Puru has a voice that can’t be tamed, charisma that can’t be taught and a burning desire to make it on her own terms.

The former Cardiff High student belongs on the stage, and owns every one she treads.

Her voice caught the ear of musician and producer Paul Mac, and she recorded with him last month. Mac, of electronic duo Itch-E and Scratch-E, and co-founder of The Dissociatives (with former Silverchair frontman Daniel Johns), has worked with vocalists such as Abby Dobson, Sarah McLeod and Luke Steele.

‘‘Paul gave me a call and said he was keen to do some collaborations on the record he’s making,’’ says Puru. ‘‘So I was at the studio with him for most of the day, and then we drank some beers. I’m not a beer girl but if someone else is buying I’ll just drink whatever they’re drinking, you know?

‘‘I don’t have a career apart from music. I’ve done a bunch of different, really weird jobs in order to make money and I’m still doing bits and pieces here and there.

‘‘Hopefully the stuff I did with Paul – because he’s way more famous than I am – ends up selling a whole bunch of records, and maybe I can get some cash out of that,’’ she laughs.

Life as a musician can be tough, but Puru’s diva persona reveals none of it. She stands behind the microphone, glass of red in hand, scanning her audience with a dismissive eye that borders on contempt. And then she opens her mouth and her soulful voice, as smooth as velvet and yet gravelly, downright dirty, sucks the oxygen out of the air.

Backed by The Bruise (Geordie Malone, Jamieson Shaw and Chas Jagger), Puru seemingly has the world at her feet. But talent alone doesn’t ensure commercial success.

Puru knows what she is – and isn’t – prepared to do to get it. Mention X-Factor or Australian Idol and you’re likely to cop an earful, at the very least, a withering look and a sigh.

Chris Puru, Kira’s mother, told Weekender: ‘‘I think Kira sees that path as a very quick climb to a very short fame. She could make an absolute fortune singing covers but she won’t.’’

Puru’s voice and stage persona is reminiscent of the great jazz divas of the 1920s and she cites them as influences. But her taste in music is far more eclectic.

‘‘I could easily go down the path of doing jazz covers and be a black Amy Winehouse or something, if that’s what I wanted, but I am really more interested in making music that sounds more contemporary and is a bit more challenging for the listener,’’ Puru says.

‘‘Don’t get me wrong, I do love singing that stuff [jazz] but as a performance artist I’d really like to put something out there that’s new.’’

On paper, the combination of Puru’s bluesy-soulful voice and her band’s bass-heavy riffs shouldn’t work, but on stage, it does.

Contemporary her sound may be, but Puru’s love of a bygone era is evident in her pin-up attire, immaculate hair and dramatic make-up. She inherited her love of music from musically-minded parents. ‘‘Mum and dad subscribed to Reader’s Digest so they had all these great collections from the ’50s and ’60s. Mum loved Carole King, Patsy Cline and Neil Young. I think dad loved The Beatles, or maybe that was me,’’ she says.

‘‘There’s a bit of music history in my family, anyway. My dad, he’s a Kiwi, and all of his family sing.’’

Puru spent time in South West Rocks as a child before moving to Toronto and Cardiff.

She attended Cardiff High and studied music.

‘‘Art, music and drama were my three majors in year 12. Two of my teachers were mentors for me at the time. I was a little bit shyer than I am now. I felt really incongruous at school but I think that’s a natural teenage thing.’’

These days, Puru, 26, appears supremely confident, on and off stage. She isn’t afraid to swear and insult her audience. At a gig at Newcastle’s Great Northern Hotel last month, she said Novocastrians were ugly, and you had to be drunk to, ahem, ‘‘get laid in this town’’. ‘‘You can be a f---wit,’’ she says. ‘‘I’ll just write a song about it and sing it in front of hundreds of people night after night.’’

Puru pens lyrics and delivers them in such a way that would make any man shake in his boots. The Liar (‘‘Don’t talk to me about anger, when I’ve got a loaded gun’’) and Ragdoll Baby (‘‘You look so sexy with your knees in the dirt’’) spring to mind. But it took years to overcome her nerves. Developing a stage persona helped. How much of it is Puru herself is anyone’s guess.

‘‘People say that I have a stage presence but I just do what I can to make myself feel comfortable. I guess the stage character I’ve developed over the last couple of years has come from me being pretty nervous at the start. I didn’t want to move, I just wanted to stand still and collect myself,’’ she says.

‘‘I incorporate a drink into my performance, which helps. Playing in pubs and clubs all the time, it’s hard to keep a healthy balance. But I’m a trashbag. That’s no secret.

‘‘When you sent me a text just before this interview I was still in bed, so I thought I’d better get up. I questioned momentarily whether I should make myself a cup of tea, and then I just poured myself a glass of wine.’’ Alcohol might help her overcome shy moments but it’s mother Chris who helped Puru develop confidence. ‘‘Kira’s very forthright, and I always encouraged that, although sometimes I think ‘Oh my God I’ve created a monster’. I tried to boost her self-confidence when she was younger, sometimes I think I gave her too much.’’

Puru was 13 when her mother realised she had talent. ‘‘She sang a Celine Dion song, and she was as good as Celine Dion.’’ She went in karaoke competitions but never won.

‘‘I suck at competitions,’’ she says. ‘‘It got me down a bit. I always wanted to have singing training but it didn’t work for me. I lasted a couple of months at a talent school, but they put all their singers in leotards and made them do dances and that wasn’t what I wanted to do. ‘‘In hindsight it was a really good thing I didn’t go down that Mickey Mouse Club path. I did something that felt really good to me instead.’’

She was in a band in high school, but only for ‘‘a couple of weeks’’.

‘‘I started going solo and was playing guitar in pubs, your average just-out-of-school girl with a guitar, writing crappy folk songs. That’s how I met Geordie, our guitarist.

‘‘He saw me playing and basically said, well, he didn’t say I sucked at the guitar, but he told me I needed a guitarist, which was a very diplomatic way of saying I sucked.

‘‘So we started a duo and got other people involved when we wanted to flesh out the sound a little more.’’

Doors started to open for Puru and her band, with artists such as Mojo Juju in her corner.

But she’s realistic about the music industry.

‘‘It’s frustrating when you see someone who you don’t think is talented selling millions of records while you’re still slogging it out, trying to make 50 bucks. But that’s just the way the industry is. Someone famously at the ARIAs wrote their acceptance speech on the back of their dole form, which I found hilarious.’’

Puru and her band are taking time out from touring to experiment in the studio. They have released two EPs, and a vinyl single is due in March. A full-length album is ‘‘on the cards’’.

If Chris Puru has anything to do with it, her daughter will top the charts.

‘‘As a mother, it’s difficult at times to stand by and watch, waiting for someone to go ‘oh wow’. I’ve considered selling my house and backing her, I’m that confident she’s got what it takes.

‘‘I would make all the sacrifices in the world to see her go where she needs to go, where she deserves to go.’’

And that’s after a year in which the registered nurse, who has worked at Stockton hospital for 33 years, lost half her house in a fire and discovered her insurance had lapsed.

‘‘I lost everything,’’ she says. ‘‘I work very hard and I’d like to help Kira reach her goals but financially, it’s been tough. I’ll turn that around eventually.

‘‘Newcastle should be extremely proud. I personally think she’s Australia’s very own Adele, she just needs that song.’’