Wearing a striped mohair sweater and a rainbow beanie hat, Xavier Rudd looks like he’s auditioning for a part in Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: The Hippy Stoner Years.

You were, of course, expecting this. Beloved of surfers and free-living homeless types, Rudd is a campfire strummer in the Jack Johnson, neo-beatnik vein. Frankly, it would be scandalous were he to arrive for an interview in polo-shirt and chinos.
It’s an overcast afternoon in Dublin and, reclining in the shadowy lounge of Temple Bar’s intimidatingly swish Morgan Hotel, the Australian singer-songwriter is discussing one of his favourite topics: his nation’s brutish treatment of its aboriginal natives. “Australians have the reputation for being really laid back,” says Rudd, fiddling with one of the several ornate rings he sports. “What we don’t seem to realise is that this side of our personality comes from the indigenous peoples. They were so laid back that they didn’t raise a hand when the British arrived and stole their territory [it feels impolite to point out we Irish played our part too].”
Of mixed Irish/Dutch/Aboriginal blood, Rudd embraces his native heritage, regarding himself as an aborigine trapped in the skin of a white man. But maybe it's more accurate to say his heritage chose to embrace him. Several years ago, out of the blue, Rudd received a visit from a member of an aboriginal tribe from the distant reaches of north-west Australia (Xavier grew up in Torquay, a rainy seaside town an hour’s drive from Melbourne).
“He told me I was chosen to be his brother and so I was inducted into the tribe. My music is very much a reflection of my experiences as a member of the aboriginal community. I draw on the spirit forces of my people in my playing and, hopefully, I share that with my audiences.”
Rudd, a didgeridoo player since childhood, is constantly struck by how little of his country’s ancient culture can be heard in contemporary Australian music.
“Most bands look exclusively to Europe and the US. They’ve got a fantastic aboriginal heritage on their doorstep yet are completely oblivious to it. It amazes me. And of course, our government is right-wing and totally hostile to the aboriginal population, whose position could be compared to that of Black Americans in the Deep South prior to the civil rights movement. If anything, things are probably worse.”
While he has the air of someone who came of age in the 60s counterculture, Rudd is, in fact, only 29. He began playing clubs in Melbourne as a teenager; later, a busking holiday in British Columbia saw him win a substantial Canuck following (his Canadian popularity is comparable to Josh Ritter’s divine status in Ireland). Now, on the heels of this year’s mostly excellent White Moth album, he appears destined to break the mainstream. As already mentioned, surfers, in particular, have flocked to Rudd, though the singer is at a loss as to why. He’s surfed from time to time but he’s not exactly a wave junkie of Jack Johnson proportions.
“Maybe it’s a free spirit thing,” he reflects. “I never really figured out why surfers name-checked me. I guess they just want to share in the love. Then, I figure, so does everyone else.”

White Moth is out now on Salt X