How rock 'n' roll can you get? Rufus Wainwright writes tunes about Manhattan thoroughfares like 14th Street, sucks in his cheeks during photo shoots, and has a great tailor. He even went through a debauched sex and drugs binge and then spilled his guts about it in a New York Times profile.

So why isn't this hip singer-songwriter on the cover of Spin? Maybe it's because he can't stop talking about his love of opera. Or maybe it's the fact that though a contemporary of the Strokes, he's more likely to gush about a vaudevillian like Al Jolson than rock heroes like the Velvet Underground. The 30 year-old Wainwright is just a bit out of step with his time: he writes songs that feature snatches of Ravel's "Bolero" and lyrics about being unable to dance to Britney Spears' music. There's his sexuality, too. Sorry ladies, Wainwright very much has a queer eye for the straight guy.

All of these traits make Want One, his big sloppy kiss of a third album, one of the best CDs in recent memory. Inspired by classical music and the type of show tune that brings down the house, it's an emotional tour de force. On the one hand, there's the springtime exuberance of "I Don't Know What It Is," a song that literally makes you want to run around hugging people. On the other, there's the wounded chorus to "14th Street," where he asks, "why'd you have to break all my heart?" He even has a song about his cell phone that might leave you in tears.

The newly clean Wainwright went to rehab for his addictions, and his music confronts his demons head-on - including those induced by family. His parents, renowned folk singers Loudon Wainwright and Kate McGarrigle, have both written songs about him. On Want One he turns the tables. "Dinner at Eight" bitterly settles the score with his estranged father, but "Want" has him sighing, "All I want is to be my dad, with a slight sprinkling of my mother."

Such anguish is indeed the stuff of opera, but in Wainwright's hands makes for great pop music. There's still plenty of drama in his life, too. Just as he was about to release another volume of Want, his label DreamWorks fell prey to corporate maneuvering. He dished to VH1 about his influences, politics and the hearts he's broken.

VH1: Listening to Want One is kind of like eating three boxes of chocolates in one sitting.

Rufus Wainwright: Well, I like chocolate!

VH1: How do you know when too much is enough?

RW: I have very different ears. For instance, my new system of cleaning my apartment involves putting on a Wagner opera and just starting in. I need a lot of harmonies. Maybe I should only eat chocolate! [Laughs]

VH1: Before opera, what's the biggest childhood influence on your music?

RW: Either Al Jolson or Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. My dad bought these weird old recordings of [people like] W.C. Fields called Radio Days. One of them was Al Jolson. When I heard it, I immediately wanted to do something horrible...like paint my face black! I was very young at that point. But I've since heard him again not too long ago, and his singing was really amazing. You really feel the desperate living in people like him, you know? Because of the Depression, it was either do or die. They didn't really have a pot to pee in. You can hear that in their singing.

VH1: You've had your troubles. When you heard about the death of your old label mate, Elliot Smith, did you think, "Wow, that could have been me?"

RW: I was completely shocked. It did bring home the point that whether it's him or Jeff Buckley or Kurt Cobain, male singer/songwriters are...a risk group, shall we say. There are a lot of traps. It's a hard profession, and you've got to take care of yourself.

VH1: Is it natural to you to communicate with your loved ones via a song like "Dinner at Eight"?

RW: Oh, yeah. It's an old habit that all of us have partaken in. On the one hand, we're very grateful and thankful for it, 'cause I do really know my parents and my sister [through the songs]. On the other hand, it can be a bit of a crutch. Songs can be walls at times as well. It's a double-edge sword, definitely.

VH1: So what's your favorite song about yourself: your dad's "Rufus is a Tit Man" or your mom's "First Born"?

RW: I would have to say "First Born," only because it is so irreverent. Unless you're the first born son, you loathe it, because it's so truthful, but it's also kind of harsh.

VH1: Do people think they know you through your family's music?

RW: People do know us through our music, oddly enough. I don't know if it's like that with many other singers or songwriters. But in my family, the songs are very personal and confessional. It's the same kind of idea as [the author Gustave Flaubert] saying, "Madame Bovary, c'est moi!"

VH1: Is writing a song a good way of getting your problems off your chest?

RW: One of the main things that I've realized in my voyage over the last couple of years is that you can write songs about your problems until the cows come home, and they can be great songs, but that doesn't necessarily mean you are doing anything about it. I dispelled that myth. You feel like, "Oh, if I write a song about it, at least I'm getting something out of it." But I'm learning that you're not really helping yourself very much. I think my Dad has had to do that, too. Whether it's him having a black belt in Aikido or Richard Thompson being a Muslim or Leonard Cohen being a Buddhist, there's a point where you have to realize that writing a song isn't going to fix this! [Laughs]

VH1: What is the likelihood of Want Two ever seeing the light of day?

RW: It must come out before the 2004 presidential election. Unless I become a Born Again Christian and refute my wayward ways, that's probably the likelihood.

VH1: How would you compare Want Two to the first installment?

RW: It was never intended for there to be two albums, but Want One became very personal and very much about my own saga, my triumph over worldly events and cares. On Want Two, it gets a lot darker, a lot more...sinister, actually! [Laughs] I turned around and realized that the world is in pain. It still has that Rufus Wainwright hopeful silver lining aspect, but in general I don't think it's upbeat!

VH1: Tell me about some of the songs.

RW: I get a little more operatic. There's a Latin piece that's like a requiem mass. There's a piece I wrote about Jeff Buckley that's based on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. There are a couple of choice lines about George Bush, which would explain the election thing.

VH1: You specialize in singing about heartbreak, but whose heart have you broken?

RW: I've broken a few hearts in my time, I definitely have. Then, unfortunately, I became friends with them! [Laughs] That sort of dissipates the whole situation. I've broken a lot of 14-year-old girls' hearts, too...

VH1: If you had to choose between sex and music, which one would win out?

RW: Fortunately it would have to be music, only because as it stands, sex is fun, but it's kind of a rarity. I think really great, loving sex is a rarity in general. Maybe I'm wrong, but it's very elusive.

VH1: Did Bush's comments about gay marriage in his State of the Union address come as a shock to you?

RW: Every day something horrible is happening. Every day! I can't even process that at the moment. Whether it's laws limiting the media or the Iraq war...I was watching Dennis Miller the other day saying, "If we don't kill them, they will kill us." It's so confusing.

VH1: Are you becoming a more politicized artist?

RW: Oh definitely, by leaps and bounds. I really have to be. It comes to the point where it is up to the individual - you're either with it or with the Republicans! [Laughs]

VH1: So who will you vote for?

RW: I don't know. It's so confusing at the moment. At this point, to not vote is a sin. If you're interested in Bush being removed from office, you have to vote. I kind of like John Kerry. I liked Dean at the beginning. It's funny, because everyone is like, "John Kerry is so boring." But you know what? It's about time we had a boring president. Get me the boring nose-to-the-grindstone president now, please!