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I’m
Alright
Rufus
Wainwright
Want
One (DreamWorks)
It must be tough being the “it” boy. Ask Rufus Wainwright,
who was drooled over by the music press following the release
of his exceptional self-titled debut in 1998. His combination
of modern torch songs and chamber pop, coupled with his love
for all things grand and overdramatic, made him one of the
most talked-about new artists of that year. Rufus Wainwright
celebrated love, youth and innocence in a manner that was
eschewed with 2001’s Poses. That album reveled in excess
lyrically, although musically it was much more straightforward.
Apparently, too much time spent partying with the cool kids
took its toll on the dapper young Rufus, who checked himself
into rehab last year to regain control of his vices. Reinvigorated,
he returned to New York and, over the course of six months,
turned out 30 songs—almost half of which have been packaged
as Want One (DreamWorks will release the remainder
as Want Two next spring).
As with his first record, it takes a few listens to truly
find the hooks on Want One, but once you do, they’re
all over the place. Want One marks a return to the
expansive arrangements and stylistic mishmash that made Rufus
Wainwright such a joy to behold, and the album is expertly
sequenced to maximum dramatic effect. The theme from Ravel’s
Bolero is interpolated into “Oh What a World,” and
the record builds sonically from there, adding more and more
strings and layers upon layers (upon layers) of vocals (one
song boasts more than 300 vocal tracks). “Pretty Things” brings
down the wall with a simple piano-and-vocal arrangement, and
the epic “Go or Go Ahead” builds it right back up. Big fat
horns propel the album’s midsection, but the adornments are
reined in for the final set. Throughout, Wainwright’s voice
often sounds like a long, drawn-out sigh, and one can’t help
but want to ask him, “Hey, why the long face?”
At first glance, Want One does have a fairly dour complexion.
Much of the album is reflective, but resolute, in its lyrical
tone. Wainwright’s favorite topics, desire and love—and the
desire for love—are given added weight by a new perspective
(he recently turned 30) and a yearning to find some sort of
normalcy and simplicity in his life. The album’s title track
illustrates this with a poignancy he seemed incapable of in
the past. “I just want to be my dad with a slight sprinkling
of my mother,” he croons, concluding with a resigned “I’ll
settle for love.” “Dinner at Eight,” written in the days following
an argument between Rufus and his father (singer-songwriter
Loudon Wainwright III), is emotionally bare and uncompromising
in its honesty. In the end, it sounds like Rufus isn’t necessarily
sad; he just wants everything to be OK. Don’t we all?
—John
Brodeur
The
Band of Blacky Ranchette
Still Lookin’ Good to Me
(Thrill Jockey)
The Band of Blacky Ranchette were a Giant Sand offshoot project
helmed by Howe Gelb and the late Rainer Ptacek. Their first
album appeared in 1983, a full decade before the alt-country
movement began bubbling in earnest. Twenty years later comes
Still Lookin’ Good to Me, their fourth release.
Gelb now divides his time between Tucson, Ariz., and Arhus,
Denmark. The 14 songs on Still Lookin’ Good to Me span
decades, cities and personnel—all anchored by the continuity
of Gelb’s sensibilities. There’s an immediacy to the tracks
that embraces the simple fidelity (the overused “lo-fi” label
doesn’t accurately capture the overriding warmth heard throughout
the set). Guests include Chan Marshall (Cat Power), Neko Case,
M. Ward, Kurt Wagner, Richard Buckner and the ever-present
Calexico. It’s a testament to the resilience of Gelb’s vision
that their appearances are not spotlit; rather, the players
are swept up in the camaraderie and interplay of healthy creation
and collaboration. This release is another fine chapter in
the ever-unfolding Giant Sand-Blacky-Ranchette-Howe-Gelb saga.
—David
Greenberger
Graham Lindsey
Famous
Anonymous Wilderness (Catamount)
The joy of Graham Lindsey’s work lies in otherworldly, startlingly
poetic episodes. In “I Won’t Let You Down,” the following
lines tumble out on Lindsey’s woody husk, liquid strains of
pedal steel lapping against a gentle shuffle: “The mirror
of your bureau leans as it had before, reflecting on the bed
where now lays an empty floor/Your doorway is lamp-lit and
aching with some kind of invitation/But you stand there with
those curtains pulled down around your body like some final
decision.”
These are not easy pleasures, and Lindsey’s greatness doesn’t
jump out and announce itself at first listen, but once it
works its way into your psyche, it’s hard to shake. I received
an advance of this album several months ago and put it aside
after a listen. Returning to it a month later, I entered a
tumultuous relationship. (Was it selfishness or a loss for
words that kept me from writing about it for so long?)
I have listened to Famous Anonymous Wilderness enough
to have it in my bones—and I am shocked that Lindsey is such
a young man. He has that freakish ability (see Richard Buckner,
Dylan, Uncle Tupelo) to distill the musk and loam of old folk,
murder ballads and rural music into his own mythic yet unmistakably
contemporary fare. The first thing that may strike listeners
are the Dylanisms: The opener, “Hutch Jack Flats Rag,” reeks
of Bringing It All Back Home (though not as detached
or acerbic). But it would be a shame to stop the assessment
there, for there are so many more rewards.
These are fierce little tunes with plenty of melodic grace
beneath the poetry, and this is a powerful antidote to the
predominant, pseudo-funky, James-Taylor-meets-the-new-millennium,
singer-songwriter jive (Jason Mraz, John Mayer, etc.). This
is complex, human stuff—all blood, heart-muscle, bone and
sinew.
—Erik
Hage
The
Fugs
The Fugs Final CD (Part 1) (Artemis)
The
Fugs Final CD (Part 1) contin-ues the band’s 39-year path
of determined, radical, humorous and joyous resistance to
the status quo. Beat poets Ed Sanders and Tuli Kupferberg,
who remain the group’s gravitational center, are joined by
guitarist Steven Taylor, percussionist Coby Batty and bass
player Scott Petito in the group’s latest offering. With Kupferberg
now 80 years old and Sanders in his seventh decade, the group
seems to be proclaiming that they are still here, relevant
and kicking in this high-energy, satiric and sometimes poignantly
reflective set of songs. The disc includes 18 new pieces focused
on contemporary social issues, basic human dilemmas, and the
fact that the Fugs’ aging poets are confronting their mortality.
Sanders’ “Burn, Bridges, Burn” incorporates a 1923 poem by
Louise Bogan as a refrain for this rocking exploration of
the benefits and costs of torching bridges in one’s life.
Sanders’ “Government Surveillance Yodel,” inspired by Attorney
General Ashcroft, provides a playful, lumbering look at who
may be tapping your phone and reading your diary these days.
In “Is,” Sanders teams up with William Jefferson Clinton in
a philosophical and revelatory investigation of the third-person
present-indicative verb.
Kupferberg, known for his “parasongs” in which new words are
added to well-known tunes, lends his creaky resonating voice
to two particularly humorous contributions to this genre.
In “Septuagenarian in Love,” a new set of lyrics with doo-wop
accompaniment is applied to Dion and the Belmonts’ “A Teenager
in Love.” Adjusting lyrics on the traditional song “I’ve been
Working on the Railroad,” Kupferberg takes the tune off the
tracks and into the realm of class struggle in “I’ve been
Working for the Landlord.”
While Sanders and Kupferberg account for most of this collection’s
tunes, Steven Taylor (who accompanied poet Allen Ginsberg
for years) contributes a couple of tracks. Of particular note
is Taylor’s “Go Down, Congress,” a parasong based on the spiritual
“Go Down Moses,” in which he deftly explores the corporate
and family connections underlying George Bush’s war in the
Middle East.
Staying true to the band’s poetic roots, the Fugs keep the
words clear and on top through the fine musical and vocal
support of Taylor, Batty and Petito coupled with some linguistically
sensitive engineering and production work. One question left
hanging at disc’s end is: Will there be a Part 2?
—Tom
Nattell
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