Ruby Boots

The genre is full of untimely ends, littered with alcohol-swollen cadavers and drug-induced breakdowns, with some habits proving so hard to kick that they have been handed down through generations (see the Williams and Earle lineages). But as ever, when one speaks to an insider, myth and reality begin to diverge.

“I quit drinking about eight months ago,” says Australian country up-and-comer Ruby Boots, real name Bex Chilcott. “It’s like I’m starting again. I’m not saying I used to get onstage hammered, although…” She laughs. “There were some occasions where that happened, but we won’t rehash them.”

Though Chilcott admits breaking up with the bottle was a struggle, she attributes her success to simple self-control. “I think with our drinking culture, especially in the industry we’re in, drinking is pretty heavily embedded into what we’re doing. But I also feel like I [can] make a choice about something. We’re all free to choose. [You’re] still able to make a choice. Like, if there’s some heroin in front of me every night … I wouldn’t just shoot up cause it’s there. I know drinking is more acceptable and more available but I’m not just going to do it because of that.”

Chilcott acknowledges that even without the additional stress of alcohol, touring is hard. “I was in America last September touring,” she says. “[I was] exhausted. I was like, ‘Oh fuck, this is how I feel like when I’m not drinking. This is exhaustion from actual touring.’ I was like, ‘No wonder my hangovers are so bad on the road.’ It was a wake-up call.”

Perhaps the stress on Chilcott’s body and energy levels is inevitable. She has been playing a colossal amount of shows, even for an artist on the rise, having toured internationally to promote her debut album Solitude for months on end, and jumped across continents with a full band in tow. “I’ve been playing close to a hundred shows a year,” she says, her voice taking on an audible aspect of weariness even when simply speaking about life on the road. “It takes its toll. To have enough energy for that, I need to give every member of the audience every part of me.”

But despite these pressures, Chilcott sees heading out on tour as a kind of dream; a fantasy she has cultivated for a long time. “I’ve always wanted to sing,” she says. “I’ve wanted to perform … from an early age. I’ve never been able to not perform. I guess the need to perform came naturally for me, but growing as a performer is something I still feel I’m learning about, for sure.”

When it comes to discussing the practicalities of the tour – the setlist, the rehearsals – Chilcott becomes all-business, and her raw laughter is replaced by a tone so earnest it’s almost as though she has become another person. Perhaps it’s to be expected: Chilcott is a self-managed artist, and the change in her demeanour is a simple slip between roles, a switch from the down-to-earth performer to the manager responsible for keeping up with gruelling deadlines and complex business deals.

“How I shape a set and how I present a show is [dependent on] to the venue,” she says. “Cause really, my ideal situation is when I have the five of us onstage, and I’m creating moments throughout a full band performance. Some people will say they’re not willing to budge on their show, but for me I am. I can play an acoustic set and be happy with that, and quite often I’ll get a really big kick from playing a really small show to 30 people. I love what you can get from those performances solo.”

This dedication to crafting the best set possible seems to be born not only from a feeling of responsibility to her audience, but also out of a great respect and love for the country music genre. When asked how she thinks the Australian country scene is changing, Chilcott answers with optimism and reverie.

“It’s totally growing. And as it should. It’s a fucking great genre. Country is not a dirty word at all – I mean, if you’re talking real country music rather than Top 40 country. There’s some incredible songwriters coming out of Australia who are writing country music. And it should be heard by more people, in my opinion.” She laughs. “Of course I’m going to say that, though.”

For Chilcott, perhaps the most important element of country music is its essential honesty; the nourishing, raw sense of the real that Americana tunes can provide in a world she sees as fundamentally uncommunicative. “Not just musically but just in general, we’re pretty disconnected,” she says. “Music is a way [to] hold onto those core kind of ways of feeling connected.”

It comes down to this: with Chilcott, one always gets the raw truth, whether that reveals itself in simple everyday conversation or across her twanging, relentlessly listenable body of work. She can’t help but agree.

“There’s one thing I can’t do, and that is lie.” She laughs again. “I’ve always been a shit liar.”