Oh, Rufus Wainwright, how you sparkle.

Oh, audience who went to see Rufus Wainwright at the San Francisco Masonic Auditorium last Friday, what’s wrong with you?

I refer specifically to the absolute flat-boring way the audience was dressed. There were perhaps five of us wearing anything that could remotely be considered sparkly, except, of course, for Rufus and his band, who were appropriately blinding in their shininess.

And that’s why I want to know what’s wrong with the people of my city, especially my gay brothers who I once could count on not to go see a diva like Rufus wearing little zip-up track jackets and running shoes.

The crunchy granola-ness of his audience didn’t seem to affect Rufus, though. He opened the show with a rendition of “Release the Stars” that tore right out of his gut, dressed in a white suit covered with blue flowers and about ten pounds of diamante, illuminated during the choruses with the thousand swirling sparkles of a good old-fashioned disco ball.

I believe that if you check the dictionary under “sui generis,” you’ll find a photo of Rufus Wainwright. No one puts on a more eclectic show, and with the tragic loss of James Brown earlier this year, I’m thinking we might also have a new “hardest working man in show business.” Four costume changes, a two-hour set (at least – it might have been longer but I lost all track of time), and enough genre-hopping to overwhelm a less gifted artist. He sang rock, folk, an un-miked Irish ballad, Judy Garland classics, and all of it with complete abandon and the passion he’s justly renowned for.

 

So now you’re going OMG Christie, fangirling Rufus much? And yes, I am. And it’s not even just because of his music, although I consider him a brilliant songwriter and singer.

It’s because of the way he gives you everything he’s got while at the same time putting on a show. How he manages to be a polished performer and still make a genuine connection with his audience. How he reaches musically into both the past and the future, bringing bits of discord and cacophony into his sound, and then layering it with some of the most emotive and yes, lovely, vocals being sung by anyone today. And he does it all while being out, political, funny, entertaining and – are you listening, Rufus fans? – fabulously dressed and accessorized.

Now you’re asking, but what about the lederhosen? And normally, I would agree, one cannot be said to be “fabulously dressed” when one is wearing lederhosen. Rufus, however, seems to have something that most people don’t have and can’t even imagine: very nice knees. So it’s a look that works for him. You must trust me.

He also looks damn good wrapped in a heavy shawl-collared white robe, but when it fell away to reveal a form-fitting black tuxedo jacket, stockings, and four-inch black pumps – and of course, lots of sparkly jewelry – for his Judy-Garland encore of “Come On, Get Happy,” there’s nothing left to say except it doesn’t get any more fabulous than that.

So I asked the gay guys sitting next to me – and lest you wonder how I know they were gay, number one, I just know, okay, and number two, they were necking – why they had not worn their rhinestones or even something other than clothes they wore while washing their car earlier that day.
The guy next to me looked puzzled. “I guess I just didn’t think of it.”

I gestured at Rufus, who was twinkling madly under a spotlight. “But it’s Rufus.”

He frowned, nodded, and looked chastened. “You’re right. Next time I’ll wear my tiara.”

Do it for Rufus.