Ruby Rose’s New “Country” Album Drops, And It’s Exactly As Unhinged As You’d Expect
Let me paint you a picture. It’s 2024. The world is on fire. The economy is a meme. And Ruby Rose—yes, the eyebrow-pierced, short-haired, “I’m the most interesting person at this party” Australian who ghosted Batwoman faster than I ghost my New Year’s resolutions—has decided to drop a country music album.
I know. I had to read that sentence twice, too. I also had to check if I was having a stroke.
But here we are. Ruby Rose, the woman who once said she was “too punk for this world,” has apparently decided that the world needs more banjos and tales of heartbreak over pickup trucks. The album, titled *“Leather & Lace & Some Other Stuff I Found in a Thrift Store,”* dropped at midnight, and I have listened to the entire thing so you don’t have to. You’re welcome.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: Ruby Rose is not a country singer. She is a person who has been a model, an actress, a DJ, a TV host, and now, apparently, a country artist. It’s like if your friend from high school who was “really into EDM” suddenly showed up to a family barbecue with a guitar and a Confederate flag bumper sticker. The vibe shift is… aggressive.
The album opens with a track called *“Broken Boots & Bottled Feelings.”* The first line? “I left my heart in a dirty saloon / And my good sense in a motel room.” I’m not kidding. I checked. It’s real. The production is somewhere between a washed-up 90s country act and someone playing Guitar Hero on mute. The guitar twangs like a wounded animal, and Ruby’s voice—bless her heart—sounds like she’s trying to sing while being waterboarded with moonshine.
Track two is *“Tattoos and Tumbleweeds,”* which is exactly as bad as it sounds. It’s about a woman who leaves her man for the open road, but also she has a sleeve of tattoos and she’s “too wild to be tamed.” It’s the kind of song that would play in the background of a Target commercial if Target was trying to appeal to people who still use the word “woke” unironically. The chorus goes: “I’m a wildflower in a denim world / A rebel with a perm and a pearl.” I had to pause the album to check if this was a prank. It is not a prank. This is her art.
Now, I’m not saying Ruby Rose can’t make country music. I’m saying she shouldn’t. It’s like watching a cat try to swim. You respect the effort, but you’re mostly just concerned for everyone involved. The album has 12 tracks, and by track four—*“Honky-Tonk Heartbreak (Where the Whiskey Meets the Regret)”*—I had developed a physical twitch. Every time she said “darlin'” in her forced Southern drawl, I felt a part of my soul die. She’s Australian. She sounds like she’s doing a bad impression of a Texan who’s doing a bad impression of an Australian. It’s a linguistic ouroboros of cringe.
The internet, of course, is having a field day. Twitter (sorry, X) is currently on fire with takes ranging from “This is the worst thing I’ve ever heard” to “This is so bad it’s actually good, wait no it’s just bad.” One user posted: “Ruby Rose’s country album is what happens when you let the goth kid from high school plan the family reunion.” Another said: “I would rather listen to a 10-hour loop of Nickelback covering Baby Shark than listen to ‘Leather & Lace & Some Other Stuff I Found in a Thrift Store’ again.” Harsh? Maybe. Accurate? Absolutely.
But let’s be real: this isn’t about music. This is about Ruby Rose trying to stay relevant. She hasn’t had a major acting gig since she dipped out of *Batwoman* faster than a cop leaves a donut shop. She’s been doing the influencer thing, posting thirst traps on Instagram and occasionally reminding us she exists. Now, she’s trying to rebrand as a country star. It’s giving “midlife crisis but make it Nashville.”
And here’s the kicker: the album is actually getting some streams. Not because it’s good, but because people are morbidly curious. It’s like a car crash. You know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t help it. Spotify has already seen a 200% increase in searches for “Ruby Rose country album,” and I guarantee 90% of those people are hate-listening. We all know the drill. We’re all guilty of it. And Ruby Rose is laughing all the way to the bank.
The album’s highlight (and I use that term loosely) is the track *“I Woke Up Like This (But With a Hangover).”* It’s a ballad about waking up in a ditch in Nashville with a cowboy hat and no memory of the night before. The lyrics: “I woke up like this / But with a hangover / And a man named Clyde / Who’s half sober.” It’s the kind of song that makes you wonder if she’s ever actually been to Nashville or if she just watched a lot of *Nashville* on Hulu. I’m going with the latter.
Look, I get it. Ruby Rose is trying to be authentic. She’s trying to connect with a fanbase that isn’t just emo teens and people who still use Tumblr. But this album feels less like a genuine artistic expression and more like a PR stunt cooked up by a team of marketers who don’t understand irony. It’s the
Final Thoughts
It’s impossible to discuss Ruby Rose’s career without acknowledging the harsh asymmetry between her raw star power and the industry’s willingness to support her. While *Orange Is the New Black* suggested a bold new chapter for queer representation in mainstream media, her subsequent exit from *Batwoman* and public struggles with mental health serve as a sobering reminder that visibility alone is not a safeguard against systemic pressure. Ultimately, Rose’s narrative is less about a star who burned out and more about a performer who was thrust into a machine that asked her to be a symbol before she could build her own foundation.