Ruby's Torch

1	When I Dream 3:30
2	If These Walls Could Speak 3:40
3	Ruby's Arms 5:29
4	Never Be the Sun 3:58
5	Bluer Than Blue 3:18
6	Brave Companion of the Road 3:28
7	Grapefruit Moon 4:21
8	Please Call Me, Baby 4:11
9	Late Night Grande Hotel 2:53
10	In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning 2:51
11	Drops from the Faucet 4:07

Barnes & Noble

Fans of Nanci Griffith, were they not so devoted a lot, might be thrown a bit by Ruby's Torch, an album that wanders far afield from Griffith's exquisitely detailed folk and country recordings. Torch songs, appropriately enough, are the order of the day, and for the first time Griffith doesn't pick up a guitar on one of her recordings. Backed by a 13-piece string section, she assays 11 mid-tempo burners -- but don't write this one off as another standards set. Griffith is just as meticulous in her song selection as you'd expect, including two selections by Tom Waits and two of her own compositions, "Late Night Grande Hotel" and "Brave Companion of the Road." The latter especially demonstrates how idiosyncratic Griffith's vision of the torch song is; she makes no attempt to hide her Austin twang, and the cinematic sizzling drums and breathy saxophone are nowhere to be found. Instead, Griffith takes this long-planned detour to relax into some favorite songs and focus with her trademark intensity on her voice and its connection to the song. Apart from her own songs, perhaps the finest moment here is Donal MacDonough Long's "Never Be the Sun," its acoustic guitar-led arrangement making the most comfortable setting for Griffith's Texas Plains voice; its inspirational tone besting Lee Ann Womack at her own "I Hope You Dance" contest. Her interpretation of "Drops from the Faucet" is a close second, with a completely different feel -- bluesy vocal, muted trumpet -- that nonetheless shows what Nanci Griffith can do with a decidedly urban groove. It's easy listening in the most complimentary fashion. Mark Schwartz

All Music Guide

In her brief liner essay, Nanci Griffith claims that Ruby's Torch -- a collection of torch songs, what else? -- is a "dream come true" and something her listeners have requested over the years. Fair enough, but in typical fashion Griffith has put a spin on these nuggets, only two of which are her own compositions (old ones at that). In addition to "Brave Companion of the Road" and "Late Night Grande Hotel," there are three songs by Tom Waits (including his classic "Ruby's Arms," which the album title is adapted from), Jimmy Webb's "If These Walls Could Talk," Sandy Mason's "When I Dream" (the best-known version is by Willie Nelson, but Crystal Gayle's is better), "Bluer Than Blue" by Randy Goodrum (and a hit by Michael Johnson in the '70s), and "Never Be the Sun" by Donagh Long. In other words, what this amounts to is a recontextualizing of songs not normally in the torch repertoire. There's a great argument for Waits, given his songs' now common treatment by singers in this way. To show the juxtaposition, there is one honest-to-goodness tune from the canon in the David Mann/Bob Hilliard number "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning," which headed a concept album in the 1950s by Frank Sinatra after his breakup with Ava Gardner (and was the closer on Griffith's own Clock Without Hands in 2001). Griffith uses her backing band, the Blue Moon Orchestra, as well as full-on string, horn, and woodwind sections. She's recorded in front of an orchestra before -- and not only once. Still, this feels both familiar and ambitious. But this time out she really and truly concentrates on being a singer. Her voice has more discipline, more refinement, and she has made her Texas drawl work for her in the most elegant and intimate way. While is in some ways another of her "heroes" records, it's a singer's record first and foremost. When covering songs in the past, she was highlighting the song first and her ability as a vocalist second. Ruby's Torch places equal significance on singer and song, and given her stylized readings of these tunes through a classic "Texas" sensibility, one can hear some of these songs as a soundtrack heard through the characters of Larry McMurtry's novel The Last Picture Show. While it's true that "Ruby's Arms" is the winner pulling away here -- because while Waits' version is very sad, Griffith's plaintive take is more reportorial and therefore devastating -- everything here works in context, and provides as seamless a record as she's given listeners this century thus far. In its way, this is a renaissance album for both the singer and these songs, though neither were ever hidden anywhere at all. This is the sound of passion, albeit one related by intimacy expressing itself in a dusty mirror. Recommended. Thom Jurek