.

At the same time, streaming has delivered a seismic shock to the economics of music worldwide. Yes, it has opened up distribution. But it has also taken a massive dent out of artists’ income. The value of a song, the value of a performance, the value of a career — all of it has shifted dramatically. The industry is rewriting itself at 160BPM, and many artists are caught in the undertow.

Yet within all this disruption lies opportunity, especially for Tasmania.

This island is small enough, creative enough, connected enough, and bold enough to model something better: a place where music is valued, where artists are supported, where venues thrive, and where our unique sense of place becomes a strategic advantage rather than a constraint.

But we cannot and must not take this for granted. Creative scenes are fragile ecosystems. They disappear quietly at first: a venue closes, a rehearsal room is lost, opportunities shrink, and suddenly the next generation has fewer places to learn, play, and take risks. If we let that happen, we lose a piece of our identity. We lose the soundtrack of who we are as Tasmanians. And once it’s gone, it is painfully hard to rebuild.

Music is woven into the identity of this place: from local pubs and jam rooms to festival stages, school halls, buskers at Salamanca, and the kitchen tables where songs first begin. It builds confidence, expression, connection, and belonging. It creates opportunity where there was none.

And as we enter AusMusic Month this November, with AusMusic T-Shirt Day on the 27th, there has never been a better time to show what music means to us, and to show up for the people who make it. These national celebrations aren’t symbolic add-ons. They are reminders that our artists need us. That we are part of their ecosystem. That our choices shape their possibilities.

That could mean going to a gig. Or wearing the T-shirt. Or buying the tape, CD or vinyl. We are lucky to have great local outlets like Tommy Gun Records, Suffragette Records, and Music Without Frontiers, passionate Tasmanian record stores that keep the culture alive, one crate-dig at a time. They are as much a part of the music ecosystem as any stage or studio.

So go out. See a gig. Wear the T-shirt. Spin a local record. Celebrate the extraordinary talent living and creating in our own backyard. Buy the merch, it makes a bigger difference than most people realise. And if streaming is your go-to, then stream the hell out of everything local. Let the algorithms know what Tasmania sounds like.

Nick showed us what one life can ignite. Our community showed what can happen when we rally around that spark. The next generation of Tasmanian musicians deserve the same belief, and the same opportunity to light their own fires.

AusMusic Month and AusMusic T-Shirt Day on November 27 is the perfect place to start.