GENDER BENDER: 'The first album is more masculine, confident, exclamatory, whereas the second one's more feminine, introverted, a little exotic, kind of mysterious,' Wainwright says of Want One and Want Two.

Ask Rufus Wainwright what heís listening to these days and youíll get a response thatís both noncommittal and revealing. "Iím not listening to anything right now," the critically lauded singer-songwriter says on the phone from Rome, where heís wrapping up a European tour, "because I just put out an album and spent weeks and weeks listening to mixes, so my ears are pretty shot. Iím always listening to opera, but that doesnít seem to interest the world. Whatís really exciting me is that after this tourís over, Iím going to La Fenice to see Lorin Maazel conduct La traviata." Thatís Teatro la Fenice, the fabled Venice opera house that just reopened following a devastating 1996 fire, the third such blaze in the theaterís long history; its rise once again from the ashes makes its name ó the Italian equivalent of this newspaperís ó exceedingly appropriate.

The 31-year-old Wainwrightís longstanding love of opera is no secret. But never before has it been such a focal point of his own music as it is on the new Want Two (Geffen). Opening with a gripping, Middle Easternñflavored orchestration of the Latin "Agnus Dei" and closing with a nine-minute choral extravaganza called "Old Whoreís Diet," Want Two is Wainwrightís farthest departure yet from standard pop, the biggest, boldest, most operatic work heís done. And thatís saying something for a guy whose previous albums ó 1998ís Rufus Wainwright, 2001ís Poses, and last yearís Want One (all on DreamWorks) ó were all supersize affairs loaded with drama and ambition.

The songs on Want One and Want Two were mostly written around the same time, and the packaging of both discs is similar. Before Want One reached stores in September of 2003, it was rumored that Wainwright had recorded two complete albumsí worth of material in one mammoth session at Bearsville Studios in upstate New York and that he had briefly toyed with putting out a two-CD set but then decided to delay release of half the tracks for a year. It turns out that this wasnít quite true. "We did a lot more work in the studio [after Want One came out] ó about three monthsí work in three weeks. I knew that I had Want Two in the bag, but the reality of the situation was that I was lying a lot for the last few months, telling everybody that it was finished. Which was good, because it put the pressure on to actually finish it."

This explains why we got two albums instead of one, but it doesnít tell us much about why Wainwright decided to put certain songs on one disc rather than the other. For clues to that question, there are the CD booklets. On Want Oneís cover, Wainwright posed as a knight in shining armor; on the front of Want Two, heís a damsel in distress, complete with flowing robes and long, feathery hair. According to him, the dichotomy of the artwork reflects the overall spirit of the respective albums. "The first album is more masculine, confident, exclamatory, whereas the second oneís more feminine, introverted, a little exotic, kind of mysterious. Itís two different sides of my personality."

Of course, the funny outfits also emphasize the theatrical nature of these albums, as do the often extravagant instrumental arrangements. Want Two doesnít boast anything as attention-getting as the orchestral quotes from Ravelís Boléro that wittily adorned its predecessorís opening track, "Oh What a World," but thick layers of strings, reeds, and/or horns blanket nearly every song here, from the mock-Baroque flourishes of "Little Sister" to the Broadway-ready chordal swells of "Crumb by Crumb." The lush backdrops blend well with Wainwrightís voice, which is too grainy-sounding to be conventionally pretty but still conveys a beguiling sort of heroism, especially when heís pulling his favorite trick of holding out notes in a manner similar to that of his vocal near-double, Radioheadís Thom Yorke, or of an operatic tenor. "When I was a young adult," he says, "I studied Richard Straussís Four Last Songs, and he specifically said that he didnít want these songs to be sung by an opera singer whoís never loved. I was really struck by that belief that you have to have gone through the mill of emotion to be a proper singer. You need that desperation in your voice, or at least to be aware of it."

Mentioning Strauss is a reminder that the complexity of Wainwrightís music may have something to do with his formidable classical background. By now itís par for the course to mention that he comes from a musical family; mother Kate McGarrigle and father Loudon Wainwright III (whose fractious relationship with his son is detailed in Want Oneís "Dinner at Eight") are folk royalty, and his sister and frequent collaborator Martha has been forging her own promising career. (Want Twoís "Little Sister" was written in part to encourage her.) Yet itís not as frequently remarked that Rufus took piano lessons for 12 years starting at age six, or that he studied composition at McGill University in his home town of Montreal. In conversation, though, Wainwright plays down his skills in this area. "I did go to music school for about a year and a half," he concedes, "and I picked up quite a few things. But I was a lousy student. At that age, I was more interested in my sideburns and having sex with strangers than in getting an education."