Live Review: Rufus Wainwright & His Band, Krystle Warren

Hamer Hall's revamp has seen a new bright orange colour scheme introduced that seems a little at odds with the otherwise lavish interior. Apparently some seats (which now feature orange velvet upholstery) were removed to improve acoustics, but weren't these always great in the cylindrical concert hall? Friendly staff usher us to our seats and we settle in for Krystle Warren, who resembles a trendy vagabond in her Mr Bojangles-inspired get-up and may have had trouble convincing stage-door security that she was in the band. Warren interrupts a song to say “bless you” to a sneezer and she sure does love a vocal run! Her voice is pure, but overemphasising the ends of lyrical phrases comes across as harsh in this setting. It's so moving when you can decipher her words, but sometimes Warren sings random jibberish as if masking the fact she's forgotten some lyrics. This artist fares much better later on within the context of Rufus Wainwright's band.   

Plastic flutes of champagne are purchased during intermission and it's fantastic to be able to bring these back into the auditorium instead of sculling them in the foyer. As the house lights dim, stage lighting isn't yet activated as a row of candles in glass holders illuminate the stage's edge. Rufus Wainwright appears in the darkness, opening with moving a cappella Candles. He's easy to spot in his bejewelled white suit, which catches available light and shoots beams through the audience. The extraordinary tone of Wainwright's voice experienced live immediately hushes his reverent congregation. The members of Wainwright's backing band, under the musical direction of his bassist brother-in-law Brad Albetta (Martha's hubbie), quietly assemble in upstage shadows during this number. When stage lights are activated, the mood shifts via the more upbeat Rashida from his latest album. “Yes, I'm wearing my wedding outfit,” Wainwright, who recently married his boyf Jorn Weisbrodt, acknowledges before adding, “So don't throw tomatoes at me.” Taking a seat at his piano stool, Wainwright performs his self-described “kind of a hit” Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk – an early highlight that demonstrates the singer's extraordinary breathing technique and masterful turn of phrase (“I'm just a little bit heiress/A little bit Irish”).

After advertising the concert film, Sing Me The Songs That Say I Love You – A Concert For Kate McGarrigle, Wainwright leaves the stage as two highlights from the New York City Town Hall tribute are showcased: guitarist Teddy Thompson offers a captivating take on McGarrigle's previously unrecorded Saratoga Summer Song and then Warren lovingly presents I Don't Know, a song penned by one of Rufus's older sisters, Ann McGarrigle. There's a sense that these songs would be too painful for Wainwright to perform himself given that his mother passed away less than two years ago. When he returns to the stage for Respectable Dive, we're floored: the family legacy is in the safest of hands.

Discussing Mark Ronson as he introduces Out Of The Game's title track, Wainwright is clearly smitten and refers to the album's producer as “dreamboat”. “So goddamn hot and so goddamn straight,” he bemoans. The Man That Got Away (playfully retitled 'The [Bitch] That Got Away' tonight) is offered as a reply in song to Liza Minnelli, who we are told admitted in an interview Wainwright read that she didn't feel it necessary to listen to his versions of her mother's songs. (In 2007, Wainwright released a recording of his Rufus Does Judy At Carnegie Hall Garland tribute shows.) Wainwright's revenge is exacted via the soaring majesty of this song's closing sustained notes. One Man Guy, which is one of his dad Loudon Wainwright III's songs, is performed as a trio and Wainwright trades verses with Thompson and incredibly sassy backing singer Charysse Blackman. The Art Teacher is performed so wistfully it's almost a Kleenex moment. “If there are any Americans here, vote Obama,” Wainwright pleads, providing the perfect segue for Going To A Town (“I'm so tired of America”). Wainwright's song about his daughter Viva, entitled Montauk, is hauntingly beautiful with a melancholy vocal melody to rival everything he's composed to date.

Now for the encore we wish we'd missed. Jolting us from our pensive reverie is some sort of scantily clad archangel (Wainwright's husband?) who demands our applause to coax “Rufus Apollo” back to the stage. A “Bacchanalian dance party” is promised and a panto of sorts, starring this evening's musicians (acting woodenly) in mish-mash fancy dress, ensues. A toga-wearing Wainwright leads a conga line through the stalls and many wish they were seated closer to an exit. It's self-indulgent and feels suspiciously like a ploy to show off glitter-coated flesh. And what's with that giant baguette prop that's served up onstage? Way to break your own artfully woven spell, Wainwright!