It's been a while since ex-Silverfish front-person and microphone abuser; Lesley Rankine re-launched herself as a solo artist. Since her debut album 'Salt Peter' some years ago, closely followed by a remix companion, there has been nothing to speak of from the Scottish songstress due to label collapses and, of all things, industrial action at her US imprint.
By all accounts following these events she relocated herself across the Atlantic and has been holed up in a New Orleans recording facility for the last six months putting together her new album 'Short Staffed at the Gene Pool' which is due to hit the shelves any time now. In support of the first single 'Grace' she has opted to perform her comeback show in one of the capitals new venues, Cargo, located slap bang in the middle of painfully trendy Shoreditch.
Situated beneath two brick arches and with the cleanest toilets and door staff so unnervingly friendly it's distinctly unsettling, it would seem the perfect spot for such an occasion. Although not totally rammed there are enough curious punters here to provide at least a suggestion of an atmosphere as she takes to the stage fashionably late. Accompanied by a double-bass player and guitarist-cum-knob twiddler, Lesley greets the throng by blowing a raspberry and smiling like a naughty schoolgirl.
As the set gets underway it's clear that since her debut effort her distinctly dark vision of murky beats, bass and bleeps has loosened up a little. Often compared to Portishead she now has more in common with the askew funk of Moloko, that is if they had been dragged through a peat bog backwards and fed on a diet of cough mixture, snakebite and chips. Lesley uses two mics, to colour her voice with an array of effects sound tracked by some rubber band bass action, wah-wah guitar and sinister effects.
Suffering from poor sound for the first couple of songs they begin to hit their groove and find their feet more and more as the set goes by. Lesley moans between songs in her broad Scottish brogue that not enough people are standing at the front and then smiles sweetly as she asks politely for more beer having just supped up.
Then half an hour or so into the proceedings, with the trio fully in their stride we're treated to the claustrophobic torch song 'Paraffin', a single from her first collection. As it weaves its way to a gentle climax, without so much as a word of warning Lesley exits the stage with her cohorts, a wave and that's our lot. The crowd asks maybe all too politely for a little more but it isn't forthcoming leaving them to exchange slightly disgruntled looks of disbelief before the speakers emit a rather inappropriate eighties disco nightmare.
More of PA than a full-blown gig many leave with their heads bowed, feeling cheated and wondering why they shelled out on a wet Tuesday night for such a sham. Having remained loyal after such a long period of time you can't help but be amazed at Lesley's lack of regard for her audience. Cutting off the set just as they were reaching a peak and promising so much but delivering so little is hardly the way to convince any newcomers and only serves as a turn off for the devotees. She may be a rare, uncut precious stone, suitably rough around the edges but after this particular performance and subsequent early exit loses her sparkle leaving her image more than a little tarnished.
