Rufus Wainwright, Rufus Wainwright

Some Red Sox fans are Manny Ramirez apologists.  I'll admit that I was, for a long time (and probably still, to some extent), among their number.  He's not a bad guy — just a goof.  Except there was that month he spent last season trying everything possible to make us all hate him enough for us to be all right with him getting traded to the West Coast.  That was kind of unexplainable.  But the happy-go-lucky Manny who just crushed the ball?  That guy is awesome to watch.

Rufus Wainwright may be my Manny Ramirez, and this album may be the symbol of my affection for his music.  It's so, so different from any other pop effort, probably because of the sensibilities that inform his inspirations: his Quebeçois mother, his folk hero father, and his obsession with opera.  I'm gonna guess that Kelly Clarkson's not operating with the same set of experiences.  

There's something whimsical about Rufus Wainwright's eponymous debut, especially on 'Beauty Mark' and 'Millbrook,' about the boarding school in upstate New York where he went.  It's fun music.  There are a couple of meandering duds, but nothing of much consequence.

Now, Rufus has done plenty to try and break us up with him, falling into a darker time that he detailed for the New York Times a few years ago, and I think he's narrowed himself a little in his last few albums by identifying more as a gay performer than just a performer.  But you listen to his voice on this album, the undistracted strength of his baritone, and it is awesome to hear.