Quick-fire Questions: 10 minutes with Ruby Gill
Releasing a sophomore album can sometimes feel like battling a million things at once. Amid the mounting pressure, second records are like second chances—but only if you let yourself fall into the trap. Otherwise, it presents a beautiful opportunity to become more yourself than you’ve ever been before. With Some Kind of Control, Ruby Gill brought the inside out, falling into themself with disorderly imperfection.
While this album is made to be loved, it’s not that hard to find yourself in the delicate embrace from the opening notes of ‘Touch Me There’, as Gill ventures bravely presents the pieces of herself she has yet to understand fully but longs to acknowledge. Writing these songs, one question became the central nucleus of the entire vision: Who is in control? A heavy question for one soul to answer, but within these four words, Gill explores the many things queer people face daily.
“This record is about regaining agency over my body, foreign-ness, queerness,” Gill explains. “It is in some ways a study about who controls what and where we can have a say over our sex, time, policies and pleasure.” At the crux of this statement was a glaring localness, working alongside Naarm musicians who “helped me to see those things in myself” in a community that beckoned open-mindedness, the kind where figuring it out was the gateway to being.
And yet, despite its gentle sway of delicate musings, Some Kind of Control feels like a reckoning. Slow and unsuspecting in its charge, the record signals a moment in time when Gill realised themself and felt ready to open that door, letting the grace and beauty flow in like a shattered glass ceiling. As they sing on the opening track, it marks a moment in time when it’s necessary to silence “the devil that sits on my shoulder, who tries to convince me that I am an angel”.
Above all, this isn’t just a coming-out album in the traditional sense. It’s also about “being an imperfect body, a person in a fucked political landscape,” all while becoming more of yourself than ever—a cheeky wink in the face of adversity, a reflective glance at who we used to be, and a reminder that the opposition—those scrambling to regain control of the things that were never theirs to begin with—will always fall silent against the power of self-discovery and acceptance.
Quick-fire questions with Ruby Gill:
What’s the first gig you ever went to?
“Meatloaf, in utero. Which explains a lot. Out of utero, the first gig I really remember being fully present at, with my whole self aware of what was going on, was a South African band called Freshlyground at the local agricultural show. There were cows parading around in the oval behind us while Zolani Mahola sang Nomvula over my head. I remember looking up and feeling like she could say anything, and I would think it was gospel.”
What is ‘Some Kind of Control’ in three words?
“My girlfriend said I should say ‘Little Bit Control’, which is pretty good. I’d say it’s wooden, witty, and defiant.”
Who is really in control?
“Well, that is the question of the record. I think where I wanted to land after writing these songs is that mostly I am, when it comes to my own life. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. But, ultimately, we share that power with nature.
“And then when it really feels like the ‘room full of human male politicians’ takes charge (and they do have awful, frightening power), then that’s where I hope the community remembers its own agency. Our family of people has huge sway over how we feel about our own conviction and grit, and how we respond to damaging authority or to each other in care.”
What does love sound like?
“Like big walls breaking.”
What’s the best Ruby Gill song?
“Usually the one I wrote today. I am always trying to see every new song as the only one, or at least a worthy evolution of writing. But more generally, it’s the one that unties a knot you hold inside you and makes you cry. ‘To What Do I Owe My Pleasure’ did that for me when I wrote it, I think it’s my favourite on this record.”
What’s the best venue in the world?
“There’s this tiny red velvet room behind a bar in Westgarth, Naarm/Melbourne called the Merri Creek Tavern. It fits about 50 people. The drums sometimes have to go on the audience floor. I’ve never seen a show there I didn’t leave changed from. It feels like a whole universe happens inside there. If I could only play there forever, I’d sign now.”
What album have you probably listened to most in your life?
“If I’m very, very honest with you, it’s probably the original Once soundtrack.”
Who is the ultimate legend?
“Joan Armatrading. I really do think she is my hero.”
What’s your favourite song of 2025 so far?
“‘Come With Me’ – Annie-Rose Maloney.”
Do you believe in karma?
“No. It’s too transactional. If all it took to get good shit was to be good, then the world wouldn’t be run by prawns. But I believe in living by your values.”
Where’s the best place to feel inspired?
“I have two modes of inspired. One is naked in a big river with my glasses off so that everything looks blurry and soft. The other is the 12 minutes just after walking out of the cinema alone, onto the busy street (especially Lygon St near Cinema Nova where the Brunettis pastry shop is). It is always in these two moments the most sentences appear in my head, and I wish I could be everywhere and everyone, or at least know how to write it down.”
Your favourite lyric in ‘Touch Me There’?
“I’m doing my best to let go, to get over / To silence the devil that sits on my shoulder / Who tries to convince me that I am an angel / When I just want you to fuck me on the table.”
What’s the best queer anthem?
“New Brighton by Nakhane feat. ANONHI.”
Who’s the best songwriter in the world?
“Impossible question. But I will eat whatever Adrienne Lenker feeds me.”
What are you most looking forward to?
“IVF. Is that crazy?”
