When Rufus Wainwright isn't writing operas for the Met (Prima Donna), covering the classics (Judy at Carnegie Hall) or trying to save the world (his Blackoutsabbath program of zero electricity use for a day), he's doing what we love him most for — singing his own baroque pop standards. On occasion, if we're lucky, we even get one of his gorgeously talented family members, too — like this V-Day's teaming with haughty chanteuse, garrulous writer and Rufus' sis, Martha Wainwright. After having spoken with Rufus about a dozen times, our talks are a cake walk.
City Paper: So what, Philly isn’t good enough for a Blackoutsabbath? You did one last year in New York. And you’re doing another one, too, in ’09. Us? Nothing.
Rufus Wainwright: No. The idea is going to take about five years to really explain. The project — the idea — is that Blackoutsabbath happens everywhere in the Northern hemisphere. That’s the hope. Because it’s usually on the solstice, which is sometime around June 21 or 22. At that point wherever you are, whoever you are, however you are, you should turn off the power for 12 hours from noon to midnight. Do your lists [ed. note: Participants write down ways they can contribute to the earth’s well-being year round], chill out with your friends or take a break. The concert occurs in New York because I live there and to remind me that I said I would do this and keep my ass in line [laughs].
CP: I was talking with Marianne Faithfull the other day. She says hi, you never write you never call, she thinks the world of you. And she reminded me that you sang a song on her new album with a few acquaintances of ours, Philly’s Espers, on the song “Children of Stone.” So how was it?
RW: It was a real saga, actually. Initially I went into the studio with her and we cut it live. And it was a complete disaster. We did not mix it, probably due to the fact that we’re a couple of queens [laughs]. And we need our space. Two of us in one little vocal box — it was like a thorn bush. We weren’t fighting. We get along really well. Just singing together in real time didn’t work. So we repeated the exercise later on where Marianne tracked it first and I put my stamp on it later by myself through the wonder of technology. That worked much better — probably because we had failed so miserably the first time. The heat was on. It had to be great.
CP: Nothing like a little bit of failure. The last time we spoke, you were still writing
Prima Donna. Now you’ll debut it in Manchester this summer before it hits the Met. Where is it now?
RW: It’s pretty much finished musically. Now I’m working on the libretto. I’m right in the middle of Act II. It’ll be ready — it’s got to be ready — to bring it to Manchester July 10. I’m excited. Sweating bullets. A lot of opera heads will be there.
CP: Why are you writing it in French?
RW: I wrote it myself, but had a French friend help me translate it. I speak but can’t write so having a real Frenchie did the trick. I don’t know. French just sounds better. Anything in French sounds great.
CP: So this show with the sister — when was the first time you sang with Martha?
RW: The history with my sister is that I had spent a good six, seven years writing songs. By age … hmm … 20, I had a solid repertoire. Everything was sailing along nicely. One day I asked her to do a show with me. She came and sang a song, then said, “I‘ve written a song.” She sang it and tore the house down. Next thing you know she wrote 10 more songs … then even more … and now she’s on the track to greatness.
CP: So the muse came very quickly for her.
RW: She’s a smash. It’s an example of a younger sibling doing the work and paying attention to the older one and learning as much as they can through example and experience. It was kind of infuriating, actually [laughs].
CP: I would ask the same thing of her — what do you think of where her records have gone and what they do?
RW: Oh, she has such an incredible voice and musical sense. She knows how to lean on her strengths. In an odd way, her records are similar to my records in that, though musically different, the spirit of exploration and drama exists. And over-reach, that exists, too. Both of us have failed at times but then we succeed along the way. It makes for a more engaging listen.
CP: Is there something she is capable of that you don’t, can’t or wish you could do?
RW: Well. She definitely sings with far more ease than I do. My voice is kind of like a steam engine, you know, you kinda have to cross Ohio and then it’s ready to go [laughs]. She’s more of a nightingale. One story I like to remember is being in a café with Martha and having someone run up to her and say, “Oh you’re such a wonderful singer.” And that person then turned to me and said “Oh, Rufus. You sound like … Rufus.” Which is true. I’m a strange voice. Not as agile, but no one sounds like me.
CP: You have a little history with Philly — like when the Pennsylvania Ballet did your songs for
11:11. Got anything nice to say?
RW: Tons. When I was there singing with Elton John on the steps of the Art Museum for Fourth of July — because it was a holiday, the place was closed. So I got a private tour — solo, free and alone. That was wonderful. But I remember talking to a guard there, a young guy, and told him how marvelous it must be working there with all those great works of art around him daily. He said, “I hate it here. It’s boring.” So much for the realities of high art.
CP: Since you’ll be here for Valentine’s Day, you have something lovely for the lovelorn and the knotted tightly to share?
RW: Performing as I did at Radio City Music Hall last V-Day was fabulous. I did my whole “Get Happy” bit with the Judy [Garland] outfit on and there were explosions onstage. So this year I’m going to be singing to the lonely members of the choir — it’s less about triumph than it is about failure [laughs]. It’s more fun looking up.
Rufus Wainwright and Martha Wainwright | Sat., Feb. 14, 8 p.m., $40, Kimmel Center, 300 S. Broad St., 215-893-1999, kimmelcenter.org
You live
near a vocal
path, and always
a young bird
returns in your
head like a
beautiful song
in the light
of a white dream...
Francesco Sinibaldi