Review by Charlotte Poynton
Our modern world is one where the hustle and bustle lifestyle has become the norm, with many having no chance to stop and pay mind to the delicacy of human connection or fragility of raw emotion. Naarm based musician Ruby Gill steps out of this chaos, taking time and space to regain agency over their “body, foreign-ness, (and) queerness” with their sophomore album, Some Kind Of Control. The long awaited follow up to 2022’s I’m Gonna Die With This Frown On My Face, this body of work was created alongside producer Tim Harvey and a “choir of queer, female, and gender-diverse local musicians”. Ruby Gill ponders the deep question of “who is really in control?” through ten tender narratives, creating a soundtrack for all who have ever admired the little things, written introspective journal entries, or simply yearn time without their polished façade on public display.
Under the Flying Foxes on the Last Night of Summer
The album opens with a delicate piano melody, instantly transporting listeners from their day-to-day into a room with a fresh cup of tea and moonlight pouring in through the open curtains. Gill’s lyrical imagery on ‘Under the Flying Foxes on the Last Night of Summer’ sets a scene of a peaceful landscape, with abundant natural greenery and the calls of various creatures. An extended piano outro evokes a sense of calmness to soothe over any ailments before one makes the venture through the rest of Some Kind of Control.
Space Love
A countdown from nine ushers us into ‘Space Love’, a contemplation of planetary escapism. Calling for the titular space required in relationships, Gill sings of feelings of suffocation that bubbles up within a people pleaser, culminating in the repeated plea of “I need space, I need space”. The often unspoken weight of carrying the turmoil of others is granted an overdue spotlight, before a giggle closes off the track in resemblance of the exhilaration of standing your ground.
Some Kind of Control
The titular ‘Some Kind of Control’ discusses losing grasp of your life and identity in the cacophony of those around you. Gill’s poignant delivery of the line “It’s a fine line between what I knew then and what I know now” triggers a chill to crawl up your spine, with that very realisation acting as an invisible thread throughout each track of the album.
How Chimpanzees Reassure Each Other
‘How Chimpanzees Reassure Each Other’ is a beautiful acoustic track with vocal harmonies and a gorgeous piano melody. A commentary on the pure marvel of intimacy with the unique charm of a Kimya Dawson song, I find myself truly unable to merely listen to this track without absorbing myself fully into the melody and lyrical imagery of connection and healing.
Touch Me There
The void of repression breeds contempt unfamiliarity, and Ruby Gill faces that full-on with ‘Touch Me There’. An acoustic guitar accompanies Gill’s confessional lyrics, as they grapple with embracing their identity and inviting someone into their space. This fragile yet almost powerful reclamation of desires and lingering doubts positions ‘Touch Me There’ as an anthemic track, with a hunger for personal justice after a period of isolating estrangement from oneself.
To What Do I Owe My Pleasure
‘To What Do I Owe My Pleasure’ comes in at track six with an almost carefree timbre and juxtaposing lyrics that carry the weight of life’s injustices. Gill details the insurmountable requests of society, everything from reproduction to ultimate purpose, whilst retorting with the rhetorical titular question. A commentary on hegemonic ideas of femininity, ‘To What Do I Owe My Pleasure’ demonstrates that this modern world has not progressed as far from outdated ideals as it truly should have by now.
Room Full of Human Male Politicians
The theme of disappointments from modern society continues with ‘Room Full of Human Male Politicians’. Ruby Gill lends a microphone to the masses with their poignant lyricism and political musings. This song stands to be ever relevant throughout every parliamentary composition in a variety of states and countries, with increasing relevance to the current reversal of universal human rights across the world. With detrimental health issues being deemed a mere hysteria by radio broadcasters, to life-saving care being dismissed and banned from young individuals at need, Gill’s lyrics are a healthy reminder to a wider society to be mindful of where you’re placing your votes this upcoming election.
Throw Your Lucky Coins On Me
‘Throw Your Lucky Coins On Me’ pairs haunting vocal harmonies with a bare acoustic guitar melody. Playing with motifs of nursery rhymes and visions of lucky totems, Gill once again taps into their strong metaphorical lyrics in this cinematic track.
The Flood
Without debate one of the strongest songs of the album is track nine, ‘The Flood’. Gill’s signature dramatic piano soundtracks this journey of natural disaster and a desperate grapple with uncontrollable change. If there was ever a way to inject a song directly into your veins, ‘The Flood’ would undeniably be my top pick, with Gill’s poignant commentary on modern society and our impending climate crisis landing in a graceful manner but leaving an undeniable impact on all listeners.
Emmagen Creek
Closing off Some Kind of Control is ‘Emmagen Creek’, which Gill describes best as “the only love song I’ve ever written without fear”. This piano driven, delicate narrative rounds out the complex flurry of intense emotion shared through this album, ‘Emmagen Creek’ acting as an introspective revelation of the feelings that one holds the closest.
