Rufus Wainwright
Want Two
(Geffen)
What’s the term for a male diva? Divo? Heva? There may not be a word for Rufus
Wainwright, but there should be. After all, he’s hardly the first boy singer
to flaunt a great big voice, a flamboyant personality, and outrageous ambition;
Scott Walker and Jeff Buckley, among others, proved that the house of rock has
many rooms, certainly enough space for the operatically inclined and nonmacho.
Despite this impressive lineage, few contemporary pop stars are as polarizing
as Wainwright, who, as an openly gay Canadian, has two additional strikes against
him. His rockdude detractors call him “Doofus Lamewright” and mock him for his
swishy histrionics; his votaries swoon over his stunning melodies, his ornate
arrangements, and his virtuosic technique. As a songwriter and performer, the
31-year-old son of folk-rockers Kate McGarrigle and Loudon Wainwright III has
all the subtlety of a contestant in a kiddie beauty pageant. “Look at me!” he
screams, jazz hands all a-wiggle. “I will not be ignored!” Fortunately he has
more than enough talent to make up for the sometimes obnoxious posturing; unfortunately,
those who privilege swagger over swoon aren’t likely to convert to the cult
of Rufus, especially with the release of Want Two, the gayest, artiest,
and least accessible of Wainwright’s offerings thus far.
Apparently untroubled by thoughts of mainstream stardom (perhaps only another Shrek soundtrack away!), Wainwright follows his own muse, a decision that some will call self-indulgent but that I prefer to call brave. Want Two, the follow-up to last year’s Want One, isn’t so much a departure from his previous three CDs as it is an intensification of their most distinctive elements. Drawing on the same smorgasbord of influences displayed on his magisterial debut — show tunes, opera, cabaret, folk, jazz, SoCal pop, and art song — he now seems more confident in exploring each genre’s extreme, no longer compelled to disguise his highbrow proclivities with sticky hooks and sing-along choruses. Although his sense of humor still shines through on many of the lyrics, the overall mood is dark and ceremonious, even ponderous at times.
On the cover of One, Wainwright posed as a knight in shining armor; on Two, he’s a pre-Raphaelite maiden, all tricked out in a long wig, pallid pancake makeup, and funereal tunic. From victor to vanquished, from male to female, from heroic to tragic — the trajectory betrays Wainwright’s campy dualism, his affectation of stylized gender roles to explore different facets of his art. The opening track, “Agnus Dei,” is a lugubrious Latin dirge, redolent of incense and creaking strings. Clocking in at nearly 6 minutes, it’s a bit long and dreary in its own right, but it’s an effective overture to the rest of the disc, foreshadowing the liturgical imagery to come. Nowhere is it more pronounced than on “Gay Messiah,” a languorous acoustic waltz with dreamy harmonies and lyrics that certainly won’t endear him to denizens of Jesusland: “He will then be reborn/From 1970s porn/Wearing tube socks with style/And such an innocent smile . . . /No, it will not be me/Rufus the Baptist I be/No I won’t be the one/Baptized in cum.”
It’s not all flouncy sacrilege, however. Other, less provocative highlights
include “The Art Teacher,” a lean piano ballad about unrequited love and the
Romantic landscape painter J.M.W. Turner, and “Memphis Skyline,” a touching
tribute to the late Jeff Buckley. “Hometown Waltz,” which explores Wainwright’s
conflicted feelings about his native Montreal, is, appropriately enough, a family
affair, featuring sister Martha, mother Kate McGarrigle, aunt Anna McGarrigle,
and cousin Lily Lanken. As a whole, Two has fewer sparkling anthems and
more arty experiments than its predecessor, but it’s still very much a Rufus
Wainwright CD, sentimental, salacious, self-aggrandizing, and sweeping. Viva
the heva!
This article appears in Dec 16-22, 2004.
