The son of folk music regals, Rufus Wainwright has endured
high valleys of vices over the years, carving a career as one of
today’s most thoughtful and intriguing singer/songwriters along the
way. He’s one of the few in the genre’s contemporary stable capable of
restoring genuine imagination and, indeed, dignity, to what’s too often
become a bloated group of b-list actors strumming acoustics. He’s
opinionated, articulate, and, according to legend, obscenely charming.
And never, it would seem, without something worth discussing on his
mind. The man counts Elton John and Burt Bacharach as friends, for
goodness’ sake. So when Wainwright’s publicist reported to the
Mercury that a sore throat would prohibit Rufus from partaking
in our scheduled interview last week—with a suitable make-up date
impossible to schedule before printing deadlines—that news was received
with something bordering on despair. But, as it happens, Wainwright’s
malady affords his newest collection of songs (his fifth studio set to
date) the opportunity to speak for him.
The album is, of course, a characteristically sprawling opus of
unique musicality made especially significant because its execution
marked Wainwright’s first foray into producing his own work. Release
the Stars‘ ambitious soundscapes are all the more interesting, too,
because they weren’t designed to flower that way. No, Wainwright
originally conceived the set as a sparse and pared-down record. But
once he abdicated America for Berlin last summer, the album he’d been
plotting as a reaction to 2004’s acclaimed—and deftly
orchestrated—Want Two, quickly began to surpass even that disc’s
breadth. Without, it should be noted, becoming an exercise in
excess.
Although Release the Stars does indulge Wainwright’s tendency
toward open, accessible, and slightly unconventional songwriting
architecture, it also captures a candid new introspection—negotiating
feelings toward the self, state, and, often, state-of-self. Utilizing
his lilting whisper and a parade of guest collaborators including, but
hardly limited to, his sister Martha, executive producer and former Pet
Shop Boy Neil Tennant, Teddy Thompson, and, in a neat bit of casting,
British thespian Siân Phillips (Masterpiece Theatre), who
delivers a natural drama to the spoken-word passage on “Between My
Legs”—his vision, as it’s almost always been, is expertly realized.
Inspired in great part by the potential threats a serious surgery
posed for his mother, Canadian folk icon Kate McGarrigle, Release
the Stars also sees the deliciously flamboyant (he sports a set of
monogrammed lederhosen in the disc’s liner notes) savant steadily
maturing as he approaches his (gasp!) mid-30s.
Considering that
Wainwright has committed to authoring an opera for New York’s newly
reinvigorated Metropolitan Opera theater and is currently in the midst
of renewing touring acquaintances with like-minded troubadour Sean
Lennon (the pair last toured together in 1998), it’s obvious that
Wainwright’s following his own advice.
So, though we got the short end of the stick this time around, it’s
perhaps best that Wainwright still has opportunities to rest his vocal
instrument. If his future’s anything like his past and present—and all
indications are that he’s only now entering his prime as a
songwriter—you can bet he’s going to need it.