Rufus Wainwright, All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu

By Alex Arnott

Listeners unfamiliar with Rufus Wainwright would probably be surprised to hear that this obliquely named, classically influenced, piano-driven album is in fact, one of his more understated works. This masterful musician, who has a penchant for impressively orchestrated pop songs, has a great deal of unusual achievements under his designer lederhosen. In the past three years, Rufus has accomplished two incredibly ambitious projects that your run-of-the-mill pop star would never dare to undertake.

First, he challenged himself to reproduce the legendary Judy Garland Concert at Carnegie Hall song for song, even recreating some of Judy’s banter. Many of the songs in Judy’s repertoire are quite dissimilar to Rufus’ usual style, yet he pulled it off with aplomb.

Even bolder was his decision to write his own opera, Prima Donna. I am a die-hard fan, so I travelled from Edinburgh to Manchester to see it performed at the Manchester International Festival (interestingly, New York rejected his proposal on the grounds that it was written in French). I regret to say that I was disappointed that his trademark complex yet catchy, soaring melodies, were nowhere to be seen, and the story was derivative of Sunset Boulevard, but I must acknowledge that it was a good effort.

Now that you have some background on Mr. Wainwright’s career, you may better understand All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu. Rufus’ sixth album proper was released a mere three months after the death of his mother, the well-regarded folk musician, Kate McGarrigle. It is apparent that he was writing these songs when Kate was suffering greatly, and the overall tone of the album is accordingly somber.

It opens with an arresting song, one of the more accessible (if not entirely memorable) songs on the album, “Who Are You, New York?” in which Rufus’ fingers trickle over the keyboard like it’s a musical waterfall. The next track, “So Sad With What I Have,” was obviously not meant to be a cheerful number and its lyrics are truly applicable to anyone who has struggled with mental health issues, and has wondered why their partner remains with them. Its closing line is painfully gorgeous: sad with what I have. . . except for you. “Martha” continues in the Wainwright/McGarrigle tradition of addressing another family member in song, this time one written in the form of an answerphone message to Rufus’ sister.

Pages: 1 2