Review: Ruby Gill’s Fishing is not about fishing
Ruby Gill
Fishing is not about fishing
Independent
Victoria-based singer-songwriter Ruby Gill’s new album Fishing is not about fishing exists in a realm where narrative and lyricism have their own sound—where raw and vulnerable writing functions like a microtone, thrumming under everything like a heartbeat.
The driving force behind the 11 tracks can easily fit the definition of poetry, which makes sense for Gill, given her debut poetry collection, I’m not exaggerating when I say sold out its first print run before launch day. The musicality and economy of poetry are deeply embedded in the lyrics, elevating what reads melancholy and reflective to quietly devastating and achingly truthful. The fourth song on the album, A crush on a firefighter at an inappropriate time, has even been described as a poem-turned-song, Gill declaring her feelings brazenly on the somewhat awkward subject described in its title. In the face of bushfire flames and untimely infatuation, “It’s less about fire and more about heat.”
The writing excels in diving into the depths of the mundane, casting a line out into the sea of human experience and finding that we’re all still small fish with big feelings in an even bigger pond. The title track delivers this idea straightforwardly through gentle guitar and layered vocals. “Fishing is not about fishing / It’s just a way to hang out with your kids,” and later, “Hold it here and make a loop / is how he said I love you.”
Fishing is not about fishing. There are hidden layers of meaning in every conversation, but Gill removes subtext to revel in the joy of the everyday. There’s Jacaranda, an upbeat meditation on a summer in Johannesburg and losing your sense of place; Shrimp with my girl, on loving in the face of the banal horrors of the end of the world; Errands in heaven, on an existential crisis over missed sardines. Conversational and simultaneously harrowing.
The effectiveness of the entire project owes itself as much to the production as it does to the writing, spearheaded by Gill alongside Tom Iansek (#1 Dads, Maple Glider, Kate Miller-Heidke) and recorded live with bandmates Lewis Coleman (The Cactus Channel, Pet Sounds) and Jess Ellwood (Angie McMahon, Julia Jacklin). On stripped-back album opener, Lord, let me be a pastry chef, Gill explains over dulled piano, “I know the book, I know it well / I threw it out to become myself.” This applies equally to the sound. Only a few tracks at most follow a traditional structure, and they rarely rhyme or repeat. Gill’s self-proclaimed “strange novella alt-folk” sees narrative as its priority, while the true skill is found in the listenability of the songs despite this.
Carol / not carol is a low-tempo apology for a car crash with a surprisingly infectious melody, while Porchlight’s chorus feels like bouncing from thought to thought—airy vocalisations and minimalistic instrumentation engineered to keep the track driving. Jamie is incredibly vulnerable and ethereal but grounded by electric guitar, and Whatever whatever is uplifted by a constantly rising refrain, with critically acclaimed folk artist Mimi Gilbert adding a new layer to the reassurance.
Fishing is not about fishing ends with Librarian love, in which the vocals are so close they seem live. Gill again returns to this notion of the human experience. “I have been where you have and I always will.” While this song is dedicated to her aunt and uncle, the wider sentiment persists: we are all going through this together.
ABBY GREER