Even faced with this potentially humiliating heckle, the concrete canary was 100%, defiantly showbiz.

When Rufus Wainwright appeared at the London Palladium last Sunday . . . with a repeat performance tonight . . . to recreate Judy's legendary Carnegie Hall comeback concert of 23 April 1961, he said, "Do you like my suit? It was made by Viktor & Rolphe."

It was not exactly a "pantsuit" moment. Rufus has a great twister of a voice, full of soupy melancholia, but I'm not sure his voice was soaked with enough triumph and tragedy to pull this Judy tribute off.

(Being talented, gay and a former addict alone doesn't cut it. ) When the 36-piece orchestra played the overture, I didn't only want Judy to walk on stage, I halfexpected it. When Rufus emerged instead, it was a bitter-sweet anti-climax. Still, Judy's daughter Lorna Luft swished on stage, every flourish and emotional adlib choreographed to within an inch of its life . . . just the way we like it! . . . telling Rufus, "Thank you for doing this for my mama's memory."

Lorna sang 'Hello Bluebird', which Judy sang in her last film, I Could Go On Singing, in a scene filmed on this very stage.

Rufus was never going to impersonate Judy, just pay homage, but he struggled to match some songs and was nearly blown back to Kansas . . . or New York City . . . by his sister Martha's 'Stormy Weather'. It took this for Rufus to stop being a caged and apologetic budgie and actually fly.

(Though nowhere nearly as high as Judy! ) He gave his own spin to 'You Go To My Head' . . . purposefully forgetting the lyrics in the same place as Judy . . .

though he apologised before 'Swanee', describing it as "racist", instead of just singing it.

Judy Davis, who played a blinder as a tormented Judy Garland in the TV biopic Me & My Shadows, was also at the Palladium on Sunday. Davis, too, recreated Judy's famous Carnegie Hall concert in that mini-series, lip-synching to Garland's Grammy award-winning live recording of the show.

In the years after Carnegie Hall, Judy kept working, mostly because her millions of dollars in earnings were squandered by a series of husbands and managers. In 1969 she died of a drug overdose aged 47. I like to think of her sleeping peacefully like Dorothy in that field of poppies, not in a glamorous gown by Adrian . . . the Viktor & Rolphe of his day . . .

but cosily zipped-up in that illicit, always-reliable Valley of the Dolls sequined pantsuit.