Finnish-born, Baltimore-based singer-songwriter Ruut is an artist whose music draws strength from vulnerability, personal reflection, and the experiences that shape a life. From her beginnings in Kuopio to her time in Budapest and eventual move to Baltimore, her artistic journey has been marked by exploration, resilience, and a determination to find her own creative voice. Her latest album, Gravity, released September 25 through Meridian (ECR Music Group), brings together songs written over approximately fifteen years, offering listeners an intimate look into different chapters of her life.
Described as a collection of “private prayers,” Gravity explores the passage of time, self-discovery, emotional growth, and the courage to embrace imperfection. Its lead track, “Unbeatable,” captures a particularly meaningful shift in Ruut’s perspective, finding strength not in the absence of vulnerability but in the willingness to embrace it. Working alongside co-producer Grant Cornish, she gives these long-held compositions a renewed sense of purpose and emotional depth.
With Gravity, Ruut is not simply revisiting her past; she is finding new meaning in it. In an exclusive interview, we speak with the artist about the stories behind the album, the experiences that have shaped her evolution, and what it means to finally share songs she has carried for so many years.
AVOLA: You describe the songs on Gravity as “private prayers.” What did you discover about your younger self when you finally allowed those private prayers to become a public record?
Ruut: I’ve really come to respect that girl. She had some profound things to say. I appreciate that she always went after her vision, even if in the moment she lacked the right artistic elements to make it exactly the way she dreamed. think I was supposed to experience certain “failures,” which in the long run were just preparation for what was coming. That’s what private prayers are: the stuff we know we’re capable of, the faith we have, but can’t yet verbalize or fully realize. Like seeds. They carry all the promise. It takes an older, wiser version of us who’s dealt with some stuff to be able to fully blossom out of those seeds.
AVOLA: These songs have lived with you for roughly fifteen years. Were there any that changed meaning so dramatically over time that you almost felt like you were singing someone else’s story?
Ruut: Yes, certainly. When we make songs, poems, artworks, they have certain meaning in that moment. Fast forward fifteen years, we encounter them through a perception that has survived some ups and downs. That’s the case with Gravity. When I listened to the songs in their old form, I realized they contain permanent truths that are worth keeping. Through breathing new life into them, fuller meanings surfaced.
AVOLA: There is a striking tension between vulnerability and strength across the album, particularly on “Unbeatable.” How has your understanding of strength changed since you first wrote these songs?
Ruut: Thank you—that’s a cool observation about the album. When I was younger, I had all these unrealistic expectations of myself. I’d inherited the belief that I couldn’t fall apart. I’ve learned to honor my feelings rather than suppress them. To me, it’s strength to feel big emotions like fear and vulnerability, and show up anyway. Show up to do the work. Show up for the people we love. We may be frail, but our willingness makes us strong.
AVOLA: You have spoken about moving away from perfectionism and toward softness. How did that personal shift affect the way you approached your vocals, songwriting, and recording process on Gravity?
Ruut: I challenged myself to look at everything: lyrics, melodies, arrangements, through a lens of poetic license. I could feel the pulse of a song buried under years of habit, or the way it had gotten stuck. I needed to unearth that pulse and let it breathe. My art practice has changed this way––I’m much more fluid and wild. I let the work talk to me, and I listen.
AVOLA: Revisiting older material can sometimes turn into an exercise in nostalgia. What did you deliberately avoid doing in order to keep Gravity rooted in the present rather than simply recreating the past?
Ruut: There were a lot of old habits ingrained into these old songs, such as the way I sang a chorus, or a chord progression that had gotten cemented, but they weren’t effective anymore. They didn’t make me feel things. I opened my mind to seeing the songs anew and only held onto what felt fresh and alive. It’s like figuring out where the couch goes, finally, after living in an apartment for years. One day you just see it, it clicks, and moving it to a new spot changes the whole energy of the house.
AVOLA: How did working with Grant Cornish and mastering with Blake Morgan shape the final emotional character of these songs? Were there moments where the production revealed something in the material that you had not heard before?
Ruut: Knowing you can trust the person you’re about to send your song to makes you work on it with more confidence. I felt free to make bold moves with arrangements and production, because I knew Grant would have my back. He could handle whatever would need adjusting. And the same goes for Blake’s mastering; I was able to focus on my part and not try to make things too perfect in the process. I could just lay down ideas as freely as possible, and trust that it would all come together in the end.
AVOLA: Your journey has taken you from Kuopio to Budapest and Baltimore, alongside experiences in church music and periods where your artistic freedom was restricted. How have those different environments shaped the artist you are now?
Ruut: I’m definitely a product of my story, and some of my influences are more overpowering than others. Singing in a gospel-style, for instance, feels natural because I grew up in a church with Southern Baptist music. Lately it’s been important for me to be more intentional about which of my influences I keep and which I let go of. I’m realizing that I have a lot more freedom than I’ve allowed myself to enjoy in the past.
AVOLA: The release of Gravity alongside the remastered Steinway Sessions creates an unusual conversation between different chapters of your musical life. What do you hear when you place those two projects beside each other today?
Ruut: Similar lyric and melodic threads run through both albums. When I play the song “Glimpse” just on the piano—or any of the Gravity songs, for that matter—they might as well be Steinway Sessions songs. I hear the same songwriter. But for the songs on Gravity, I could also hear cinematic landscapes, sonic worlds that could broaden the listener’s experience. I really got a chance to strengthen my producer’s wings on that album.
AVOLA: If the Ruut who originally wrote these songs could sit across from the Ruut who recorded Gravity, what do you think they would misunderstand about each other, and what would they immediately recognize?
Ruut: I remember when I first recorded “All I’ll Ever Need” fifteen years ago. The arrangement felt heavy and overpowering, but at that time, I didn’t know how to change it for the better. I just got through performing it every night and felt like I was singing at my own funeral. I think Young-Ruut would be relieved that Gravity-Ruut came along to finally execute the ultimate vision for these songs. What would be instantly recognizable is the lush sonic world in these songs. I have always adored layered harmonies, ethereal guitars, real strings, and sparse but powerful production. Gravity is certainly a stylistic dream fulfilled.
AVOLA: After spending so many years carrying these songs privately, what does it mean to finally let them go into the world, and what do you hope listeners understand about the person behind them that they might not hear from the music alone?
Ruut: First of all, it means so much that folks are enjoying the music. Life can be dire sometimes, and if my songs can add a feeling of hope even just for a moment, I’m grateful for that. I also want people to understand that I went through a time when I thought I’d never write another song. After certain losses and changes, it felt impossible to pursue my art, and that “break” was necessary. A transformation had to happen, so that I’d return to it for the right reasons. As a younger artist, I didn’t question the harmful societal opinion that only the contribution of famous artists matters. Now I know all of it matters. The act of committing to one’s art matters. I’ve seen the power of an artist in her home. She changes everything around her: the conversations, worldview, and reasons for gathering. I’ve returned to making music again, not to fulfill an outdated, unexamined “American dream,” but because it’s where I exist most fully. Making my music now is about finding out what else I can give, and how else I can evolve. Gravity will always be the memento of claiming my art back for myself.
Featured Image: Artist Supplied
