Despite this age of individuality and personal choice that we are living in, the pull of the family profession is still strong in American culture. This is especially true of families in the arts—and more specifically music—as being a musician is more often a lifestyle than a profession. Children growing up in musical homes are bound to absorb some of their parent’s musical passion (as well as inheriting their talents). But strangely, when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll families, the apple seems to be falling far from the tree. Rare cases of the children of famous baby boomer musicians exist—Jakob Dylan, Ben Taylor—but they are few and far between, unlike the folk and country families of the generation before—Hank Williams Jr., Roseanne Cash, the Carter Family, Merle Watson, to name just a few.

What is it about modern music stardom that discourages rock offspring from pursuing their own careers? Is it the malaise of the privileged child or maybe an adverse reaction to their parents ’60s and ’70s decadence? Or is it simply because it’s discouraging to think that it might be impossible, no matter how good they are, to create careers separate and even possibly bigger than those of their parents?

Enter Rufus Wainwright, son of ’60s folk-rock icon Loudon Wainwright III, a man who discarded the band recommended to him by producer Arif Marden and recorded his Atlantic Records debut with nothing but an angsty voice and gritty guitar. Enter Julian Lennon, son of the Beatles’ genius co-frontman, John Lennon. Both inherited the rock birthright and could have wasted away as music’s prodigal sons often do, but instead Rufus and Julian chose to pursue their fathers’ career path. While I feel there is a clear winner in this race to the pop charts, the matter deserves some deliberation.

Both Loudon and John were distant fathers, and their children were raised almost entirely by their mothers (John famously missed Julian’s christening and Loudon had to write an apology song to daughter Martha for missing her birthday party called “Five Years Old.”). There was a stepmother in each family, and a younger sibling that appeared to get attention from the father that the oldest sons didn’t. John Lennon wrote the sweet lullaby “Beautiful Boy” for his second son Sean, while Julian’s song gift, “Hey Jude”, a child-of-divorce pep talk, came from Paul McCartney; Loudon now has a 27-year-old daughter, Lucy, whose band he plays with frequently and whose musical education he has played a huge part in.

Though the boys had little contact with their fathers, they began emulating them at early ages. Rufus started his love affair with the piano at age six, and Julian was already proficient enough by age 11 to play drums on his father’s solo track, “Ya Ya.” Julian formed a band and eventually released Valotte in 1984. The album reached platinum status, and his next effort, The Secret Value of Daydreaming in 1986, went gold. But his record sales slipped steadily down, and when his 1998 album Photograph Smile was panned by critics for being too much like John Lennon, Julian took a decade hiatus, planning a return to music this year that has yet to happen.

Rufus earned early honors as well, receiving both a Genie and a Juno nomination before the age of 17. Ironically (in the context of this piece), Rufus’ big break was a tour with Sean Lennon in the summer of 1998 behind his debut album, Rufus Wainwright (Sean later joined Rufus during a 2008 Radio City Music Hall concert to sing the Beatles’ “Across the Universe”). Rufus’ dramatic, opera-influenced work grew in popularity over the course of five albums, and culminated in a 2006 performance at Carnegie Hall in which he recreated Judy Garland’s famous concert at the same venue. 

It’s true… Loudon Wainwright III is not on the same level of fame and veneration as John Lennon. And achieving the same level of success as a cult folk celebrity is not the same challenge that is living up to the legacy of one of the greatest characters in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. But both cases hold their own unique difficulties. Is Julian held to an unfair standard because his father has become idolized in death? Or is Rufus’ task made more difficult because his father lived a long life and has had time to record an almost insurmountable 23 full-lengths and shows no signs of stopping now (in the years since Rufus has been releasing albums as a solo artist his father has matched him one for one on full-length releases). In the end, it’s a fair fight, and Rufus wins by a landslide. While Julian has been unable to gather more than a handful of appreciators of his records and only minor financial success, Rufus has amassed an enormous fanbase, both with his status as a gay icon and his slew of critically acclaimed albums.