You can wait too long for an album; sometimes an artist releases a first or mid-career burst of brilliance, snags your fierce devotion … then blows it by taking five years to record a follow-up that's merely listenable by comparison. And by then it doesn't really matter anyway; the fair weather fans have all packed up and moved on to the next flash in the pan, the trends you embraced the first time around have become passé, and your albums struggle to find some trace of life in the used bin. Given that the pull of failure gets stronger the longer one waits to release something new, it's something of an entertaindom miracle that Ruby's sophomore LP, fervently awaited since the group's first album, Salt Peter, bowed in 1995, escapes that creative black hole and rockets in the opposite direction. Almost impossibly, Ruby has rebounded from 6 years of silence to deliver Short-staffed at the Gene Pool, a shimmering, irresistibly buoyant piece of electronic pop.
The group, comprised of vocalist Lesley Rankine and multi-instrumentalist / programmer Mark Walk, have trod a nearly unforgiving road on their way to making what is, ultimately, one of the strongest albums of the year. Their former UK label, Creation Records, folded shortly after Salt Peter's release, taking Ruby's high-profile Sony distribution with it and forcing the duo to retrench just as it seemed poised to really break through. That breakthrough, ultimately, had to wait six years. Ruby regrouped, found new labels (wichita in the UK, and Thirsty Ear as a U.S. distributor), and sallied forth. And, as a testament to the group's surprisingly resilient appeal, its fans patiently endured the wait, and were around in droves to receive the Short-staffed at the Gene Pool when it finally hit shelves. How many acts engender that sort of loyalty on the strength of a debut disc?
Not to downplay the music's quality, but what works most in the duo's favor is the shift currently underway in the electronic music scene. The poppy trip hop Ruby staked its claim to on Salt Peter has become de rigeur with the recent upsurge of downtempo. Ruby's blend of soulful melodies, mellow vibes, and breakbeat-driven rhythms now sounds not only fashionable, but pioneering as well. It helps that Walk and Rankine complement one another so well as musicians, with Walk supplying gently grooving beats and supple harmonies to back up Rankine's syrupy bedroom come-on drawl and hungry, forceful growls.
It's a seductive album, which represents something of an evolution for the duo, though lyrically, Rankine's songs are, in places, as emasculating as Salt Peter's: The opening track, "Beefheart" is about as tongue-in-cheek as you're going to get, and Rankine delivers lines like "Beefheart, honey / Don't you wanna come and play with me?" with a coy sneer that turns the title into a backhanded compliment, displaying a dimension of subtlety missing from Salt Peter tracks with obvious titles like "Tiny Meat." It's not all rave grrrl feminism though; "Grace" is a slinky, sexy number, a lust letter to a guy for whom she feels, variously, a "grace," a "warmth," a "deliciousness" that "only he can bring" with his kiss and touch. This is a new side to Rankine as a lyricist; most of Salt Peter was, despite its sleek veneer, an angry album, and not in the gently jibing manner of "Beefheart." With "Grace," Rankine shows some new stripes; and she wears them well, producing a standout on a dudless album.
The album is at its strongest when revealing Rankine's complexities, as, for example, in "Lamplight" where she discusses her vulnerability as a performer, or "Roses," which deals with the pain of introspection. Only "Cargo" displays her ferocity in force, summoning up some of the bile she spat out on Salt Peter and with her old punk band, Silverfish. Still, here, it simply serves to round out a portrait of a woman in full: in love, occasionally confident, vulnerable when she wants to be but tough as nails when the moment demands. You won't get as complete a picture from many other lyricists.
Short-staffed … does cut itself short in a few spots. It occasionally sounds assembled - the Protools seams show through a bit, and Rankine's voice, once a blunter instrument of punk and industrial, is still developing the finer edge required of a downtempo diva. She's made gigantic steps since, say, Pigface's "Chickasaw," and, at several spots, her creamy voice is absolutely intoxicating; it's also refreshing to hear a singer who, despite her reliance on technology to assemble her songs, refuses to hide her voice's few imperfections behind that technology, preferring to deliver up something real and organic and infinitely more satisfying that polished pap. That's real punk rock, and it will hopefully stay with Rankine throughout the rest of her career. Techno can use whatever human edge it can get.
Overall though, the album is a stunner, not just because it's decent in the face of overwhelming odds and expectations, but because it sounds great on its own merits, divorced of context and history. Let's just hope we don't have to wait another 6 years for another facet of Ruby to catch the light.
Sean Flinn | August 13, 2001
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