Finally saw Rufus' little acoustic solo tour on its final night, with his charming younger sister Lucy Wainwright-Roche as opening act.
The show was pared down beyond belief, by RW standards: only two mics (one at the piano, one for standing with guitar); no special guests, no costumes, no mad lighting, no audience-members pulled up onto the stage, no 6-piece back-up band, no gigantic German boyfriend hoisting Rufus to his shoulders for the finale.
It was just Rufus unprotected, baring his miraculous talents, thrilling his worshippers in the most intimate, personal way possible from a stage. We even loved him when exhaustion made his memory of lyrics a tad scrappy. Such a delight. That show could have gone on for seven hours, and it would not have been long enough.