Ruth Garbus is giving a little less of a shit these days. The Brattleboro singer-songwriter has a critically acclaimed new record out on Orindal Records titled Profound. She claims newfound confidence in herself, both as a composer and a musician — reasons to be more locked into her career than ever. Yet at the same time, Garbus revels in finally letting go.
“I’ve heard older people say that when you get older, you just don’t give a shit anymore,” Garbus, 44, told Seven Days in a recent phone interview. “I’m not all the way there yet, but I do think I’ve let go of some hang-ups and anxieties that were certainly part of my career earlier.”
Those anxieties often manifested themselves in gorgeously strange, melancholic compositions with melodies that defied simple hooks or single moods. The idiosyncratic songwriter began her music career as part of Brattleboro freak-folk collective Feathers before forming the indie-pop trio Happy Birthday in 2008, along with Kyle Thomas, aka King Tuff, and her partner, songwriter Chris Weisman.
The latter band put out one album on Sub Pop before each member moved on to solo careers and other projects. Garbus has been on a creative roll in recent years, with high-water marks in 2019’s Kleinmeister; a 2023 live record, Alive People; and a well-regarded self-titled 2024 release with saxophonist Sam Gendel and drummer Phil Melanson as Earth Flower.
She’s arrived at a crucial juncture of sorts with Profound, her third solo studio album. On it, Garbus discards her imposter syndrome while cultivating her unique creative process.
Landing somewhere between indie folk and free jazz, the album features Garbus’ ethereal voice swinging from delicate falsetto to robuster, deeper tones, often within the same line. An exceedingly warm, artfully experimental and, at times, funny record, the LP reveals Garbus as a more assured musician and singer than she used to be — and, perhaps, a more confident person in general.
Ahead of her performance at Radio Bean in Burlington on Friday, June 26, and an album-release show at the Stone Church in Brattleboro on Saturday, June 27, Garbus spoke with Seven Days about the new record, taking singing lessons and why writing happy songs is hard.
Profound might be one of the most lyrically direct albums I’ve listened to in some time. I mean, the first line of the whole album is “When I penetrated that man, I felt just like a dog / Getting fucked is the season of the world.”
Well, it’s kind of the paradoxical combination of being more cynical but having that cynicism also double as acceptance. It’s the flip side of the same coin. I guess I’m not beating around the bush as much?
Part of that, I think, is that I started taking medication for depression and anxiety, and, really, that was huge in every way. Musically … I mean, there are a few songs on Profound that are basically me just going, “Yay!”
I’ve always just found it so much harder to write a happy song.
Ruth Garbus
It’s exciting to be happy!
It is! I’ve always just found it so much harder to write a happy song, you know? At least one that actually feels engaging. But on this record, there was real intention. I was happy, I wanted to write a happy song, so getting to actually express that part of myself in the world felt really, really good.
Does some of that happiness come from confidence? Your voice sounds incredible on this record. I read that you started taking classes online with the School of Song and studied with vocal coach Junko Watanabe at the Brattleboro Music Center.
I actually started taking vocal lessons before I made Kleinmeister, with an awesome coach, Jim Anderson, before continuing with Junko. I was at this place where my voice felt really weak to me, and I didn’t feel I was able to express myself fully. My voice sounded high and light, and I didn’t feel like that was who I am. I wanted to project and feel stronger.
The School of Song thing was really about getting better at writing on the piano. Most lessons build on a classical basis — and my mom is a piano teacher, so I knew that. But really, I just wanted to be able to write a fucking song on the thing!
I think the confidence also comes from playing with Nick [Bisceglia, guitar] and Elie [McAfee-Hahn, keys], my band. We basically recorded the album as a live band, which I’ve never really done before.
You tracked Profound with Kyle Thomas, aka King Tuff, at his home studio in the Northeast Kingdom. You and Thomas go way back. How did that relationship affect the recording of the album?
I just know Kyle so well. What he values aligns with what I value, so my trust in him is huge. Working on quarter-inch tape — I’m not necessarily a gear person, but the record has this raw combination of lo-fi and hi-fi that I just love. You’re trying to fit all this sound on a tiny strip of tape. I used two-inch tape on Kleinmeister, for comparison. But recording those sounds on incredible microphones, it just does really interesting, cool sonic things.
And you tracked the record on the same TASCAM tape machine that you and Kyle made the Happy Birthday and Feathers records on, correct?
Absolutely! Which was wild. I think those kinds of restraints, along with just feeling so comfortable with Nick and Elie as a band, helped give the record this kind of delightful slowness. There’s a lot of space. It breathes.
It’s great to have a producer like Kyle, someone who is so effortlessly motivated. I have a hard time getting stuff done, even when it’s music. I’m not like Picasso, where if I don’t paint, I won’t survive — that is not my relation to music. Someone like Kyle, or my partner, Chris, they’re so driven. They practice and write all the time, work on artwork or putting together tours, all without someone telling them they have to do it. But that’s proven almost impossible for me. I need outside motivators to get me going, and Kyle is amazing at that.
You mentioned that earlier in your career, you had to deal with imposter syndrome.
Oh, I still deal with that shit! [Laughing.] I want to be clear on that, for anyone reading: That doesn’t necessarily go away.
But you seem to have at least largely put that fear to the side. This sounds like an album made by someone who knows not only how but why they make music.
It’s funny. I have a friend named Ron Schneiderman; he was in the band Sunburned Hand of the Man. When I was in my twenties and just starting, we’d get stoned and just jam; it was a huge part of my musical development. And I remember one time, years later, I went up to him and told him, sort of earnestly, “Hey! I finally realized that I’m a musician!” And he said, “You’ve said this to me, like, three times over the last 15 years, Ruth.”
I’m like a fucking goldfish, I can’t remember anything! But I think I’ve been coming to that realization for a long time.
I don’t think I used to consider this my destiny, but more like a hobby I could engage with, and that felt safer. But making the last few albums, doing the Earth Flower project and Alive People, as well as getting on medication, I can tell something has changed. I know I’m a musician, and I’m doing what I’m meant to do. And I need to do it to feel fulfilled, for sure.
You’ve been a big part of the Brattleboro music scene for decades. That scene seems to be flourishing with an eclectic array of artists, from THUS LOVE to Ordh to BLUE DISH to your partner, Chris Weisman. How do you view the scene in Brattleboro currently?
Don’t forget the People’s Coalition of Tandy! They’re a great music collective and record label based in Texas, but they’re in Brattleboro now, too. They’re doing amazing things and are a really big part of what’s going on in town right now.
It’s funny, though. In general, I don’t totally know what’s going on in Brattleboro. I have my group of musical pals, and there’s a lot of music made by younger, cooler, not-middle-aged people. But I think I maybe aged out of being cool enough to know?
I don’t go to the Buoyant Heart or to Midnight’s, where I think a lot of that music is happening. Those places are kind of what I think we had with the Tinderbox, in the early 2000s. Kyle [Thomas] and I had a huge room there called Vegetable Street, where we’d rehearse with Happy Birthday and Feathers. There were tons of bands; we were all on top of each other. But rent was so cheap. Now, that space would cost thousands of dollars a month to rent.
You’re just out there being the experienced, elder presence in the scene.
I know. It’s so weird how quickly that happens.
This interview was edited for clarity and length.
The original print version of this article was headlined “How Profound | In her stunning new album, Brattleboro’s Ruth Garbus embraces her forties and treats her voice — and herself — a little better”
This article appears in June 24 • 2026.
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