Article: Michael Ward - Where The Road, The Ocean And The Truth Meet

“I never feel as free as when I'm on stage - it's the most natural place for me."

A powerful journey of resilience, music and mental health as WA Artist Michael Ward rebuilds his life through truth, community and the magic of live music.

- Musician: Michael Ward -

There are artists who play music, and then there are artists who rebuild themselves through it. Watching Michael Ward perform at the King River Tavern, you don’t just hear his songs — you meet the man behind them.

A man who came close to giving up, chose to stay, and learned to live louder than the pain that almost defeated him. 

Michael’s been part of WA’s music scene for decades — hauling bass lines through pubs, festivals and regional rooms. But this version of him — the front-facing songwriter, the storyteller with a guitar strapped to his chest — has only existed for the past few years.

Because before he ever sang a note live, he hit a point where life felt impossibly small. 

He told me this with a rare stillness: 

 “I thought there was no other way out… I couldn’t see a way forward.”  

The only thing that stopped him was imagining how his boys would react. That thought became a fault-line — the moment he chose to try again, even if it meant starting from zero. 

Tonight, standing in a warm country pub with a crowd ready to listen, it’s impossible not to feel the miracle of that choice. 

Rebuilding From Zero

Michael didn’t step into the spotlight chasing fame, virality or numbers.  He stepped into it because music was the one thing that made him feel like himself again. 

The first time he got on stage alone, his goal was simple: 

 “Get through four songs and not have stuff thrown at me.” 

 He’d never sung live before. Not once. Not even backing vocals. 

But what began as survival became freedom. 

“I never feel as free as when I’m on stage — it’s the most natural place for me.”  

It’s where he feels whole. 

 It’s where the noise in his head finally quietens. 

 It’s where everything he nearly lost has found a place to breathe again. 

The Music That Holds His History

Michael’s songwriting is earthy, lived-in, and unapologetically real.  Part alt-country grit, part coastal warmth, part blues honesty. 

Take No Regrets — a song built on reframing the past. 

 He grew up deep in the bush: chopping wood for hot water, living far from friends, digging trenches as a kid. For years he resented that isolation. 

Then something shifted. 

“I realised I can build shit… fix shit… think through things. 

 That resilience — that came from my past.”  

What once felt like loss became capability. 

 Strength. 

 Self-trust. 

That’s the thread running through all of Michael’s work — transforming old wounds into something useful, something grounded, something that keeps you moving forward. 

The Mental Health Chapters - What Saved Him, What Still Saves Him

When you talk with Michael about mental health, there’s no performance, no gloss-over, no “inspiring quote” energy. 

 Just someone who got dangerously close to the edge… and built himself a way back. 

He calls it “Michael’s little seven steps” — not a cure, not a universal answer, simply the things that help him pull himself out when he feels the clouds rolling in. 

“It’s not rocket science… just what I do to not feel miserable and shit.”  

Michael Ward's Grounding Steps:

(Not for everyone — but a starting point for anyone trying to find theirs.) 

1. Get fresh air. 

    Step outside, breathe, reset. 

   
   

2. Get in the ocean. 

 Saltwater, movement, grounding. The quickest path back into his body. 

3. Move — even a little. 

  “Even three push-ups,” he said. Momentum matters.  

4. Eat something real. 

 Real food becomes real energy. Fuel yourself kindly. 

5. Play music. 

  Not for content, not for perfection — just to reconnect. 

6. Hold someone you love. 

 A partner, a child, a close mate. Humans regulate humans. 

7. Do something quiet. 

 Read a book, sit in stillness, breathe. Slow the spiral. 

These steps aren’t a prescription, and he’s the first to say they won’t solve depression for everyone. 

 But they are proof that small, consistent acts can pull you back toward yourself. 

What matters, he said, is learning what works for you — and giving yourself the grace to use those tools before things get too dark. 

“Life’s too short to be angry… sometimes letting go is a choice.”  

The People Who Hold Him Up

Michael’s world is stitched together by community. It’s the regional pubs that book him year after year. 

 It’s the open mic scene that gave him a foundation. 

 It’s his bandmates — part chosen family, part creative tribe. 

 It’s the strangers who come to shows and quickly become regulars. 

It’s also his kids. 

 Like his seven-year-old who once grabbed the mic before a festival headliner and yelled “ROCK ON!” to a full crowd of people — completely fearless. 

Moments like that remind him why he keeps choosing this life. 

“If you listen to my music — even one song — you’re the person I want to meet.”  

Because for Michael, music isn’t a product. 

 It’s a conversation. 

 A connection.

 A shared spark between people who maybe needed the same message at the same time. 

A Night At King River Tavern

The gig itself felt like everything he’d told me made flesh. 

The room was warm, the crowd mixed — young, older, locals, travellers. 

 The kind of place where strangers nod at each other just because the energy is good. 

And then Michael stepped on stage with the ease of someone who belongs there. 

 The band locked in. 

 The songs stretched out and breathed. 

 The room swayed, moved, stilled, lifted — all in rhythm with the stories he was telling. 

You could feel the years of struggle behind him. 

 You could also feel the years of joy ahead of him. 

What He Leaves People With

Before we wrapped the interview, I asked him what he hopes people take from his music. 

He didn’t hesitate: 

“I hope they feel something real. 

 And if my music is even a small part of their world — that’s a win.”  

That’s Michael Ward. 

 A man rebuilt. 

 A father learning in real time. 

 A musician who carries his past like a map, not a weight. 

 And someone who reminds us that the hardest chapters can still become the best stories — if you give yourself the chance to stay long enough to write them. 

By Uncle Tatt — host of “Between the Notes,”  

When we speak honestly, listen gently, and hold space for each other's stories, the light returns - in music, in people and in ourselves