As the sun dips into the Indian Ocean, golden light dancing on the surface of the waves and reflecting a gilded radiance onto Whitfords Nodes Park in Hillarys, diminutive indie pop powerhouse Amy Shark will be preparing to take to the stage at Castaway Festival next weekend.

She will be sharing the line-up with an eclectic group of fellow Aussie musicians, hip-hop veterans Hilltop Hoods, rock outfit Violent Soho, rapper Trials, singer-songwriter Lyric, local teenage triplets Birdland and genre-bending Keith hit-makers Playlunch.

“It’s quite a wild line-up,” Shark admits with a laugh, reflecting on the unique convergence of artists. “I love the boys. I’ve met the Hoods once or twice and they’re just lovely, and I know the Soho guys pretty well. So it’ll be cool just to have a forced hangout — which sometimes you need as artists. Otherwise, we’re all just too busy doing our thing, and festivals are like the only time you can sort of see each other.”

“Busy” could be Shark’s middle name. In 2026 — which marks a decade since her breakout hit Adore catapulted her to fame — she released her fourth studio album, made her feature film debut opposite Russell Crowe and Daniel MacPherson and continued her run as a judge on Seven’s Australian Idol.

But the casual, unpretentious warmth that has made her such a beloved figure in the notoriously cutthroat Australian music industry, and a defining feature of her decade-long success, remains remarkably uncorrupted by neither fame nor exhaustion.

Speaking to STM over the phone from her Gold Coast base, in a brief moment of reprieve from the unrelenting schedule, Shark is reflective of the past 10 years built on that relentless work ethic and an enduring sense of wonder.

When asked whether the version of Amy Shark that sent Adore out into the world 10 years ago could even comprehend the artist standing here today, her answer is swift. “No, I don’t think so,” she says softly. “She was pretty certain it wasn’t going to happen. Even if you showed her, she would think it was AI or something. She’d be like, ‘nah, that’s impossible that she’d done all that, and people even care or know her name’. It would be just mind-blowing.”

It’s hard to reconcile the artist who now plays packed-out arenas with the hopeful young performer playing local pubs and begging for a seat at the table in the music industry that kept pulling her chair out.

But it is that genesis, those early days working full-time before rushing home to pack her car for four-hour pub gigs that helps her keep her grounded perspective even as her profile and success grows.

“I think it just happened at a really good time where I had so much life already,” Shark explains. “I’d already discovered myself. I already kind of knew my personality and who I was, so it was kind of too late to change.”

That self assurance is evident on her latest album Soft Pop, which marks a deliberate pivot from the polished, heavy production of her previous records. Where past works like Sunday Sadness, Cry Forever and Love Monster leaned into massive synth drops, booming 808 basslines and anthemic walls of sound, Soft Pop intentionally strips back the armour.

“I just wanted this one to sound so different,” Shark reveals. “There were still 808s, but there just wasn’t the big beats and production that I usually would have. I wanted people to be able to put this one on and, start to finish, have it sound so aligned and have its own little world. It doesn’t smash you in the face, but there’s still so much pop sensibility to it.”

There’s a degree of risk in paring everything back and letting the songwriting take the weight where an explosive electronic drop might once have been, but the result speaks of an artist who has emancipated from the shackles she bore early in her career.

“There was a nice challenge to try and lift songs without leaning on, ‘Oh, just make a big drop come in’,” she says. “It was like, let’s think a little harder about how it could elevate without doing the obvious.”

Perhaps one of Shark’s most iconic drops came in her 2018 hit I Said Hi, a musical response to the music industry that had rejected her for years — a message to everyone who told her she wouldn’t succeed in the industry.

A through-line in her music and her interviews has been that sharp edge of an artist who had to fight tooth and nail for recognition after years of being overlooked.

But in Soft Pop, that angst is absent.

“I don’t care anymore!” Shark declares with refreshing candour. “I don’t care anymore, I’m like, whatever! You hit a stage where you realise: I’ve built everything. I’ve got all the pillars in place. I’ve got fans that love my music, I’ve got people that come to shows, I’ve got a team that believes in me. That’s why this one was a bit less bitter or trying to prove something. It was like, I’ve done it. Now I just want to tell stories.”

That sense of security has allowed Shark to step back from the urge to justify her seat at the table. Supported by a close-knit team including her husband and manager, Shane, who ensures she maintains normal life experiences amidst touring, she focuses entirely on the storytelling.

And the new found confidence also allowed her to take a seat at a very different table — on the judges desk on Australian Idol — a role she will return to next year.

The decision to join a commercial television staple like Idol was a surprising pivot for those who had followed her career from the start, but it was also somewhat surprising for Shark.

“Never, at the start when everything was happening with music, was I like, ‘Oh, I hope I can go into television’. Never at all,” Shark admits. “People used to tell me I should (audition for) Idol, and I was like, ‘have you heard me? I don’t have that voice’. I couldn’t walk into a room and blow someone away with amazing vocal runs.”

But the opportunity to redefine, for a new generation, and be part of choosing the next person that gets a seat at the music industry’s table was an opportunity she couldn’t turn down.

“Because the show has changed so much now, artists are really using it as a platform,” she explains. “Kids today don’t know what 90s grunge was or what Triple J did for alternative kids, they just see a platform. And it doesn’t have that ick factor anymore. There’s no big restrictive contract at the end; you win money to put into your art, studio time, and team support. It’s an amazing prize if you’re an indie artist. So it feels nice to help people.”

As she looks ahead to next weekend’s Castaway Festival appearance, and whatever wild adventure her career throws at her next, Shark acknowledges the trade-offs that come with a decade at the top. She admits to missing the certainty of a simple calendar: being able to plan holidays, attend her nieces’ skate competitions without last-minute schedule changes, or simply step out into public without being the centre of attention.

“I don’t like being the centre of attention,” she admits candidly. “I wish I could just go to things and wipe everyone’s memory of what I’d just done. But you can’t have it all.”

Yet, when she strums the opening chords of Adore at a gig or a crowded festival, watching thousands of fans sing back every word, words that have become wedding dances, road trip soundtracks and childhood memories, the sacrifices make total sense.

“People still lose their minds when those opening chords play,” Shark says, a smile in her voice. “That’s what takes me right back to when people were first discovering it. It’s got all these little weird things that people hang onto in the song. It’s just really cool.”

Ten years in, Amy Shark is neither burnt-out nor resting on her laurels. She is simply an artist in full command of her craft, moving forward on her own terms — one song, one surprising career pivot, and one story at a time.

Amy Shark plays Castaway Festival at Whitfords Nodes Park on Saturday November 21. Tickets available at castawayfestival.com.au. Soft Pop is out now on all streaming platforms.