Ruby Gill – ‘Some Kind of Control’ album review: all we are is the beauty that remains
THE SKINNY: Who is in control? South African singer-songwriter Ruby Gill explores this all-important question with flawless beauty on Some Kind of Control, reflecting on their own sense of self amid the ever-changing tides of the world. In this space, she explores the lines and colours that shine within her soul—and the struggles of allowing those hues to blossom despite countless distractions and enemy lines.
“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.” Central to this quest is a celebration of satiating more pieces of yourself than ever before, where it’s not always about resolution but revelling in the beauty of making it up as you go.
Better still, Some Kind of Control feels closer to a reckoning than perhaps Gill intended, particularly for a sophomore album, where delicacy and nuanced intricacy become foundations for opening the doors to self-discovery. It’s a gentle albeit necessary sway towards epiphanic realisation, marking a pivotal moment when it’s finally time to silence “the devil that sits on my shoulder, who tries to convince me that I am an angel”.
Ultimately, it’s about “being an imperfect body, a person in a fucked political landscape,” while recognising who you are—and acknowledging those who will never experience the beauty of letting the world flow in. It’s witty in a confessional way yet grounded in heartwarming grace, an embrace that says: “We’re here, and as long as we stay true to ourselves, everything else simply falls away.”
For fans of: Realising the truth amid the noise. And Earl Grey tea.
A concluding comment from my mum: “Is there a word for finding music you feel you’ve been looking for forever?”
Some Kind of Control track by track:
Release: March 28th | Producer: Tim Harvey
‘Touch Me There’: A complex wade through the simplicity of being exactly who you want to be, ‘Touch Me There’ reaches for the most beautiful corners of desire, the type that beckons to be seen, from exhilarating first touches to fatigued caresses at night. [4/5]
‘The Flood’: Somehow, Gill’s quest for celebrating identity and meaningful existence comes with the overwhelming sweep of otherworldly realisations and the recognition of feeling foreign in your own body. It’s a glorious portrait of a life longed to be lived against immense dualities. [4/5]
‘To What Do I Owe My Pleasure’: With navigating control being the essence of the record, ‘To What Do I Owe My Pleasure’ explores who we belong to and what it means to feel full in our own bodies. After all, it’s not there to be fixed but to be loved and cherished. [3.5/5]
‘Emmagen Creek’: The viscera of feeling is the most powerful thing in the world, and ‘Emmagen Creek’ feels like a heartfelt glance at those overwhelming feelings of losing grip of what truly makes us feel alive. [3.5/5]
‘Some Kind Of Control’: Sometimes, finding ourselves can leave us feeling like we belong to others. Losing control can happen insidiously, but recognising that “fine line” is the step to finding ourselves again. Time is the best weapon. [3.5/5]
‘Room Full Of Human Male Politicians’: In today’s world, we’re surrounded by people desperately scrambling to regain something that wasn’t theirs in the first place. ‘Room Full of Human Male Politicians’ tackles political disillusionment with feverous grace, acknowledging the fight to push when thoughts and feelings get dismissed by flawed authority. [4/5]
‘Space Love’: A standout on the album, ‘Space Love’ takes aim at toxicity that desires to feel a sense of existence—relying on submissive kindness to feel whole, no matter how much it wears thin. It’s an anthem for those who long to break free, with a heart so scorned that escaping to space feels like the best and only option. [4/5]
‘Throw Your Lucky Coins On Me’: There’s something inherently Joni Mitchell-era singer-songwriter boom about this particular gem as Gill flickers between different musings like confessing inner thoughts into the void. However, in this context, the meaning is anything but weightless. [3.5/5]
‘How Chimpanzees Reassure Each Other’: Sometimes, romancing half a heart is simple, and ‘How Chimpanzees Reassure Each Other’ tackles the basics of wanting to feel loved, whole, and at home. [4/5]
‘Under The Flying Foxes On The Last Night Of Summer’: Gill brings the record to a close with a delicate sway of inward reflections, and how changing perceptions, the passage of time, and moving on always comes with the lasting haunt of the moments that made us. [3.5/5]
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