🧠 Renmakesmusic: The Anti-Algorithmic Truth Bomb We Didn't Know We Needed.

It started the way most things do between me and my brothers: with a link.

We don’t really do deep convos. There’s no “hey, how’s your week going?” or long check-ins. That’s not our love language. Ours is pure digital chaos. We speak in Instagram Reels and wild TikToks. The more ridiculous, the better. Dogs chasing their own tails, people falling off hoverboards, weird animations with odd audio. That’s how we stay close—it’s not what we say, it’s what we send.

So when my elder brother dropped an Instagram link into the chat the other day, I expected more of the same. Another laugh. Another scroll. Another "what did I just watch?" moment.

But this one felt different right from the thumbnail: a guy sitting in a wheelchair, hospital gown on, barefoot, with a guitar propped up next to him. Not trying to go viral. Not polished. No filters. Just... there. The account was called @renmakesmusic.

The video started with silence. He sat still for a few seconds. Then he looked up, straight at the camera. What followed was something I still don’t have perfect words for.

It was called “Hi Ren.”

I thought I was clicking on a Reel. What I got felt like a full-blown performance art piece, a therapy session, and a spiritual unburdening all rolled into one.

Ren wasn’t just singing—he was having a full conversation with himself. Out loud. Switching between personas. Rapping, whispering, shouting, playing guitar in this raw, almost uncomfortable rhythm. There was no chorus. No catchy hook. It didn’t feel like a song. It felt like something he needed to get out.

And weirdly, something I needed to hear.

I watched the whole thing. Didn’t skip, didn’t scroll. I just sat with it. By the end, I realized I hadn’t blinked much. I didn’t even notice when my thumb stopped hovering near the screen.

Then came the deep dive.

Who was this guy?

Turns out his name is Ren Gill, an independent artist from Wales who’s been making music for years—quietly building a following with his brutally honest lyrics, DIY videos, and genre-bending sound. He’s dealt with chronic illness for most of his adult life—Lyme disease, autoimmune complications, and all the isolation that comes with not feeling like your body belongs to you anymore.

And instead of hiding it, or trying to make it inspirational, he just puts it in the music. All of it. The fear, the frustration, the weird thoughts you don’t say out loud. The war inside his own mind. He doesn’t dress it up. He lets it bleed.

What blew me away wasn’t just the talent—it was the honesty. There was no wall between him and the art. No separation between pain and performance. It was all one thing.

That honesty made me think about how I write. How often I try to make things sound “good” instead of making them feel true. Ren’s work doesn’t feel manufactured—it feels necessary. Like he couldn’t not make it, even if he tried.

And I think that’s what really struck me: his bravery.

There’s bravery in being able to show your ugliest, most unedited self and still say, “This is me.” It made me want to meet that level of honesty in my own work. Made me want to stop self-editing so much. Made me want to write messier, truer things.

So yeah—me and my brothers are definitely back to sending cat fails and random Reels in the group chat. That’s just how we operate. But this one? This one landed different.

Somewhere between the memes and the madness, my brother sent me something real.

He sent me Ren.

And now I can’t unhear him.