33 rebellions per minute
"Je suis American, please cook my steak again"
1999
Ben Folds Five, THE UNAUTHORIZED BIOGRAPHY OF REINHOLD MESSNER
The first two Ben Folds albums (self-titled and WHATEVER AND EVER AMEN) probably hold the one-band record for bringing the largest number of really good songs to my attention without tempting me into buying the albums. "Underground", first, was a wonderful single to introduce the band to the world with: a flashy, multi-sectioned, theatrical jaunt that doubted the very meaning of "underground" or "alternative" culture in a world where even "Officer Friendly's kid has got a mohawk", yet still seemed to want to be sincere in its invite: "Been kicked around? We could be happy underground". It was, notably, a piano song with a jazz coda, and Ben's piano playing, as glenn mcdonald wrote, was "like training a puppy to jump fifty feet straight in the air to catch frisbees tossed by the gods". "Uncle Walter", the second single, sounded great too. In fact it sounded just like "Underground", and its lyrics, ripping a pompous relative, were clever, but this time hard to seek sincerity in. I played BEN FOLDS FIVE at a listen-before-you-buy store, and both of the first two songs were clever, literate, cute, amazingly well-played, and not easily distinguished from "Uncle Walter". I passed. WHATEVER's "the Battle Of Who Could Care Less", "Stephen's Last Night In Town", and "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" all joined my life via mix tape. All were sprightly, smile-worthy, and amounted again to clever potshots, although "…Solemn Faces" won me on a deeper level with its spiritual resemblance to the vindictive old Northwestern football cheer during the usual losses: "that's all right, that's okay, they're gonna work for us someday!" My friend Jer then took it on himself to show me that Ben Folds could write other songs, taping me "Brick" (a mournful account of taking a girlfriend for an abortion on Christmas) and "Video" (more in line with the usual material, but slower, prettier, and improving its think-to-attack ratio). I was impressed. But by then I already knew the best-loved four or five songs per album, so why, I asked myself, should I rush to buy the albums and catch the chaff?
REINHOLD MESSNER, then, came along at the right time to catch my wallet: new, all-unfamiliar, and laden with reviews praising (or accusing) Ben for seriousness and ambition: varied arrangements! A concept album! Which, in fact, is true. As biography, just so you know, the songs often fail. What "Mess" did the narrator make, breaking what deeply-meant promises why? Why was his life awful before he met the addressee of "Don't Change Your Plans", and why did she affect him, and what does he mean by "I loved you before I met you"? Why should the listener have any sympathy for "Army"'s narrator when everyone else hates him? No clue is given. It's not that I can't root for someone despite his being irresponsible, self-disgusted, and escapist-- I am, after all, a John Irving fan-- but some reason to care would be nice.
Put the notion of storyline aside, as you would anyway on a normal, non-"concept" album, and the lyrics work better, portraying complicated emotions usually deemed beyond the confines of 4-minute pop songs. "Narcolepsy" is a desperate apology for escapism that's taken an out-of-control, physical form. "Don't…" balances romantic love against a sheer, visceral hatred of his darling's new city, Los Angeles; its details are striking everywhere except regarding the overwhelming depressive context, and it's eloquent from the opening on ("Sometimes I get the feeling that I won't be on the planet for very long/ I really like it here, I'm quite attached to it. I hope I'm wrong"… "You made me smile again/ in fact I may be sore from it".) "Mess" sadly posits secrecy as the key to intimacy: "There are rooms in this house that I don't open anymore/ She'll never see that part of me/ I want to be for her what I could never be for you". "Army" does the smirky/ clever shtick with panache ("got a mullet and a mustache, got a job at Chic-Fil-A/ citing artistic differences, the band broke up in May"). "Your Redneck Past", for all its sarcasm, comes out in favor of family ties ("Roots/ those funny limbs that grow from the ground/ that keep you from falling down/ don't you think you'll need them now?"). "Regrets" apologizes for mocking nerds who chose to make something of their lives. "Jane" softly encourages a girl to stop re-making herself for the pleasure of others, and "Lullabye" somehow extends and redoubles the encouragement while digressing about a plane flight and an uncle and James Earl Jones. Ben has yet to stop writing about losers; but he's stopped writing attacks, and begun to write from inside.
The music, as always piano-based, shifts to fit the song, now that the songs shift their attitudes. "Narcolepsy" is a derangedly grandiose show tune, slipping in and out of crescendos with symphonic randomness. "Army" could have appeared on BEN FOLDS FIVE. "…Redneck", playfully jagged and unbalanced and my favorite song here, is what XTC's DRUMS AND WIRES might've sounded like if they'd kept their keyboardist Barry Andrews. "Don't…", "Mess", "Magic", and "Lullabye" add tasteful string sections and achieve the balladic feel of early Billy Joel, aided by better recording technology. "Regrets" and "Jane" add some slow jazzy shuffle. "Your Most Valuable Possession" tosses a random groove under a half-awake two-minute answering machine message from Ben Folds's Dad. Ben's most valuable possession, in case you were wondering, is his mind. Or maybe it's Tang, or zero-gravity exercise; the logic of the sleepy can be hard to follow. But the concern and love of the sleepy can still shine through. This time, that seems to be the important part we're supposed to catch.
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