Ol' Self-Control

“Ol’ Self-Control” opens with a lonesome guitar riff that curls like smoke in the dim light of a haunted Southern bar, setting the tone for a journey steeped in humid nostalgia. Joshua Quimby’s voice, a gravelly whisper laced with heartache, carries the weight of a million unspoken regrets, evoking the sensation of wandering through a field of old jeans that have seen better days—each thread a testament to life’s disappointments and fleeting joys. It’s the kind of song that feels like a conversation with an old friend who knows you better than you know yourself, the kind that reveals secrets draped in the guise of casual familiarity.

In “Ol’ Self-Control,” Quimby navigates the murky waters of desire and self-restraint, a dance that feels both familiar and profoundly unsettling. The South has long been a cradle for gothic storytelling, and here Quimby crafts a narrative that blends the skyline’s shadows with intimate confession. His verses ripple with the bittersweet ache of longing, punctuated by subtle touches of instrumentation that evoke the feeling of an imminent storm: a slow build that never quite breaks into rain. Within the rustic confines of Quimby’s Southern gothic, there is an exploration of the human experience that transcends region; it touches on the universal struggle to maintain control amidst chaos and longing.

As part of his album These Old Jeans, this track deepens understanding of Quimby’s artistic trajectory—from hopeful youth to tempered wisdom. It bears the scars of a life lived in the tension between desire and restraint, beckoning listeners to confront their own tangled emotions. In a world that often demands we suppress our feelings, “Ol’ Self-Control” resonates as an anthem of vulnerability, a reminder that to be human is to grapple with our own histories, our own fragile selves.