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Secondly, he's not a rocker, not even a folk rocker. His best songs owe more to cabaret, Broadway, opera, and Tin Pan Alley.
His clearest theme is gay hedonism, the high life, the hotspots. As Liberace said "Too much of a good thing is...wonderful!" Therefore, when he tries to sound macho--as in "Shadows," "One Man Guy," and "Evil Angel"--it belly-flops.

Third of all, his first album, which everyone on here drools over, seemed to me unformed and uncompelling.

Your warnings complete, I will explain why this album is, aside from its pedestrian stabs at rock, a fine effort. "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" is a cabaret masterpiece, witty, mischievous, and lilting. Its shift from a major to a minor key is as subtle as a brick, and that's the point: It even enjoys its musical pleasures unapologetically. This is a campy defense of "carpe diem."

"Greek Song" is a beautiful sun-drenched tune. One imagines a pair of young men motorcycling around Mykonos. Its melody is inspired, and Wainwright slows his voice into a kind of longing.
Wainwright's tenor, though frayed and flat at times, is a lush instrument. It can hold a note, piercingly, for quite a spell--which casts a spell believe me.

"Poses" is clever, but "California," a set of vivid observations about the state (which are apropos of nothing) is an instant classic, full of surfers, dripping air conditioners, and (!) Bea Arthur. Even the middlebrow poesy of "The Tower of Learning" and "In a Graveyard" are saved by Waiwright's campy sense of fun. Maybe he's serious; maybe he isn't. Poses, you know.

"Grey Gardens" and "Rebel Prince" are my very favorites, a terrific one-two punch. "Grey Gardens" contains strange and lovely images about the risk of being in love. Like "Greek Song" it doesn't always make literal sense, but more power to its beautiful mystique. Perhaps it speaks a "foreign language" quite purposefully, since it makes reference to the Polish boy Tadzio whose language his adult admirer doesn't comprehend in Thomas Mann's novella "Death in Venice." A pederastic love song, I think, joining a recent trend that includes the Pet Shop Boys' "Rent" and "Young Offender," George Michael's "Father Figure" and "One More Try," and Underworld's "Born Slippy."

"The Consort" is a nice slice of palace intrigue but is perhaps too earnest and plodding. Much better is the naughty "Rebel Prince," which follows Morrissey's gay yearning ("Dear hero in prison...") for a bad boy lover. Its Quebecois camp is
endearing, especially when (Why not?) it lapses into French for a few lines. This is a natural mate to "Complainte de la Butte," his lush French/English addition to the "Moulin Rouge" soundtrack. That should have been the bonus song here, not the prosaic take on the Beatles' "Across the Universe."

A message to Wainwright's handlers and advisors: Stop trying to give him rock 'n' roll gravitas and let him make the loopy campy delightful intelligent caberet music he does best. I hope to give his hyper-ironic third album a 5-star review!


interesting songs, irritating singing   June 28, 2004
 10 out of 12 found this review helpful

I have to say I'm puzzled a bit by Rufus Wainwright. I don't think there's any question that his songs are refreshingly honest and different enough to be quite charming. And as a very long-time fan of the work of both his mother and father, I was predisposed to liking him. And I want to. But I can't. I can't get past his voice. I read another review here (I think of his debut album) that said his voice is nearly identical to his father's, but believe me it's not. Or at least it's not when he chooses to use his voice the way he does.

Rufus seems to have fallen into what seems to be a trend of the past 10-12 years or so, of males singing with what sounds for all the world like a much too-relaxed, non-enunciating delivery that makes all his vowels sound identical. Imagine a voice where every vowel sounds like "hunh," complete with the nasality that collection of letters implies. Not only is it virtually impossible to understand a lot of his lyrics, the sound is just plain irritating. His parents' songs (especially his father's) would never have succeeded if you couldn't understand the words.

This seemed to begin with Hootie and the Blowfish, and besides Rufus's contribution, John Mayer seems to be a big proponent of this kind of delivery, too, though in their cases, it seems to be a deliberate slack-jawed, mush-mouth quality (I admit, I haven't heard Mayer's recordings, only his recent Austin City Limits performance). Why do they do this?

Just last night I attended one of this summer's Rufus/Ben Folds/Guster tour concerts, and the difference between Rufus and the others, in terms of legibility, was like night and day.

Rufus Wainwright may have all the musical talent in the world, but I can't listen to more than 5 minutes of that voice.