Ruth B. photographed during making of her video for the single ‘Dirty Nikes’, 2020. Image by Gabriel LN.

Is Canadian singer-songwriter Ruth B. the new Tracy Chapman? She has a soulful voice, thoughtful and concerned lyrics, and a growing wave of followers around the world. She also has some of the most creative videos around. Oh, and she speaks fluent Amharic. LUX speaks to her about the music business, social media, BLM and whether playing the piano matters

Ruth B. is a musician very much of her generation. Born Ruth Berhe in 1995 in Edmonton, Alberta – her parents had emigrated from Ethiopia to Canada – she started posting short videos on the now defunct Vine platform in 2013. One of these fragments of a song gained thousands of likes and eventually became her bestselling single ‘Lost Boy’, which in turn has received over 500 million plays on Spotify alone. That song features on her album Safe Haven, released in 2017 on the Columbia label.

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This kind of rapid rise in the music industry is one that has been made especially possible by social media. But it has also been made possible by Ruth B.’s own skills as a singer and keyboard player – her warm, soulful voice and subtle piano style have won her fans across the generational divides – and by her dedication to her art and her ambition to have artistic control over her songs and videos.

Like most musicians, Ruth B.’s career has been put on hold during lockdown brought about by the worldwide coronavirus pandemic, but it hasn’t stopped her working entirely as she continues to write songs at her home in Edmonton, where she was living when LUX spoke with her.

LUX: When did you start being interested in music. Was it when you were very young?
Ruth B.: I think for me music was always a really prominent part of my life. I just naturally gravitated towards it. I loved singing; my mum sang a lot around the house. I just really loved to make noises with my voice or make sounds with pots and pans, or whatever it was.

LUX: And were your parents musical? Did they encourage you down that route?
Ruth B.: My mother sang in a choir. No-one was particularly musical, but my whole family appreciates music, and they were always very supportive of me, and put me in piano lessons.

Image by Gabriel LN.

LUX: You’re a very contemporary singer, but there’s something very classical in the way you play piano and sing. Are you aware of this?
Ruth B.: I don’t know if I’m aware of this, I just think that’s the type of music I love listening to and love making. When you start to get more into the music world you get to know what kind of production you want, but I’m aware that I want to keep it organic and stripped back.

LUX: When you were young, playing around with music, did you think you would end up as a global star? Was it an ambition of yours?
Ruth B.: I kind of always hoped I’d end up in music. I didn’t know in what capacity or what that meant, but I certainly knew that music was going to become the focal point of my life.

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LUX: Do you feel that you have succeeded? Or are you on the path to other things?
Ruth B.: Yeah, I’m always working towards different goals. I’ve definitely had successes… I think in the beginning I was always super critical and hard on myself, but now I think it’s important to celebrate wins and the good things that happen. But I think I still have a long way to go, and there are still things I want to accomplish.

LUX: Like what?
Ruth B.: One goal that I always tell people about is to put out an album that I write, produce, engineer, all by myself. I’ve done the writing, and the production a bit, but all the other stuff I’m still learning. So that’s my biggest goal, to put an album that’s just, you know, completely me.

LUX: Are you releasing an album or some more songs this year?
Ruth B.: Yes, I brought out a new single this summer, and we shot the video for it it in my hometown. And an album towards the end of this year or the beginning of next. It’s been in the works for the past three years now.

LUX: Your videos are very dreamlike and artistic. Do they come from your ideas, or is there someone else who directs them?
Ruth B.: For most of my music videos have been made by different directors, but I’m pretty heavily involved in everything I do. So, I write up my ideas for the video of a song and send it out to three or four producers, and whoever’s vision matches mine is who I’ll go with. I’ve been lucky to work with some really talented people.

LUX: Some of the ideas in your videos are quite surreal, aren’t they?
Ruth B.: They really are. I like to focus on the little details and surprises here and there. I’ve always been into fantastical and magical stuff since childhood, so it’s seeped its way into the videos for my songs.

A still from Ruth B.’s ‘Lost Boy’ music video.

LUX: How important are the videos?
Ruth B.: They’re very important. A visual alignment with what you’re hearing is important, especially for a lot of people, and it can sometimes make or break a song. I’ve had songs in the past where we’ve shot an entire video and spent three days and a lot of money on a video, and it just doesn’t work, so we end up not using it.

LUX: Looking on, it seems you’re just doing what you love, and that’s it. But is it difficult?
Ruth B.: Yeah, it is, like any job. But with music it’s hard because sometimes people forget that just because you love music, it doesn’t mean you’re like this super outgoing, big personality. For me, that was the hardest part – getting used to being at the forefront of things. Even being on stage at the beginning was super hard, because growing up I was pretty introverted, but I think over time I’ve got used to it and grown a love for it. It comes with its hardship. You pretty much give your whole life to touring. But I think at the end of the day, if you really love it, then it is worth it.

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LUX: And what are the biggest challenges?
Ruth B.: I think for me it’s the being away from home and family. Being from Edmonton, Alberta, I spent a lot of the early years, at 18 and 19, away from home. That was difficult – just always being on and ready to go. Shows can be really tiring, and that whole thing of being on stage for an hour or two every night can be hard, but again, you’re doing the thing you really love, so in the back of your head, you’re thinking this is amazing, regardless of how tired you are.

LUX: Do you find it difficult being a young black woman in music?
Ruth B.: Yeah. Being a young black woman in general is difficult in our world, but in music I’ve definitely faced some adversities, but it’s kind of always been that way. It’s not new. It’s stuff I’ve faced in workplaces before now, or in school. It’s certainly there, which is unfortunate.

LUX: Do you think things are changing with Black Lives Matter and recent developments?
Ruth B.: It’s inspiring to see people talking about it and it being at the forefront of a lot of conversations. That inspires change, and with the people I work with, talking about how we can change the industry for black people.

LUX: Do you experience any ageism as well?
Ruth B.: Yes. I think in the beginning I had a hard time with it, because I would always be like this 18 or 19-year-old girl walking into a room of older, usually white men, and it can be a little bit… ergh. But I think for me, at least in my experience, the older I got the more confident I became in my ideas, and more married to the idea of executing things in the way that I wanted them done. Over time I’ve grown a thick skin.

LUX: Thinking about ‘If I Have a Son’, did you write that as a reaction to BLM?
Ruth B.: Yeah, I wrote that after everything happened with George Floyd. I mean, those feelings were always there, but I never thought to put them in a song, just because I never thought I’d get that honest or deep in my music. But when you’re faced with such a hard pill to swallow all you can do is try to channel it, so for me that’s always been music. It’s my go-to therapy, just writing out everything I’m feeling in response to what’s going on.

The singer on set for ‘Dirty Nikes’ 2020. Image by Gabriel LN.

LUX: Do you have a good idea about who your fans and listeners are? Is there a single type?
Ruth B.: You know, I don’t think it’s one type of person, because at my shows it’s such a diverse mix of people. That’s like my favourite part, you have little kids and older people and different races and backgrounds. It’s really nice.

LUX: Do you have plans to direct movies or anything beyond pure music making?
Ruth B.: I’ve always been really interested in a lot of stuff. I love to read; I love to write. Eventually, one day, I would like to write a book. I don’t know what kind; it’s always been on my bucket list.

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LUX: What kind of books do you like reading?
Ruth B.: Growing up, it was very much fantasy, magic, dragons. As I got older, I got to like mystery. I like poetry, that’s where my heart is now. It goes hand-in-hand with music.

LUX: What poets are you reading?
Ruth B.: I read a lot of Maya Angelou, I love Robert Frost. I also really love Pablo Neruda. I think for me it just helps with my song writing, and garnering inspiration for that. Poetry is really just music without melody, so it’s inspiring when I’m trying to write my own music.

LUX: Do you see yourself as a businesswoman? Is making money a goal or just what happens?
Ruth B.: As you get older you start to think more about business, and you get more on top of your stuff. It’s never been that important to me, but I have my friends and family who tell me I need to keep on top of that. So, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to become more business oriented. In the end, though, the main priority is making music, and I’m happy to be where that can be my main focus, just creating art.

LUX: You came to prominence through Vine. How important is social media?
Ruth B.: It’s really important. And I say that mostly because I’m from a tiny little city in Canada that not a lot of people know about. It’s such a great tool just to get your voice out there in real quick time to spread the word fast. You know, ‘Lost Boy’ started off as a six-second Vine and if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

LUX: Has your use of social media changed?
Ruth B.: I’m not as active now as I once was. I don’t plan things out as I used to. In the beginning I would post a cover or some kind of lyric every day. It’s really important when you’re trying to get your foot out. Now I use it to tease music, when I’m about to put something out. Or I’ll tweet lyrics, and I won’t tell people that they’re lyrics, over a few months, and then the song will come out and people will say, “Oh, I remember when you tweeted this ages ago”.

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LUX: I guess you’ve been at home in lockdown like the rest of us. What’s that been like?
Ruth B.: It’s been a challenge, for sure. There’s been some good things, spending time with friends and family. Returning to my roots, and being in my bedroom just writing and with my keyboard. I’ve been so lucky to work with different producers and writers all over the world, but now it’s back to the very beginning, in my room.

LUX: Outside of lockdown, what is a normal day for you?
Ruth B.: A normal day for me… I was living in New York and I would probably spend somewhere between nine and twelve hours in the studio, and then come home, eat dinner, go to bed. And it’s probably my favourite part about all this, being locked in to create music and getting to do that every day.

Ruth B. in the studio. Image by Marc Offenbach

LUX: You once said that you weren’t a big party person, but do you still feel like you have to be on the scene to keep up your image?
Ruth B.: Erm, no. I think you can be whoever you are, whoever you want to be. It’s easy, when you’re young, to get caught up in who you should be and what you should want to do, but I’m 25 now, and I have a good idea of who I am, and where I’m going… I’m still figuring it out, but I’m OK with being who I am, and with the fact that I don’t like to go out. I do, from time to time, but it’s not my thing, and that’s OK. There are people who are the same as you and who can be your clique or group. The older you get, the more you’re just like, “Hey, I’m me”.

LUX: Looking forward 10 or 15 years, what would you like to have done by then?
Ruth B.: I guess by then I just want to have made music that means something to me. With everything going on over the past few months, with ‘If I Have a Son’, it’s really inspired me to use my voice and my platform to do good, and to talk about things that actually matter. I just hope I will have done that in some sort of way, and stuck true to who I am. That’s the most important thing to me.

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LUX: The reflective and spiritual nature of your songs remind me of Tracy Chapman.
Ruth B.: Well, thank you, that’s so kind. I love Tracy Chapman. That means a lot. I’m a very spiritual person, and very into what I love (which is music), and if people feel that, that’s always a really good feeling for me, so thank you.

LUX: How have you managed to stay grounded as your career has exploded?
Ruth B.: In the beginning it was a lot to handle, because you’re whisked away from home and it’s not like you can call up your friends like you used to. It’s a whole new life. For me the hardest thing was just feeling misunderstood, even by friends and family. You know, as much as they wanted to, they just couldn’t really understand what was going on in my life. They could be there and support me, but I couldn’t go to my best friend and say, “What do I do here?”, because she just didn’t get it. But I’m so thankful to them for keeping me grounded. I think it’s just about keeping those people close to you, and keeping those things the same, because it’s not easy staying yourself when the whole world is changing around you. I think if you make it a priority to not lose yourself in all of it, it’s doable.

LUX: You’ve said that you’re filming a video in your hometown soon. Why is that?
Ruth B.: Mainly because I’ve been isolating at home with my family. I didn’t go to New York when all this started, so I’ve just been in Alberta with my family. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to shoot something at home. I think it’ll be cool for people to see where I’m from and where a lot of these songs have come from.

LUX: How do you write a song? Does it come to you quickly, or does it take months?
Ruth B.: It’s become very abstract. When I started writing two years ago, there was a method to everything. I’d sit at the keyboard, and have a lyric, and I’d write around that. Now it’s all over the place, and I prefer it that way. I could be having a conversation with a friend, and something they say could stick out, and I grab my phone and write a note. Lately I’ve been into coming up with new melodies and writing around that. Life inspires me, really, so whatever feelings I’m feeling – happy, sad, mad, in love, heartbroken – that’s the main focus.

Find out more: ruthbofficial.com

This article features in the Autumn Issue, which will be published later this month.

Marc Quinn in his studio with his work Viral Painting. A Man Tapes Himself to the Colorado Soldiers Monument, Artnet (2020)

From his sculpture for Trafalgar Square’s fourth plinth to his recent guerrilla monument to replace the toppled bronze of a slave trader in Bristol, British artist Marc Quinn has shown a commitment to giving form to political urgency. Maryam Eisler talks to him about his time during lockdown, his engagement with history in the making, and his renewed excitement at creating art

Maryam Eisler: Marc, tell me about your lockdown experience.
Marc Quinn: It’s totally abstract and totally real at the same time. This moment is one of the most real things we’ve lived through. There are people dying. People’s businesses are closing. Horrific things are happening. And then when you go onto the street, until very recently, there’s no-one around. It’s not like a normal war or natural disaster, where there is visible chaos. This experience is quite abstract. In the end, apart from the people who are near me, the only way I know about what is going on in the world is via my phone and the internet.

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This time has also been about a completely new way of thinking. We have been forced to learn how to navigate the difference between our virtual selves and our real selves.

In terms of making work, it’s been great. It’s me, alone in the studio making things. It’s like going back to square one again and rediscovering my roots. It’s about making art in a way that I used to do 25 years ago. And I really enjoy it.

It’s a great time for transformation. People are actually engaging with the world. There has been a whole resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement after the horrific death of George Floyd. That is amazing, and hopefully something lasting will come from it this time around. We’ve had moments of focus on these types of issues before but never to this extent. I think it’s a time when societal tectonic plates are shifting. Our old life is also shifting.

Viral Painting. If You Are Neutral in Situations of Injustice You Have Chosen the Side of the Oppressor, Marc Quinn, 2020. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

Maryam Eisler: Tell me about your series History Painting and how it has led to the new series Viral Paintings. How are they made?
Marc Quinn: History Painting is a series of paintings that I have been quietly working on for about ten years. The history of art tells you about how art was classified in the 18th and the 19th centuries, with the lowest genres being portraiture or still-life and the highest being history painting. Works in that genre were commissioned by the state or by the aristocracy. When I saw images taken during riots, such as in London following the death of Mark Duggan in 2011, I thought to myself that this is actually quite interesting because the genre is being flipped on its head. History is now being made from the bottom up, coming from the people instead of the other way around. I thought I could take this idea behind the history painting genre and make new history paintings that are about the day, the moment.

Hassan Akkad (2020) from the series 100 Heads. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

Alison Lapper Pregnant (2005). Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio. Photograph by Todd-White Art Photography

For the first in the series, I found an incredible press photo of a masked man on the streets of Hackney, which was the most iconic one. I contacted the photographer. I bought the rights to make a painting from it. And then I spent three months making a painting of it. At the end, I took all the paint that was left on the palettes and chucked it on top. It’s called History Painting (London, 8 August 2011) ROYBWN. I had this sense that the paint was disrupting it, in a way. But it was also sort of freezing it. And it was also about looking at matter. You can view it as a sculpture; when you squeeze a tube of paint, you always feel that it has so much potential. It’s about that beautiful moment before you actually crystallise it into something that may or may not be good. The paint that’s thrown on top is paint which exists as potential, as matter, as energy, as the unconscious. In a way, this process creates a screen. That screen is between the image’s dematerialised world of the image and the material world, where the paint exists straight from the tube. That was quite unconscious for me, I think. It also felt like it was about change, about movement, about how things are reconvening.

History Painting Ieshia Evans Protesting the Death of Alton Sterling (Baton Rouge, 9 July 2016) GPBW (2017). Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

I made those types of paintings for about ten years, including a few about the Black Lives Matter movement. One painting focused on the photograph of Ieshia Evans protesting the death of Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge, an important, big picture. The large paintings would take six months to paint, so I couldn’t make that many and I had to really focus.

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When the events of 2020 started unfolding, starting with Covid-19, I felt like history was in fast forward at high speed. I don’t have time to spend six months painting each picture. I have to make these in the moment. So, I had to let go of all that craft, but also of my idea of what a painting should be. I have a big printer that takes canvas, so I just thought I’d take a screenshot from my phone of events in the news as they take place, I’ll print them up and paint on top of them. This is how the Viral Paintings were born.

Viral Painting. Baby Erin Bates (Painted 15 April 2020), Marc Quinn, 2020. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

Maryam Eisler: So, you had to revisit your own practice from a whole new perspective?
Marc Quinn: Yes. It just felt so good because I went with the situation, and it took me somewhere completely new, which was really exciting.

Maryam Eisler: It’s an exciting time to be making work.
Marc Quinn: Absolutely. I always want to be excited by the work, otherwise I’d just stop. Great work has historically been produced during moments of crisis, I think. Times like these make you focus quickly on what’s important in life. And what, on the other hand, is a load of bullshit. It gets rid of a lot of fluff and noise. You also realise that your relationships with other people are important. How everyone gets along in the world and how people are treated are important. Love is important. It makes it pretty simple. Times like these bring us back to what being human is all about, and it’s an exciting time to make art because of this potential for change that seems to be all around us.

Maryam Eisler: Colonial history means that events in the US relate directly to what’s going on in the UK and in Europe.
Marc Quinn: It’s all connected – enslavement is a part of colonial history. The roots of our systematically racist present stems directly from that, a colonial history that we’re all involved in. Britain, Europe and the USA were all involved.

Viral Painting. Dazed 100, Dazed, Marc Quinn, 2020. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

Viral Painting. Bafta-Winning Film-Maker Becomes Hospital Cleaner, The Guardian (Painted 10 April 2020), Marc Quinn, 2020. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio

Maryam Eisler: Tell me about the increasing importance of public art at this particular time.
Marc Quinn: It’s quite interesting to see how public art, which normally no one looks at, has suddenly taken on this urgency and this real symbolic value within society, in a way that it has never had in the past. I think that’s really interesting and it started in Bristol when they tore down the statue of Edward Colston. It’s incredible to experience the power of art in catalysing change, even if it’s iconoclasm.

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Maryam Eisler: Yes, you made a replacement sculpture. Tell me why you did that.
Marc Quinn: Jen Reid [one of the protesters] created the sculpture when she stood on the plinth and put her arm in the air. That incarnation of the artwork lasted just three minutes. When I saw the picture of her on Instagram, I immediately got in touch and asked if she’d like to collaborate and crystallise her original action for a bit longer. We then created the resin piece and put it on the plinth to activate the space. It was always conceived to be a temporary installation, to create debate about the idea of representation in the public realm and to continue the momentum of the BLM movement. We both felt it did exactly that. Its 24 hours on the plinth was enough to have the impact.

A Surge of Power (Jen Reid) 2020, Marc Quinn, 2020. Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio.

Maryam Eisler: Do you think art has been too politicised?
Marc Quinn: Most art is purely decorative and that’s not the kind of art I want to make. Art should be political. I make art about the world. I want to reflect and affect the time that we live in and the issues that are most pressing today through art.

Maryam Eisler: What effect is social media having on the art world?
Marc Quinn: Social media and the sharing of online images is great for the art world. It’s a way of making art more accessible and visible to new audiences who may not always go to a traditional gallery or museum. Instagram in particular is a brilliant platform for following emerging and established artists. Of course, as with most public forums, there can be a downside and there can be negativity.

Zombie Boy (Rick) (2011). Courtesy and copyright Marc Quinn studio.

Maryam Eisler: How do you see the art world changing?
Marc Quinn: I think that there will be, and should be, a greater emergence of black artists, curators, writers, architects, and so on. Can you believe that only one per cent of practicing architects today are black? Another interesting angle is that black people and white people are coming together to talk about issues that involve us all. If you don’t do anything about it, you’re complicit in it happening. So, you’ve got to act and speak up. There is no choice. It resonated with me when [US journalist and teacher] Jelani Cobb said, “I’ve probably gotten this question 50 times from white students who ask me if it’s okay for them to write stories about people of colour and racism. And I was like, you absolutely have to write these stories.”

As a privileged successful white artist, I have access to an audience. If I don’t use that influence to talk about what matters, then what’s the point of it all? That’s what I love about the Viral Paintings – they’re tracking what I’m engaging in, now, every day.

Maryam Eisler: How do you think art history will change now, after these events?
Marc Quinn: What’s exciting is that we don’t know what the future holds, but it’s largely in our hands to open a new future and to consolidate some of the gains that have happened during this period and not just go back to the old ‘normal’.

Maryam Eisler: What about the future of museums and art galleries post-lockdown?
Marc Quinn: I think that will be really interesting to observe. No one’s really talked about it, but all the museum schedules have been completely thrown off. Most museums’ programmes work on a two- to five-year lead time, so, they can never really react to the moment. Perhaps this is a time for museums to rethink their planning and do exciting new shows that offer immediate reactions to what is happening around us. It’s an opportunity for these institutions to take an active role in the dialogue. Better representation of black curators and people in art institutions means the work of black artists can be properly contextualised and celebrated. I hope for a more inclusive art world that mirrors the diversity of the world today and celebrates artistic talent from all backgrounds and perspectives.

Find out more: marcquinn.com

This article features in the Autumn 2020 Issue, hitting newsstands in October.