RUBY SOHO

I make music the only way I know how — honest, about my life experience.

This is my solo stuff Ruby Soho — and my music isn’t polished pop pretending everything’s fine. It’s about the messy stuff. Mental health. Grief. Love. Losing babies. Finding yourself again. Falling apart and getting back up because you’ve got no other choice.

My new track Willow is exactly that. A rendition of Johnny Cash’s ‘You are my Sunshine’ but redone with pregnancy loss.

It’s about bending without snapping. About copping the storm and still standing there afterwards, even if you’re a bit twisted and tired.

It’s that quiet kind of strength. The kind women know well.

Just heart, dirt under the nails, and a voice that’s lived a bit.

That’s Willow. Launching it Sat 28th at King Tide Brewery, Coffs Harbour.

Find all my music on all online platforms

https://rubysoho.bandcamp.com/

WITCH DIESEL

Witch Diesel is what happens when four women hit their Saturn return and decide to plug in instead of spiral.

Made up of The Silver Skiddy, The Charger, The Falcon and The Stang, Witch Diesel started as a couple of sheila’s giving it a red-hot go — and quickly turned into something electric, chaotic, and completely spellbound.

It was loud, witchy, a little unhinged (in the best way), and perfectly timed for that cosmic Saturn-return reckoning — when you’re shedding skins, burning old versions of yourself, and stepping into your power whether you’re ready or not.

What began as mates making noise became a full-blown ritual of friendship, distortion pedals, and feminine ferocity. Rehearsals felt like therapy. Gigs felt like exorcisms. Every chord rang with “we’re still here.”

Now, there’s that pull again — the itch to light the candles, tune the guitars, and resurrect the coven.

Witch Diesel isn’t just a band.
It’s a season.
And maybe it’s time for another one.

MODESTY

Modesty was the wild brainchild of one of my best mates, Kate Boston Smith — aka Kitty Bang — one of the most incredible artists I’ve ever known.

We did it all. Pub footy side by side. Late nights behind the mic at PBS and RRR in Melbourne. Celebrity footy at the Community Cup. Probably a few questionable decisions. Definitely a streak or two.

It was chaos, creativity, and friendship all tangled together. The kind of chapter that feels bigger than you realise at the time.

Like most great things, it eventually came to an end. I’m still not sure exactly why.

But I know this — it was magic while it lasted.

LOOBS

In Loobs, I was the bass. The low end. The rumble under the chaos.

Three mates, too loud for small rooms and too stubborn to quit. James Frahm, Alex Pink, and me — figuring it out the only way we knew how: plug in, turn up, don’t look back. No polish, no plan. Just noise and nerve.

I learned bass the hard way — fingers torn up, amps pushed too far, chasing the groove until it finally locked in. That band taught me how to hold a stage, how to sit in the pocket, how to mean it.

It ended messy. Breakups blur lines. History gets rewritten.

But you can’t erase the low end.
And you can’t delete the lessons.

Still grateful. Still playing.

First EP was the best- playing two chords on John Candy is my state of flow

LOOBS EP | LOOBS

BUNNY MONROE

Bunny Monroe was the first all-female band I ever played in. It was 2006 and we were working at Melbourne’s legendary Cherry Bar while tearing up the rock ’n’ roll circuit at night. We were one of the first bands to ever play the Cherry stage — back when it was raw, sweaty, and building its reputation as Melbourne’s rock ’n’ roll heart.

The original line-up was Pieria O’Brien, Jamie McLean, Kate Koomen and myself. After we lost our lead singer Pip on a tour to LA, we brought in Jasper Jewel and kept going.

Why did we break up? Honestly… I can’t even remember. Probably some classic band drama. That’s rock ’n’ roll.

But god, it was fun.

The original Cherry Bar girl band — loud, messy, unforgettable.

FRANK

Frank is the alter ego — the loud one, the loose one, the firestarter.

Fronting his band Frank, he howls about punk rock warriors, everyday revolutionaries, misfits with big hearts and bigger volume. It’s gritty guitars, sweat on the floor, truth yelled into cheap microphones. No polish. No pretending. Just raw, rebellious storytelling with a grin.

Frank doesn’t play often — only when the moment feels right. Rare shows. Big energy. Blink and you’ll miss it.

LAKOTA NOKER

My first band was called Lakota Noker — a name that felt mysterious, powerful and slightly unhinged… which suited us perfectly.

I started it with my little sister Kate and our best mates Rami, Brett and Milky. We were teenage punk rock revolutionaries — or at least we believed we were. Between distorted guitars and half-formed songs, we’d dive into deep philosophical debates like we had the secrets of the universe tucked inside our Doc Martens.

None of us were polished musicians. We were learning as we went — loud, chaotic, emotional and completely committed. Lakota Noker was our release valve, our therapy session, our rebellion. It let us burn bright and survive those wild teenage years together.

And like many dramatic origin stories… it ended soon after I started dating the singer.

Classic punk plot twist.