Crooked Words #24: Ruby Gill, Helena Deland, Foot Ox

Ruby Gill – Lord, Let Me Be A Pastry Chef

My current 'new albums' list has got a bit overwhelming over recent weeks, with October especially delivering a whole heap of new work I want to invest some proper time into. Maybe I need to shift my listening habits, maybe I just need a long road-trip with hours to waste. The rain has different ideas, so does life.

One song that has reached out of that hazy swell of undefined sounds, and immediately implanted itself into my head and heart was the opening track on the quite beautiful new album from Ruby Gill. I've already written about her storytelling powers, on previous single 'Carol / not carol', and the album as a whole illuminates that side of her work in increasingly special and moving ways.

Said album is called Fishing is not about fishing, and its opening number is a weaving and wonderful tale, with an equally excellent title: 'Lord, Let Me Be A Pastry Chef'. It's one of those songs that feels pulled from an unfathomably deep place within its writer, to the point that you wonder if its shell might be a bit too dense to break through, a little too complicated to crack. But then it rolls on, regardless. And it carries you with it, regardless, and soon you're wondering how you went so long without it.

Draped lightly upon an even lighter piano, Ruby's voice is captivatingly shaped, wrapping itself around words and phrases in a way that feels wholly singular, laced and filled with personality, with sincerity. It's all magic and magnetic and in lieu of being able to say much more about it, I'm just going to place the lyrics and the song below for you, and recommend you carve out six-minutes of your undoubtedly busy and strange and complicated lives to sit with them both.

On the first day, I rode the only horse I've ever ridden
And I gave the command, come on, let us be light
And we rode along slick tracks and dry beds of rivers
And I learnt about freedom in straight lines
And the horse looked me eye level, solemn and marble
Soft like a storm cloud, and strong as a fight
And I felt for the first time the difference of livin'
Versus running around, killing flies

I know the book, I know it well
I threw it out to become myself

On the next day, they arrested a woman in Cape Town
Just for lookin' a white man straight in the eye
And she faced him a sign said: Stop killing my sisters
Oh, seven a day and seven each night

Anger above and anger below
I welcomed it to become myself
I welcomed it to become myself

On the third day, I leant over and kissed a whole woman
And it made me habitable, land and sea
And furnished my body with bees like a summer
And I became water, and I became trees

Soluble love, wet enough to grow
I sought it out to become myself
I sought it out to become myself

On the fourth day, they told me my brother was dying
Or at least, he was trying to do it himself
And the phone rang incessant, but no one would answer
So I sat on the table to ascend from hell

Sun, Moon and stars, will you ring the bell?
And rule me out to become myself
Oh, rule me out to become myself

On the fifth day, I planted a field full of magpies
And I asked them to multiply, silly and wild
Now they sing to me every morning, an ocean
A brilliant way to remain a child

Music abounds and feathers in rows
I look at you and become myself
I look at you and become myself

On the next day, I read that they're hiring for pastry
A chef with the language of butter intact
And I thought about all of the options of money
And how animals all are in search of a fact

How art is enough, but not much to sell
How I'd give all I own to become myself
I'd give all I own to become myself

On the last day, I finished the book I was reading
And I lay on my back in the sickening glow
And I thought of the words I had used in my lifetime
And how poetry tells you what you need to know
How it stops you when you are trying to go

Holy the day, and normal the realm
There is no God like some knowledge of self
Holy the day, and normal the realm
I worship the act of leaving the shell
Of listening closely to what tries to yell
Of becoming myself and wishing you well

Fishing is not about fishing is out now, listen here

Helena Deland – Tip Of My Tongue

I've been listening to Helena Deland a lot recently, revisiting her previous work for the first time in a while as the seasons change, as the leaves have shifted in their colours. 2023's Goodnight Summerland is perfect music for such a time, really beautifully constructed songs that appear differently depending on the weather, and other things too.

(Side note: Someone actually recommended 'The Animals' as one of their own 'perfect songs' when I was pulling that feature together recently, and it's led me to listen to that song in particular with new eyes and ears. A special piece of music that those unfamiliar should spend some time with today.)

In the three years that have passed since that previous solo album, Helena released a new record as part of her side-project duo Hildegard, something altogether more buoyant and sparkling. She's back to her subtle, poignant best on brand new single 'Tip of My Tongue', a weighty, half-lit three-and-a-half minutes that comes tied to news of a brand new album Eternity Shrugs, set for release at the end of January, 2027.

Lyrically rich, the new song gathers its weight from the somewhat haunting and ambiguous tone of those words. Though the instrumentation is punchy, driving the song forwards, Helena's words is presented as something of a slow-crawl, a heavy-hearted voice meandering through the heart of the wintry night the song places us inside of. Check it out below.

Foot Ox – Topanga Canyon

Despite what I said above about my backed-up listening pile, I still like to dip a toe into new albums on the day they're released, just on the chance that there's some magic there, that something lands. While pulling this post together, while floating through the house this morning, waiting for the storm to arrive, I've been spinning the brand new album from Foot Ox, which arrives today via Lauren Records.

The story behind it feels notable: an almost stream-of-consciousness collection of songs, written, recorded and brought to life on a porch in Topanga Canyon, by Teague Cullen (aka Foot Ox) and a cast of friends including Buck Meek, engineer Germaine Dunes, and many more.

Teague calls the porch an 'isolation booth' of-sorts, an outdoor space where these songs gently blossomed and still hold the sound of birds, of creaks and cracks, of Ringo the dog who wandered in and out of proceedings.

The result is something warm and often wonderful; a dusty, slightly ramshackle recording that is no-less full of heart and soul, of many hands and hearts. Drums shuffle, strings are strummed and bend toward the sun, and Teague's voice remains the central, compelling narrator at the centre of it all; a country-leaning narrator full of character, of compelling songs that might have been pulled quickly from the ether but feel lived-in and worn and full of charm.

A lovely, lovely record; dig in below.

Topanga Canyon is out today, available via Bandcamp

Thank you for being here; for reading and listening.