Gillian Rae Perry - gilly's garden

​Gillian Rae Perry

gilly's garden
self-released; 2026

TOP ALBUM 

By Matt Jensen
​

There’s a moment early in gilly’s garden where it becomes clear Gillian Rae Perry isn’t interested in moving in straight lines. The album behaves more like a place than a sequence, something you wander through where sounds drift in and out of focus. It leans heavily on atmosphere and restraint, but it also knows when to come back to something more grounded. I kept noticing how it balances those instincts without forcing them together.

The title track, “gilly’s garden,” opens by circling around tone and texture before settling into piano and voice. It takes its time getting there. As more elements are introduced, the song slowly fills out, becoming rich without losing its sense of patience. The performance lands with a quiet intensity that feels carefully measured.

“My mind is a garden” shifts into a more unconventional direction. I didn’t expect how much it would rely on absence. The pauses carry as much meaning as the notes, creating a kind of fragile stillness that feels both deliberate and slightly uneasy. There’s a muted beauty to it that avoids easy resolution. “be cold” pulls things back toward a more recognizable structure, with piano and voice guiding the track and a vocal that feels deliberate and controlled.

The interludes begin to reshape the flow of the album. “soil: cold (interlude)” introduces a darker tone, nudging things into a more surreal headspace before giving way to “The pancake song,” which brings in a lighter, almost offbeat charm. Then “my body is tree” slows everything down, leaning into weight and harmony in a way that lingers.

“drain” carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, dipping into a kind of quiet desolation, while “soil: drain (interlude)” pushes further into abstraction with a mood that feels disjointed and cinematic. “Bench” stands out for how exposed it is, built around a close, almost fragile presence. “My lungs are the ocean” widens the scope again, leaning into drifting ambience, and “turn away” continues to explore piano and voice without adding unnecessary layers.

​By the time the final track stretches past eight minutes, the album has already set its terms. It doesn’t aim for spectacle. Instead, it stays inward, letting small changes carry meaning. I noticed that the more time I gave it, the more it opened up. It works best when approached as a shifting environment, moving between clarity and ambiguity without settling too firmly on either.

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