Preview
RUFUS WAINWRIGHT
Friday, April 9
MacEwan Ballroom (U of C)
War continues to percolate in the Middle East and polarizes the planet. Republican rule is engendering a climate of reactionary conservatism not known in America since the ’50s, whether it be against the perceived threat of gay marriage or Janet Jackson’s right one. Virtually everyone you know, including yourself, is either underemployed, overeducated, insolvent or vaguely, inexplicably bummed, or all of the above.
But all that Rufus Wainwright wants is to entertain you – a duty he doesn’t take lightly, not least because if he doesn’t, you might do something drastic and foolish, like watch American Idol instead.
"It’s such a harsh world," says Wainwright, "and I’m surprised that more people don’t pander to that. I’m surprised it’s not like the ’30s or the Depression, where even though the society itself was falling apart, there was incredible music and movies to escape to. I very much feel that it must exist. I feel that kids and young people – and I’m so happy there’s a real strong contingent of that at my concerts – I feel that they really are in need of some love and some taking care of. I think that there’s a big job ahead."
You may have already read somewhere about the 30-year-old Wainwright’s impressive, somewhat unusual backstory: frighteningly gifted, uncommonly handsome, unashamedly gay, the Montreal-raised son of two prime movers from the early-’70s singer-songwriter groundswell (Kate McGarrigle and Loudon Wainwright III) is a pop singer who would rather listen to opera or Tin Pan Alley ballads than almost anything currently marketed as pop. The critical acclaim given to his incredible debut album, 1998’s Rufus Wainwright, made his father envious, and its contents made Michael Stipe cry. Savvy listeners noted that its sweeping orchestral arrangements, clever romantic wordplay and unrestrained emotion were worthy of Cole Porter or George Gershwin. This was Wainwright’s strength, but also his commercial undoing. Porter and Gershwin hadn’t been blockbuster material for almost half a century.
Although its follow-up, the comparatively modern-sounding Poses, didn’t storm the Top 10 as Wainwright had hoped, it didn’t prevent him from spinning out most of 2001 and 2002 into the longest lost weekend of recent celebrity folklore. When he re-emerged, clean and sober, from an addiction centre late last year, journalists were so captivated by his frank accounts of two years of sex, drugs and anti-rock ’n’ roll, they often gave short shrift to the fact that those revelations accompanied the release of an excellent new album, Want One. As if to prove that his brush with oblivion had dulled neither his outsider instincts nor his sense of the absurd, its cover is a picture of Wainwright wearing a suit of armour, gallantly holding a sword.
"It was very heartfelt, though I think that comes across on the record as well," he says. "I really thought a lot about the artwork in terms of it being metaphorical to my own life, of having to regain some kind of honour and chivalry and mysticism – and to continue, because the world was, and still is, a very dark and troubling place right now. It’s gotten really awful. So that (the cover) comes off as being kind of aggressively combating that, I’m happy about it."
You may have concluded at this point that Wainwright is something of a drama queen – an observation with which the self-deprecating singer would laughingly agree. But this is a large part of what makes him so valuable: of all the ways that his music is old-fashioned, maybe what’s most key is his palpable conviction that every song should sound like a matter of life and death. But unlike the freak show of forced sincerity that is American Idol (an easy target, but it has it coming), Wainwright can convey extremes of emotion with a well-placed moan or smart turn of phrase. (See the consciously ridiculous "Vibrate," wherein the singer’s romantic fulfillment hinges upon the object of his affection making his cellphone pulse.)
It’s this delicate balancing act of high drama and droll humour that places Wainwright in league with a fine tradition of misfit songwriters, from Porter to Randy Newman to Ben Folds, whose intentions within a song can be interpreted in a number of ways.
"I think there’s a certain amount of hope in a lot of those songs, or a certain amount of sarcasm. Hopeful sarcasm," he says, chuckling. "It’s survivalist material. For instance, in other songwriters who I like, like Jeff Buckley or Elliot Smith – you know, two doomed people. But I don’t think gay songwriters can really have that kind of doomed quality because they know what it’s like to be truly doomed" – and here he lets out a knowing laugh – "by society and also by disease. So there’s an element of ‘Might as well enjoy life even though it’s sort of wrought with sadness.’ And that’s why, in talking about entertainers, I have such an affinity for people who really tried to uplift the populace back in those days, when entertainers were meant to do that."
Yet despite his affection for bygone eras, Wainwright will soon take a leap into up-to-the-minute topicality. Want One was to have been followed up with a companion volume, Want Two, sometime before summer, but it’s now been delayed until the fall while his former record company, DreamWorks, is folded into the larger Interscope label. He describes Want Two as "a little darker, a little weirder," and, in places, explicitly responsive to current events. Some songs are so timely, in fact, that Wainwright is considering ways to air them before the album proper is released.
"About five songs are going to be released before the (U.S. presidential) election – that’s my main goal," he explains. "Maybe as an EP, or maybe as downloads on the website. I’m very political already in terms of mentioning my views at my shows, and I’ve done work with MoveOn.org, and the songs themselves will mention stuff like that. But the record itself – I just want to get it out on an artistic level, for myself, just because the songs themselves very much grapple with this dark period. And if John Kerry wins the election – which he will – then, for me, it just wouldn’t fit the mood anymore.
"I think that we’re in sort of apocalyptic times and there are other issues in the world that are far more pressing and that have nothing to do with music. It’s interesting because I think that the music industry right now, and the music, is really just sort of a symptom of a much deeper, darker disease. But I do hope that my music gives a rest from what people are being hammered with." |
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