I had a bout of musical nostalgia this afternoon as I was listening to Rufus Wainwright and compiling a powerpoint presentation for work. Two years ago, I remember the CD's of this self-styled (and modish) modern-day troubador. He was (and, I presume, continues to be) an "inside" kind of star with celebrities and hipsters (they like what is "hot" before us mortals do) for classical and dramatically-infused pop melodies. Those style-makers viewed him as "getting" pop like not many other contemporaries did; I just happened to like the songs, even if some were adopted as funkified dance anthems in gay clubs (convenient that Rufus is also gay, so he did not mind the mixing). Anyhow, I remember Rufus for his musical companionship in some turbulent NYC days, dealing as he did in his album "Want One" with regrettably lost loves and solemnness for the life he led on the road; I felt the same in those days as a consultant traversing the US between NYC and San Francisco. He also sang with aching beauty for what life could be and what life entailed over the horizon; I had the same pangs and hoped for the best even through the ambiguities and eccentric notions of fate and opportunity.
Now, I am on the other side, past days wrapping up in Manhattan, galloping through the Swiss Alps to expand the mind, and deposited on the other side of those incredible studies with much less turbulence in the Washington DC area. Still, there is Rufus on my hard drive, and he comforts me with words and melodies that meant so much in those days. Emerging from my musical nostalgia, I hope that he has prospered and found the same joys as I have since our shared experiences together in the Big Apple.