He said he wanted to make a record that made the sound of 'cash registers ringing'. And after 10 years of making orchestral high camp his turf and winning adulation from the elite minority, no one would deny Rufus Wainwright the right to chase the dollar. However, even before pushing play, it's quite clear that Rufus was either taking the piss in a big way, or has absolutely no idea what the vast majority of the unwashed masses want to listen to.

If you want to sell records, particularly in America, being gay, either overtly or covertly, is probably not the way to go about it. And having yourself photographed in personalised monogrammed Lederhosen while posturing suggestively in front of a fireplace is hardly the way to de-camp yourself after posing as the Lady of Shallott on 2002's most excellent Want Two. Then you hear the first track, 'Do I Disappoint You', and you realise that he's made no effort whatsoever to back away from his previous florid, layered, exquisitely dramatic, Judy Garland-loving self, and we are all wealthier for it, because Release the Stars is just fabulous.

Perhaps not quite the theatrical masterpiece that the Want twins were, this record actually emphasises Wainwright's 'more is more' approach, and the fact that it follows two utter gems probably harms it by comparison. But fear not, from the moment, at 3.12 into the opening track, when the brass section is unleashed, and ‘Do I Disappoint You’ morphs into a crescendo that Puccini would be proud of, this record is nothing if not impressive in its majesty and grandiloquence. Piano, strings, horns, organ, piccolo, accordion, claviola, a choir, and others collide raucously in a classic example of extravagance. And there aren’t many people who can get away with it so convincingly.

One of Wainwright's strengths (other than that voice – liquid sex emerging from a human's throat, if that’s possible - and his impressive songwriting chops) has been his ability to do bombast and moderation with equal skill and panache. Stormers like 'Do I Disappoint You', 'Between My Legs' and album highlight 'Rules and Regulations' sit comfortably with downbeat ruminations such as 'Going to a Town' (where Rufus laments the redneck homophobia of his homeland) and 'Not Ready to Love'.

“I’m tired of writing elegies” he sings on ‘Sanssouci’, suggesting that his sense of humour is fully functioning this time around. And of course, no Wainwright release would be complete without a piece of high camp tory-baiting, a la 'Gay Messiah' from Want Two, and here we find it in the oh-so unsubtle 'Between My Legs', with its gloriously cheeky climax, gleefully pilfering the hook from Andrew Lloyd-Webber's Phantom of the Opera, which itself is so steeped in gay allegory that is open to interpretation. Just not too much interpretation.

Following closely from ‘Between My Legs’ is the slightly less controversial ‘Tulsa’, another sexually ambiguous tale of a weekend spent with The Killers’ frontman Brandon Flowers in, you guessed it, Tulsa. It’s operatic, even for a Wainwright number, even if the subject matter is somewhat not.

Closing on the title track, we realise that he's saying it in the same manner as Mr Burns and his hounds, setting celebrities loose on the world with a wry grin and a certain amount of satisfaction, all to a lounge music groove and an unspeakably sexy horn section (again). This is no departure from the old Rufus, this is Rufus in all his glory, replete in Lederhosen and wonderment, revelling in the heights to which his extravagant talent can take him. Sure, people can accuse him of unnecessary orchestration and bombast, but they don’t really get it. And they’re the type that probably never will.