Review
Rufus Wainwright’s 1998 debut was frequently tagged with the dreaded c word—cabaret—even though he rarely emitted the schmaltzy whiff favored by the velvet-curtain set. (Can’t a guy emote against orchestral backdrops without getting stereotyped?) Wainwright’s sophomore set should at least cement the 26-year-old’s status as the most sardonic iconoclast. His ornate, piano-driven arrangements cite a wide variety of musical sources, from indie pop to Gershwin to trip-hop and back again. His lyrics, meanwhile, are often every bit as tricky as they are self-aware. Lines like “All the sights of Paris/Pale inside your iris” are par for the course, and well-worn topics from obsession (“Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk”) to culture shock (“California”) are skewered in fresh ways.
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