Rufus Wainwright has decided to “drop his plans” to compose an opera for the Met in 2014. Rufus had to compose the piece in French and Peter Gelb insisted on English. They parted on good terms. The New York Times wrote a piece on it a few days ago.
PRIMA DONNA will have its premiere next July at the Manchester International Festival in England. Rufus is orchestrating the score now.
My favorite spot to blog is in my basement, on a couch, laptop in my lap, with the two dogs next to me under a tattered black chenille throw. It is quiet, centered, and comfy. To my right is the door that goes into a little hallway, the laundry room, and then back upstairs. It is through this door that composers — mostly dead ones, who have decided that they need to channel something through me — come. I haven’t bothered you with every incident, but will try to catch you up from time to time now that I have some time.
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A few months back I was checking my email when I smelled patchoulli wafting through the door. Half expecting John Lennon, I was happy to see my old friend Hector Berlioz.
RB: Hector! So good to see you. What’s with the patchoulli?
HB: I have smelled it in your baths and thought it, well, exotic.
RB: (lol) Well, I like it, but some people think it smells like old hippy.
HB: It is an ancient scent my friend. Enjoy it. I come to you today with a very specific mission. How is your Rufus Wainwright book going?
RB: Well, I haven’t touched it but I’m planning on getting back to it right after the holiday.
HB: Finish it my boy while it is still fresh.
RB: The only thing I have done is to remove all my Rufus analyses from my blog. They’ll be back in the book, expanded, and folded into the main themes of the book.
HB: Do you still love his music?
RB: Yes I do. He is a brilliant song writer. Am I as obsessed with his music as I was when I wrote most of the book? No. That’s why it’s important I get it down before “the thrill is gone.”
HB: Very well. I am busy writing a new song for Edith Piaf. Harriet is well and sends you her love.
Rufus wants us all to participate in a “turn your electricity off” on June 21. He has a webpage describing what is behind this effort, and it is laudable.
And while you’re at it, you can purchase a bust of Rufus for your piano, or your famous composer bust collection.
[I am sitting quietly doing my morning Sudoku puzzle, drinking coffee. It's 5:30 in the morning. I look up and smell the air: tobacco? patchoulli? old scotch? And an ovoid figure hovers into the room and slowly comes into focus. It is Igor Stravinsky, with sun glasses in a kind of safari outfit with sunglasses, smoking with a cigarette holder. He steps down from the cloudlet he appears to be standing on and sits next to me on the couch.]
RB: Igor?
IS: Aha! you know who to pronounce my name! (”eager”) Yes, I hope I have not startled you.
RB: Well, a bit yes, but, I’d rather you not smoke in here.
IS: (looking incredulous) You silly man, what a silly thing to say. I’ve come to encourage you.
RB: Encourage me?
IS: Yes. You are doing very well. You are a bit simple for my tastes, but good none the less. I have even given you some of your ideas. In fact, many of your favorite parts of your musical I have given you.
RB: Oh yeah, whatever.
IS: Do not mock me.
RB: Oh, so now it’s that I am the vessel through which you pass?
IS: Yes but you are not a very good channel. You put your own ideas in which is very annoying to me.
RB: Uh, sorry. I uh….
IS: I must say that I am looking forward to helping you with your next two operas, the 2nd Thornton Wilder chamber opera and your big Mexican opera — whatever her name is.
RB: Yeah, I’m going to call that one DUARTE’S WIVES.
IS: That will be your most famous work.
RB: Oh really? Well that’s nice to know. I look forward to it. Gosh, thanks Mr Stravinsky. I need to finish my Rufus Wainwright book first though.
IS: I don’t understand your attraction for that man.
RB: That’s because you’re not alive.
IS: Yes I am.
RB: No dude. You’re dead. You may have this floaty spirit body sitting here, but you are dead. You can’t get goose bumps anymore, or cry, or dance, or sing.
IS: Well you don’t have to rub it in.
[With that final remark, he stubs out his cigarette on my couch, stands up, blows me a smoky air kiss and floats out the door. I return to my Sudoku puzzle.]
I haven’t played any Rufus Wainwright on the piano for a long time. I decided to sit down and play along with him, so these are the songs I’ll be playing tonight in my private concert. Sing along if ya like! (It’s in alphabetical order, but still makes a interesting playlist.)
Another one of my all time favorite songs is “NSU” by Cream, meaning Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker, and a lot of drugs. I loved Cream. The metric/time world of NSU is great fun, much like the opening of Rufus Wainwright’s “Movies of Myself” where the opening figure has very little to do with the opening melody. It is a surprise when it come in and WHERE it comes in. I couldn’t find the date of this recent performance, but the earlier one is from when they were an active band in 1967. Sorry for the frozen picture, but you need to hear the original if you don’t know it. And even though it is not the performance from the commercial recording, it’s a wonderful live performance that is clearly from the same period.
Cream was one of the best bands from the 1960s. Eric Clapton is now well known and respected, but his band mates are not given their due in my humble opinion. Jack Bruce is a brilliant composer, bass player, but especially a spectacular singer. His energy was/is thrilling. Ginger Baker gave us more information as a drummer than any other percussionist in history. All this while stoned out of his mind on something. I love seeing them all here, looking like intellectuals, and revisiting their old friend, NSU.
Two years ago, my brother, Andrew Bourland, and my partner, Daniel Shiplacoff, urged me to start blogging and set me up on a Wordpress platform and away I went. It started originally as Red Black Window, or redblackwindow.com, and then changed to my name after the first year. The first name came from the name of the middle movement of my composition for soprano saxophone, viola, and cello called “Three Dark Paintings.” It’s initials, RBW, also is a combinatiion of my initials and the initials of Rufus Wainwright, whose music I have written a book on. Yes, this blog started as a tool to research my book on Rufus, and then morphed into what it is today. The byline “…writes about music and life” became the new broad focus that allows me to talk about almost anything.
By the way, my book on Wainwright’s music is about 2/3rds done and on hold until I finish my current musical project. My goal is to have the first draft done by summer 2008. The book is NOT a biography. It is an analytical look as to how his music works.
Back to the blog, I appreciate that my readers have not left even though I cannot post as often as I’d like to. One rather hilarious result of posting stuff that happens in my life under BourlanDiaries, is that I’ll be telling someone something socially, and they’ll nod and say “yeah, I know, I read your blog.”
[Illustration: chart of visitors to rogerbourland.com in 2007. Provided by Google Analytics. The spike in the middle represents 694 visitors on one day. This was the day I announced that I had been appointed the new Chair of the UCLA Department of Music. Second chart is site usage data for the year 2007.]
Here is a live clip (FIP radio, Paris, France, Nov 17th, 2007.) of Rufus singing a new song about a childhood crush on a friend named Zebulon. A nice return to solo ballads that many of us have missed. I like how he shushes someone chatting while he is trying to start the song. I do wish he’d consider quitting smoking. You can hear it shortening his long phrases. Please Rufus, don’t turn into Joni who can barely sing one measure without taking a breath. Ah well, do you what you will…
I miss you Rufus. I’m glad you’ve got Judy out of your system.
What a cool find! Joop, of Rufus Wainwright Message Board fame, found a copy of Rufus’s first collection of songs: a cassette that his father aggressively passed out to people to help out his son. Here is the playlist:
Side A
01) Foolish Love
02) Heart Like A Highway (previously known as That Night)
03) Money Song (previously known as The Money Song)
04) Danny Boy
Side B
01) Beauty Mark
02) Damned Ladies
03) Liberty Cabbage
04) Ashes
05) Matinee Idol
Here is a poor quality reproduction of a BBC video of young Rufus singing one of those “old” songs, “Foolish Love.”
I hovered over your Judy Garland concert. What a spectacle! You are such a good boy, such a gay boy, and full of life and music. I cannot impose my old fashioned French aesthetic on you, so I applaud you Rufus. Bravo!
Your old, old friend,
Hector Berlioz
PS: I snuck a peak at Bourland’s Rufus book, and it is really quite wonderful. If he’d just get off his behind and finish it, I’m sure many would love to read it.
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