As green rooms go, Miami is one for King Stingray’s book of dreams. The airy backstage spread is low-lit with flashes of neon, strewn with palms and funky lounges. Guitarist Roy Kellaway and drummer Lewis Stiles lean into the laptop Zoom call, looking like chilled Aussie backpackers in paradise.

“We’re cruising around in a big tour bus. We’ve got a driver who picks us up after the gig every night, and then we wake up in a new city. Luxury!” Stiles says, recounting with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief the miraculous lifestyle of the upwardly mobile rock band.

In the near distance, Melbourne psych-rockers King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard are sound-checking for tonight’s 4000-capacity gig. Stingray singer Dimathaya “Dim” Burarrwanga, yidaki [didgeridoo] player Billy Wanambi and bassist Cam Messer are “somewhere out there”, psyching up for their imminent last American show.

“It’s been pretty wild, the whole thing,” says Stiles, counting off states: California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, Georgia, Florida. They’ve hiked the Grand Canyon and partied in a private NBA box in Oklahoma City as the home team beat the LA Clippers in a slam-dunk buzzer-beater.

The two bands bonded at a festival years ago, Kellaway explains, but only now, with the second Stingray album For The Dreams, have their stars aligned. “It’s rare that you get treated this well as a support artist,” he says. “We’re just so stoked to finally make it on the road with them. It’s been a dream come true ’cause we’re huge fans.”

The feeling is evidently mutual. A few nights back, in a sold-out amphitheatre of 14,000 in Austin, King Gizzard brought their support act back on stage for an all-in finale of an Australian classic: Treaty by Yothu Yindi. It’s hard to count on the YouTube video exactly how many musicians are on stage, but it’s a climax for the ages.

“It was just this crazy cool moment,” the guitarist says. “Two Aussie bands singing about something that’s still a big challenge back at home, a big fight. It was a real powerful moment. The band was just cooking. It was so rad. Everyone was vibing.”

Treaty has deep roots in Stingray lore. Roy is the son of Stu Kellaway, one of the founders of Yothu Yindi, who joined the throng on stage in Austin to play his bass part. Though not present for this tour, Stingray singer Yirrna Yunupingu is the nephew of Dr M Yunupingu, the legendary band’s leader who passed in 2013.

Dima Burarrwanga, meanwhile, is the grandson of George from the Warumpi Band, the Yolngu-Luritja-Balanda outfit that broke through with Blackfella/ Whitefella in 1985. Their song Waru (Fire), mostly sung in language, has also made the odd appearance on King Stingray’s three-week US run.

King Stingray’s music – they call it Yolngu surf-rock – is a different beast, but the threads of continuity are clear. There’s the blend of English and Yolngu Matha, for starters; the heightened percussive energy of hard-hitting drums, electric guitars, yidaki (didgeridoo) and bilma (clapping sticks), and a tendency for songs to celebrate themes of nature and belonging.

Released in November, For The Dreams is a big leap in sound and vision from their self-titled debut, which picked up the Breakthrough Artist award from a slew of ARIA nominations in 2022. This time there was far more preparation and studio time involved, says Kellaway – and, Stiles adds, a lot more gigs in the rearview mirror.

As songwriters, they’re less overtly political than their forebears, opting instead for a sustained note of blue-sky optimism. “Sitting under the ganyawu tree/ ’Cause that’s where I wanna be” is the start of the first single, Lookin’ Out. “I’ve been trying not to worry about what’s out of my control,” is the gist of the latest, Light Up the Path.

“We try not to be too preachy because we find people can switch off,” Kellaway says. “We definitely have a message we want to share … I think there’s a common theme of empowerment with a lot of our music, and that just comes from the life we’ve had over the last three or four years.

“You know, we feel pumped up with some serious froth energy. We’re very happy-go-lucky people. And we like to be positive because there’s so much seriousness in the world and so much negativity, especially when you talk about health care and closing the gap … That messaging is a deficit discourse. It’s coming from what’s wrong, but we’re trying to look at it what’s f---in’ right and what’s good.”

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More broadly, of course, King Stingray’s very existence as a Blackfella/ Whitefella collective is a political statement. It owes an incalculable debt not just to Dr M’s “both ways” vision of a musical dynasty carrying Yolngu culture forward into the global mainstream but to the values most of the band grew up with in the tiny coastal community of Yirrkala, in north-east Arnhem Land.

It was in Yirrkala, I remind Kellaway and Stiles, that we first met eight years ago. They were in a band called Mary Handsome, based in Brisbane (where Stiles grew up) but with strong ties to Yirrkala, where Kellaway was raised. The Yarrapay Festival was a day-long showcase of local pride that began with a bunggul kicking up red dust down the street before hitting the arts centre stage well into the night.

The Moonfish Dance Company premiered a new piece that day with a soundtrack mashing Yolngu Matha with Adele’s Hello. There was a grunge set from the Medics and a fashion parade featuring Miss Australia hopeful Magnolia Maymuru. Shellie Morris told stories in English, then sang in the all-but-lost language of her grandmother.

Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, as he was then known, flew in from nearby Elcho Island late in the day for a surprise set that would sadly turn out to be among his last. A 14-year-old girl sang Justin Bieber. And a five-year-old boy stole the show, dancing in white ochre with a sense of pride and steely purpose that made time disappear.

Like many acts on the day, Mary Handsome’s set began orderly enough before spiralling into a series of walk-on cameos from local musicians. Other future members of King Stingray were almost certainly among them. It’s how this town rolls.

“Yolngu culture is synonymous with music, with yidaki and bilma,” Kellaway says. “It’s part of life … You’re in a town where there’s not a lot to do. The funnest things you can do are to go fishing or play music.

“Music is looked at in such a fun, pure way up there. My experience as a kid growing up was just all about getting the keys to the music room from [Dr M, then the school principal] and just bashing around on whatever instruments are there.”

Inspiration is as close as the famous musicians mentioned above: local success stories “that give you this sense of optimism,” he says. “There’s really strong elders that are very culturally strong and knowledgeable, and very empowering and supportive for young people to play music and, in turn, celebrate and preserve culture.”

Stu Kellaway, his father, is “sitting right there,” Roy says, pointing to his left, “So I better be careful what I say … His whole ethos and way of being so music-focused and driven has been so inspiring. I’m not sure if he was intending to portray it that way, but it’s just how it happened.”

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The Stingray sound derived from a similarly organic process. Classic Australian rock – Aussie Crawl, Midnight Oil – probably seeped in by osmosis, Kellaway says. Stiles acknowledges the influence of the Oils’ hard-hitting drummer Rob Hirst. But this far from home, they’re keenly aware of their key point of difference.

“Everyone here seems to have this huge fascination with the yidaki; the didgeridoo,” says Kellaway. “It’s quite surprising how many Americans know of it. They’re so enthusiastic about it and love it.”

“We’re a pretty Australian sound,” says Stiles. “You don’t know how it’s going to be taken by Americans, but the response has been really good. There’s obviously a language barrier. But there’s so much culture in America; it’s such a multicultural world here. So the crowds have been really responsive.”

Ultimately, Stiles reckons it’s the band’s attitude as much as anything that’s broken the ice with American audiences. “You know, we’re passionate about what we do,” he says. “We play music loud, and we’re playing it proud, and I feel like that’s gotten us across the line.”

It’s not an easy one to cross. King Stingray is a party of nine on this run, including the filmmaker Sam Brumby. The cost and logistics of that many performers’ visas are no small consideration. An Aussie band can expect to pay around $US2500 (about $3850) a day for the aforementioned bus, driver and fuel.

For this band, too, geographical complications begin at home, with members strewn thousands of kilometres apart, from Yirrkala to Melbourne. And as with many First Nations artists, cultural responsibilities can throw touring schedules into sudden disarray. Asked how long singer Yirrna Yunupingu is off the road, for example, and Kellaway can’t be sure.

“For us, it’s more about that bigger scheme of things, fighting the good fight,” he says. “Dimi is our leader. He’s always been our glue. It’s always been driven by him anyway, but we’re not sure what the future holds. We’re just giving it everything we’ve got.

“Music is family for us. Legacy is such a big part of what drives us. You think about those people, our family and our parents, and what they’ve done all those years ago, and continue to do. It’s bigger than ourselves, this thing.”

For the Dreams is out now. King Stingray play the Hordern Pavilion, Sydney, on March 21; and The Forum, Melbourne, on March 29.

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