Live Review: Rufus Wainwright, Washington, Krystle Warren

Starting in darkness as something of a tribute to his late mother Kate McGarrigle with Candles, when the stage lights came up Rufus Wainwright was revealed on an old school stage with red curtain backdrop, in a sparkling white suit and sunglasses (as if to protect us – and himself – from his awesomeness). Throughout the set he moved from the new (notably Out Of The Game, Barbara and Montauk), back to the old (Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk, April Fools) and to the ones in the middle, including The Man That Got Away from his Judy Garland show (this time a shamelessly bitchy attack on Garland's heir, Liza Minnelli). While all sat comfortably, it was the latter that really showed the vocal chops he has to back up all that bravado. Followed by one of his dad's tunes, Loudon Wainwright III's One Man Guy, which finished the 'man section' of the set and also performed a sweet bookend to an earlier interlude where this time backing singers – but other times accomplished leads – Teddy Thompson and Krystle Warren performed songs by Kate McGarrigle. Krystle Warren, along with our own Washington, had performed a fantastic support earlier and on any other night both women's efforts would have threatened to steal the show with their ease, good humour and great songs. But it was the Rufus Wainwright Show all the way – backed by an incredible supporting cast, but never in doubt as to who was the leader.

Keeping the chatter to a minimum except to do his bit for the good guys at home at the moment (“I do support Obama… and if Romney gets it we're all fucked. Not just me, you guys too”), Wainwright then sang one of the best modern protest songs in recent times, Going To A Town (complete with its simple but blatant protest “I'm so tired of you America”) and following the standard fake finale (tonight a joyous version of 14th Street), the band returned to the stage as a mixture of mythical gods, complete with loin cloths and paint, for no good reason other than they could, summoning the god Rufus Apollo to play pied piper to lucky dancers plucked from the audience and properly ending with Gay Messiah. All that's left to say is buy Rufus Wainwright's album –  all, or any, of his albums. Not just because, as he only half joked tonight, “I don't get played on the radio”; buy them because supporting his type of eclectic, masterful, playful and diverse music is the type of thing that will keep raising the bar for everyone else.