Rufus Wainwright
Out Of The Game

"Why do I even bother?" A hundred-million-euro question, whose answer is more or less: "Well, I don't really know exactly, probably due to a lingering curiosity, or maybe nostalgia for the good old days." Yes, the "good" old days. Rufus Wainwright reminds me of one of the most chaotic and confusing periods of my "career" as a music listener, when my first (and false) points of reference were inexorably crumbling, and I was desperately searching for my own dimension, clinging to the most improbable footholds I could find, and he was indeed one of those footholds. I discovered him through Elton John, with whom he had the opportunity to collaborate on a beautiful song (The American Triangle) that was part of a beautiful album, "Songs From The West Coast." Back then, Sir Reginald called RW the best songwriter of his generation. Sir Reginald recently called Lady Gaga's "Born This Way" the greatest gay anthem of all time. Sir Reginald, with affection, it would be better for everyone, especially you, if you limited yourself to composing and singing. But let's focus back on us, or me rather: RW is a great melody-maker and especially an excellent self-promoter, he certainly had a strong hold on my insecure, dreamy, late-teen psyche still searching for its own meaning, but the novelty's enthusiasm quickly faded, just the time for a couple of (embarrassing) reviews on DeB and it was all over.

I may be quite moody, but in the end, I'm a faithful person; I always cherish "my" artists and consider them the best in the world, even if they may not be, even when they end up saturating me and I decide to set them aside for a while. With Rufus Wainwright, this mechanism didn't kick in; on the contrary, it took me very little to realize that he wasn't my type at all. Apart from his "weighty" voice, the biggest problem lies in an excessively affected and glossy approach: convoluted phrases, cultured quotes, pianos, orchestrations, and baroque elements everywhere, all to mask (quite effectively, to be fair) significant creative and expressive limitations. When it comes down to it, RW is a one-note artist who has based his career on repetition and excellent image management, one of many symbols of an era of "regression," chasing old styles without the inspiration and spontaneity of the originals. For instance, the single "Mona Lisas And Mad Hatters" by the guy mentioned in the previous paragraph is more communicative (and modern) than the entire repertoire of the Canadian.

And now let's move on to his latest album, "Out Of The Game," where we find that Rufus Wainwright has changed. (surprise!) Indeed, yes, no minuets, minimum necessary drama, orchestral hullabaloo reduced to simple arrangements, the beloved and omnipresent piano almost put in the attic. "Out Of The Game" is a cheerful and "chill" album with sounds tending towards a half-acoustic, half-electric folk rock with a bit of electronics without too many frills, theoretically a pleasant, smooth, and light listen. In theory, indeed, in practice, it works only in bits and pieces and only for a short time; even in this case, once the novelty effect fades, it goes straight into the trash. Spectacular artistic shift with a leopard’s effect, changing everything and remaining as boring and limited as before, well done Rufus! The melodies are very captivating, except for the title track and its plastik-kitsch choirs and some boring ballads like "Respectable Dive", "Song Of You", and the long soporific "Candles", this album wouldn't be bad at all; on the contrary, the problem is... Rufus Wainwright with his artificial and pedantic approach, which seems to show a spark, an emotional spurt and then consistently ends up admiring itself in the mirror, without ever striking a blow, unable to materialize any kind of resolution; little energy, little communicative immediacy, graceful and useless as a decorative item, eternally unfinished.

Truly remarkable melodies like "Jericho", "Barbara", "Welcome To The Party", and "Montauk" deserved a more worthy development. In the hands of an Al Stewart, they would have had a much different impact and emotional effect, but with RW, even these good ideas get lost in a sea of cloying sweetness. So, I can finally bid my farewell without regrets to this vastly overrated Mika for "sophisticated palates," whom I will remember as a fleeting teenage crush (a bit like the 883 for normal people). "Out Of The Game" but especially "Out Of My Life," this time definitively and with no hard feelings.