By Gabriel
hen I first discovered Rufus Wainwright, it was during a transitional time of learning about what music really fit me. I was visiting a friend for July 4th in Washington, DC — it was right in the middle of a college career, hot as hell and exhilarating to be traveling about on my own.
After being partially drunk most of the day and finding my way around in the city, I collapsed into a couch while my buddy had a fight with his girlfriend. My mood was more defeated even after a fun night because I had missed a chance to make a connection with another girl in our group. While they bickered, I flipped through the few channels available and stumbled across Austin City Limits – the first time I'd seen it, actually. Going through a few numbers about "April fools" and "foolish love" was a man on the piano singing with this silky, drunken voice. It seemed to capture the essence of my failure and single stature. I traveled back home the following day and used my parents' dial-up to search for the show's line-up.
That's when I became infatuated with the romantic music of Rufus Wainwright. With rock being my music of choice, listening to this new songwriter composing songs primarily on the piano seemed so… grown up. Not realizing he was gay until after his second album (I know, how could I not have?), I was impressed that his love songs felt so universal. The ballads framed so many moments of my relationship with my last girlfriend-now-wife. I also think I found some comfort in his struggle to find love and reconcile some of his broken relationships. His self-titled album and Poses revealed much of his earlier and more naive lifestyle and the "double album" of Want was this masterpiece of finding his worth and pushing his limits musically in a sober mindset. Throughout all of these, I've loved the subtle and occasionally obvious shifts of identity and sexuality. Telling stories through the eyes of a woman as if it were him in "The Art Teacher" or covering a song called "One Man Guy" by his disapproving father while also using it as a reference to his sexuality — all seem like unique ways to deliver a story in song. Even though I felt a distance to some of those specific feelings based on his sexuality, it's still so natural to sympathize and sing along with him.
Keep in mind that it's all about Rufus, though. The first four albums come from a songwriter talking about himself in a candid way. After Want however, Release the Stars and Songs for Lulu come across as completely self-absorbed. Release took all of the drama and grandeur of Want and became this illustration of Wainwright amusing himself with his own wonderful, silly life. Songs for Lulu is a calculated move to strip it all down and go back to his love for the piano, but there's no substance. In his rush of fame, it seems like he hasn't taken the chance to step outside of himself.
So, is it easy to call him the "Gay Billy Joel" and then refer to someone like Ben Folds as the "Straight Elton John"? Absolutely. They both were great songwriters in their early days and lost it after the first four or five albums. I'd definitely recommend sticking with Wainwright's first four albums, which counts Want One and Want Two as separate releases. Keep an eye on him, though. He may realize what he's doing to alienate some of his fans and create something that's less self-indulgent. In the meantime, I'll stick to the first four CDs and pianists that keep their mouths shut (see Keith Jarrett and Hauschka).
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