I recently released a new album entitled Landfall with the help of a group of talented musicians and donations from friends and fans. A recurring theme on Landfall is the sensation of being adrift in a sea of bullshit, fear, and frustration with the system. I don't know about you, but I'm insulted by the festering pile of dumbed-down, Kardashian-lite propaganda we're inundated with daily. Luckily I get to vent about it though my music. Landfall is an esoteric mix of sex, politics, alt rock, and electronica, with a lingering top note of Brecht.
One of the most exciting parts of the project was working with Rufus Wainwright. I met Rufus at a party in the late '90s, during the time when he was living at the Chelsea Hotel. Rufus was sitting at a piano singing while his late mother, Kate McGarrigle, played and cult goddess Mary Margaret O'Hara added her ethereal voice to the mix. I've been an admirer of Kate and Anna McGarrigle's songwriting and unearthly harmonies ever since I first heard "Heart Like a Wheel." Rufus' music affects me the same way. I'm not usually brought to tears by an artist, but his work speaks to me on a subliminal level. Since our first meeting I'd run into Rufus over the years at his concerts or his wild-child parties in WeHo and New York. I'm not sure when I first approached him about either writing or singing together, but it finally came to fruition this July. I'd co-written a song entitled "Landfall" with Rob Pruess, an exceptional keyboard player and arranger, with Rufus in mind.
Rufus' aunt Teddy called me one day to coordinate a time when Rufus could record a duet with me. He was insanely busy with concerts, his opera Lulu, and his baby, Viva Katherine Wainwright Cohen, conceived with Leonard Cohen's daughter. That could prove to be a brilliant merging of two great musical dynasties. The last time I heard from Rufus, he was "totally swamped with fabulousness" while working on his new album, Out of the Game, with producer Mark Ronson.
We put "Landfall" together at Flux, a recording studio hidden in the depths of my neighborhood, the East Village of the damned. I laid down a rough vocal with Rob, and Rufus swept in all tanned, artfully stubbled and handsome. He started singing, putting his spin on my lyrics and firing off three-part harmonies while we sat in the control room. I can't lie: we sounded great together. Rufus is such a pro. We gossiped a bit about some mutual friends, and then he was off. Later Rob wrote string arrangements, and we added cello parts with Jeanne Leblanc, who plays with the New York Philharmonic.
Another track that people are responding to on the album is "Did I Mention," which my longtime collaborator Tim Welch put together. It's a funkified shout-out to Angela Davis, Talking Heads, Bootsy Collins, and Prince. The opening verse says it all: "You used to wear a coke spoon around your neck. You used to work your rage at a discotique. Dried spunk on a blue dress. Life was simple then."
Have you ever wanted to whip out a cattle prod to use on someone who was walking in front of you while texting? "Viral" is about love in the digital age. It's all industrial loops and guitars driven by the hardcore crash of drum-whore Randy Cooke's kick and snare (listen to it in full below).
The song "My Flame" was written with Hawksley Workman, whom I first saw perform at Toronto Pride back in the oughts. At first I couldn't figure out if he was straight or gay. He was so overtly sexual and passionate. He's straight, but I love the way he loves women. Hawksley played every instrument on the finished track except a guitar overdub by John Whynot, who mixed the album. The song is an ode to the '80s. Think Siouxsie Sioux mixing it up with Debbie Harry in a guitar-and-synth-driven flambé.
"God=Love" goes out to the so-called Christians who single out the GLBT community and dump their religious, closeted guilt all over us. My message to all those who identify as über-straight is: I don't care or judge you by what you do in bed. Unless you're doing naked headstands, I'm not interested in your sex life. Don't use our community as a distraction from the real issues, like the debt crisis and our sweaty, strung-out, junkie energy dependence. Oil is so 1910.
"Tourniquet" explores my love of German cabaret, with a touch of Marquis-de-Sade-style love. Violinist Lyris Hung added the only instrumentation to the track. Lyris works with Slanty Eyed Mama, The Indigo Girls, and her metal band Hung.
"Shining Path" is a eurotrash, electronicia vent you can dance to, and an homage to my days as frontwoman for the band Rough Trade. I'm still pissed off, and I hope that never stops.
I'm going to stop now because it feels strange to try to explain and critique my music. Please feel free to check it out yourself if you're so inclined.
Listen to "Viral":
You can download the album at iTunes, or you can buy the CD on Carole's website or at cdbaby.com.
An earlier version of this post incorrectly cited the name of Rufus Wainwright's mother. Her name is Kate McGarrigle.