Mr Briggs – “Ruby’s Songs”

Mr Briggs has stepped away from bands and volume into something much smaller and more private. Working alone in his Devon studio, sharing space with his painter wife and two chaotic dogs, he’s chasing the kind of music that feels like it was recorded late at night for no-one in particular. The touchstones he mentions, Brian Eno and Eluvium and Godspeed You! Black Emperor, make sense: slow pieces that sit in the room with you and don’t explain themselves.

“Ruby’s Songs” is built almost entirely on low piano chords. They sit in the left hand, steady and weighty, like someone walking slowly down a hallway. The harmony has a dim, grey light to it: part sadness, part comfort, with just enough movement to keep you listening for the next change. There’s an ambient haze around the notes, a bit of room tone and softness that makes it feel more like a real, slightly battered instrument than a clean sample.

Nothing breaks the mood. There’s no big lift, no drum entrance, no sudden melody trying to take over. The piece holds its pace and colour from start to finish, letting the tension sit there, a little romantic and a little uneasy. You can hear the “quiet and reflective” aim in every choice: this is the kind of track that feels like it was written for a single scene and then left untouched.

For sync, “Ruby’s Songs” is ready-made for dark drama, indie film, or prestige TV: late-night interior scenes, slow walks through city streets, memory or grief flashbacks, closing shots in limited series, or narrative games where the player moves through a mission in low light. It also fits true crime docs, character studies, and podcast scoring, anywhere you need a slow, steady piano piece that suggests weight and distance without spelling out emotion.