The unauthorized revival of Ben Folds
A tribute to the quintessential late-'90s alt-rocker
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So far during this decade, there have been revivals of late-’60s garage rock, early-’70s arena rock, late-’70s disco and post-punk, early-’80s synth pop, and mid- to late-’80s hair metal. If this continues, we’re soon going to see a lot of bands influenced by one of the least-loved pop music subgenres of the past 40 or so years (at least among snobby tastemaker types): post-Nirvana, ’90s alternative rock.
To be specific, I’m referring to bands that dominated MTV and reasonably hip Top 40 radio stations between Kurt Cobain’s suicide and the release of Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie,” which cinched rap-rock’s popularity and really killed what Cobain built several years earlier. (Basically 1994 to ’99, or so.)
You could argue that post-Nirvana ’90s alternative is already a huge, though mostly unheralded, influence on current bands. Animal Collective namechecked Pavement in a recent Pitchfork interview. It’s probable that the dudes in Fleet Foxes went through a Toad The Wet Sprocket phase. The Gaslight Anthem surely listened the shit out of Counting Crows’ August And Everything After; the group borrowed lyrics from “Round Here” for its song “High Lonesome,” which is from last year’s critically aclaimed The ’59 Sound. The Hold Steady is even opening for Counting Crows these days, not to mention the Dave Matthews Band. (Really, let’s not bring that up ever again.) And don’t forget alt-rock bands from the '90s that are still considered important: Radiohead, Pearl Jam, and Wilco all used to kick it over Melrose Place and Zimas back in the day.
One late-’90s guy I wouldn’t mind getting a revival from is Ben Folds. Not that Folds ever went away—in fact, you’ll find him performing at Orchestra Hall on Saturday night. But I don’t really care about Ben Folds now. I’m not making a judgment on his post-Ben Folds Five work—I haven’t heard it and have no interest in hearing it. My personal Ben Folds period ended when Monica Lewinsky jokes stopped being funny and edgy, and I’m fine keeping it that way.
No, this is about Ben Folds then, when he made three pretty good to nearly great studio albums with The Five, which was actually a trio rounded out by bassist Robert Sledge and drummer Darren Jessee: 1995’s Ben Folds Five, 1997’s Whatever And Ever Amen, and 1999’s The Unauthorized Biography Of Reinhold Messner. Along with being among the best pop-rock records of the period, they encapsulate the late-’90s about as well as the cocaine-fueled glamour of Duran Duran conjures up the feel of the early-’80s, or the mindless man-slut strut of Mötley Crüe magically transports listeners to the sleaziest titty bar on the Sunset Strip circa 1987.
On Whatever And Ever Amen, BFF’s most commercially successful album, Folds made his strongest case for being the quintessential post-Nirvana ’90s alternative rocker, writing likeable and catchy songs loaded with angst, sarcasm, self-pity, and non-threatening quirkiness. Looking back, it’s amazing to think that life was once so comfortable that you could sit around all day and bitch about the assholes you went to high school with, or the girl that dumped you and didn’t give back your black T-shirt. But that’s exactly what Folds does on songs like “One Angry Dwarf And 200 Solemn Faces” and “Song For The Dumped,” which start out funny but soon get choked up on Folds’ seemingly endless supply of sunny-sounding bile. (Interestingly, the chorus to Folds’ biggest hit, the autobiographical abortion song “Brick”, was written by Jessee, though its self-absorbed sentiment—“She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly”—is pure Folds.)
Folds is compared to Billy Joel a lot, which only seems lazy because they’re both piano men. But they have other things in common, including a resentment of women they perceive to be cold and unfeeling—Joel on “She’s Aways A Woman,” Folds on “Selfless, Cold, And Composed”—and an intense, off-putting rage belied by their tuneful, well-crafted music. Folds also has Joel’s pretentious streak, which manifested itself on the loosely conceptual The Unauthorized Biography Of Reinhold Messner. (Fortunately, it's a million times better than “We Didn’t Start The Fire.”) Inevitably described as “Billy Joel’s lost prog-rock opera” by Rolling Stone, Reinhold Messner actually isn’t very prog, nor much of a concept album. The only story the record tells is of Folds coming to terms with his failed romantic relationships—he’s been divorced three times and remarried in 2007—and his inherent dorkiness. “The world has more for you / Than it seems,” Folds sings on the album-closing “Lullabye” and, shit, he might even mean it.
Fittingly, Ben Folds Five broke up the next year, ensuring the band would forever remain a fixture of the Clinton years. If musical revivalism is about re-discovering passé genres or artists because they seem fresher or more interesting than universally endorsed “good” music, then Folds’ ’90s work is definitely due for re-evaluation. Yes, Folds can be annoyingly petty and insufferably smug. But I think pop culture would be well served by more bands writing bouncy pop tunes with hard, poisoned hearts.
