Hmmm, apparently there is some kind of important rugby match on in Dublin this afternoon. This man will not be there, and his absence is supposed to make Irish supporters very happy.
Not sure about that. At all….. [stops drooling]
Our old friend the Polish President rubbed us up the wrong way this week when he decided to tell us how much Poland and Ireland had in common. It seems that the gays are a threat to human existence: “If that kind of approach to sexual life were to be promoted on a grand scale, the human race would disappear”.
Various politicians from across the political partites as well as the Lord Mayor of Dublin have rejected his comments. Good, the man is an embarrassment to his country and the EU.
GCN talk about it and there is a transcript from an Irish Independent article here. Reuters have picked it up too.
I love when he says “Among my personal friends there are individuals affected by this different sexual orientation, or homosexuality, but they enjoy full rights, they are able to move forward in various spheres of life”. I wonder who he might be talking about?
So, Andrew’s Christmas prezzie for me was a ticket to go see one of my musical heroes, Ms Wainwright, in Paris. Tres bien, I said, and began booking my flights. Aer Lingus one way to Charles de Gaulle, cheapsville! And then the return leg of a Dublin-Paris (Beauvais) round trip via Ryanair. Also cheap. And yes, it was cheaper to book a return flight with them than a one way, don’t ask for a reason. Anyhoo.
Get on to Rufus, damn you, I hear you cry.
Not yet, for blogs are, to quote Andrew, ’self indulgent’ and meant to tell you things about cheap flights. You don’t get that in the Guardian (although now that they have embraced blogs, you, in fact, do.)
Anyway, got to the Hotel Brighton to find a very irked Andrew (he had taken the Eurostar from London). Our room was not available as the person occupying it was ill and wished to stay on. Bah. They put us in a cab to another hotel, but forgot to tell the taxi driver this. Fun. Anyway, not being completely hopeless, we worked it out (lots of Andrew being stroppy on Blackberry hee hee). The sent us to a nice little hotel beside the Louvre, where each room was named after an artist. We stayed in Yves Klein. A rather attractive Eastern European man at the desk pronounced my surname in a way I hardly thought possible, and regained his composure very quickly when I clarified that we only needed the one room thanks. The Hotel Brighton had neglected to mention that either - sigh!
[Adopts Ferris Bueller voice] You’re still here?
OK, OK we got to the Olympia where the ‘fus was singing. It’s a marvellous venue - all opulent reds and ushers whom you have to tip etc. We had great seats on the mezzanine on the left hand side. A straight Irish couple were seated next to us too. They had seen Rufus play in Dublin with the extended Wainwright clan and really liked him. I found it amusing that a straight couple would traipse all the way to Paris to hear a poofter doing a tribute to Judy Garland. Oh! What a World!
Rufus was also ill (maybe he was in our bloody room in the Hotel Brighton?) and his ability to hit the high notes at the big finales was somewhat impaired. I found this hilarious, but Rufus makes me laugh a lot anyway. He was a total trouper and even though he was obviously quite ill, he kept ‘em coming. Much to the delight of the straight Irish guy beside us, who whooped with gusto at the end of nearly every song: “Gowanyaboyya!”
For those of you who don’t know, this spectacular was Rufus’ recreation of Judy Garland’s 1961 gigs in Carnegie Hall, London’s Palladium and the Olympia. He sings the same songs, has some of the same musicians in the 40+ orchestra, affects the same ‘mistakes’ and perhaps wears the same shoes, who knows. So, we get treated to the Great American Songbook, which is a rather freaking camp place as it is without Rufus channeling Judy Garland.
The whole thing was marvellous. And he wheeled out the divine Martha Wainwright to do Stormy Weather and Someone To Watch Over Me (which turns out to be a favourite of Andrew’s - I didn’t know that). And then out pops Lorna Luft, Judy’s daughter who isn’t Liza. And she shows the youngsters how to do it, old skool.
For me it was rather delicious the way Wainwright subverted the old standards and the hammy style in which we are used to hearing them being performed. His illness meant he had to laugh at his inability to hit the Whitney moments, and this seemed also to be a mild send up of the genre. Contrast that with Lorna Luft’s showbizzy hamming it up and you could tell she was taking it all very seriously indeed. (While being an Old Pro, of course.)
Occasionally, he seemed to bring something real out of the songs. His version of Do It Again was achingly sensual - more like one of his own tracks than the hugely silly Chicago. We’ve heard his version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow before, but it’s a highlight tonight. I get the feeling that he felt he hadn’t done it justice though as he strained to sustain the notes.
It ended with a standing ovation and we eventually poured out into the lovely Paris night. We felt soooo underdressed there - the Parisiens really make an effort when they go out - lots of expensive dark clothing. Very elegant. A lady pressed a CD into my hand. It has a new song by Rufus, written to promote a new fragrance by Viktor & Rolf (whoever they are). By now, Andrew was ill too - fucking hell! So we had a quick trot down to take some pics of the Eiffel Tower et al, then a crepe and bed. I was up early to get the bus to Beauvais, admire the hardworking and efficient Eastern European cabin crew in the Ryanair flight, and feel a bit sad that it was all over too soon.
I hope everyone’s feeling better. Even the guy who usurped our room. To quote Ms Luft; Merci, Rufus, merci beaucoup.
Here is the song that was on the CD. I think it’s called ‘Ode to Antidote‘ (mp3 4.5MB). Have a listen.
I’m going to Paris RIGHT NOW! Meeting Andrew there later and we’re off to see the divine Rufus Wainwright do his Judy Garland thing tonight. Then back to reality tomorrow. Cool, eh?
Right, of to catch me flight now. I shall report later. A bientot!
I know, I’m very cynical, but the man and I are not hugely bothered about Valentine’s Day. we sent a couple of slushy emails this morning and we’ll have a Skype session tonight and I’m good with that!
That’s not to say I’d totally refuse a bottle of bubbly, two dozen roses and a swanky dinner, like.
Amyway, here is a very romantic song by the lovely Esther Phillips. It’s a version of the Beatles’ ‘And I Love Her’ except she’s changed the pronoun just in case anyone thought she was lesbo.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Andrew 
Download And I Love Him by Esther Phillips (MP3 2.4MB)
Like this? Buy the Atlantic Gold 3CD compilation which is being flogged for less than the price of a single in HMV etc at the mo.
And here we have some Erasmus students walking around a dark forest at night, possibly looking for a place where they can buy a small glass of beer and share it for three hours as they complain about the weather in their host country.
Except of course, it’s Robyn and her mate. Robyn used to be a purveyor of moderately vacuous Scandi-pop a few years back, but she seems to have had a major change of heart and is now churning out very impressive slabs of robo-indie-pop. Last year she had two wonderful collaborations. One, ‘With Every Heartbeat’ with Kleerup is very much worth hunting down. The second, with producer Christian Falk and some bloke, is presented here for your approval. You might be able to find it somewhere on the superb goodweatherforairstrikes blog.
On the track Robyn opens her arms to a list of lowlives telling them “You won’t be squealed on, ripped on tonight / You won’t be back-stabbed, double-crossed, face down, teeth knocked out, lying in a gutter somewhere.” A step up from ‘Show Me Love’, eh?
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