REVIEW: Fear Of Pop, Volume 1 (Sony 550 Music)
- Daniel Aloi
If I ever have the chance to interview Ben Folds, I want to ask him about his record collection. The music he makes live and on record with the Ben Folds Five trio shows an unfashionably unabashed love of melody, drawing from an encyclopedia of accessible MOR pop styles ranging from Tin Pan Alley show tunes to Todd Rundgren, Billy Joel and Joe Jackson.
But I never would have guessed one of Folds' favorite albums was William Shatner's The Transformed Man, a set of over-dramatic readings of pop song lyrics. Shatner's take on "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" became the most infamous ham-sandwich example of an actor gone way, way over the top, beyond the point where a listener might think it's actually self-parody.
This 25-cent vinyl yard-sale find apparently worked its twisted magic on a 12-year-old Folds, and 18 years later he wrote a fan letter to Capt. Kirk with a request to lend his earnestly misplaced inflections to a track written especially for him.
Shatner didn't know Ben Folds from Adam Duritz, but his daughters and assistant talked him into taking the gig. Ironically, "In Love" - the centerpiece with Shatner emoting about love gone bad (and Folds providing the album's only real piano and vocal backing) - is one of the least-odd tracks on this totally oddball album.
Collaborating with Shatner is surprise enough, but neither would I have ever imagined Folds doing an album devoid of melody, of songs. Not that Volume 1 is unlistenable, mind you - just be forewarned that this is not a Ben Folds Five record.
There is none of the lighthearted, AM-radio reference-heavy pop prevalent on Folds' previous three albums, nor anything resembling the subdued balladry of "Fair" or "Brick."
Volume 1 is, however, very much a product of Folds' fevered musical mind, even if it's not technically a release under his name. The official line explaining it to the public and press is "a collection of instrumental and spoken word songs from Ben Folds."
More to the point, it's a solo side project of compositions and improvisations, captured on tape wherever and whenever the piano banger found a studio and the time when he wasn't touring with his band. He basically made most of this up as he went along, laying down tracks and playing a lot of guitar, drums and synthesizer sounds. With regular BFF producer Caleb Southern and John Mark Painter (of Fleming and John) to co-produce his noodlings, Folds set out to subvert the three-minute pop formula - and actually succeeded in making something you can listen to more than once. Maybe not much more, but...
"Fear of Pop" opens the disc with an edgy spoken vocal that builds to a paranoid scream as guitars and drums squall for attention, high up in the mix. Folds' playing here isn't bad at all, a revelation for a guy who plays without a guitarist the rest of the time.
"Slow Jam '98" is one of a few tracks that layer rap beats with synthesized moods. "I Paid My Money" lays down confused anger.
"Rubber Sled" begins with a comic vignette set in a junk shop, with a dialogue intro: a guy looking for a bike and the crusty old backwoods shop owner offering, free, a rubber sled to the protagonist - who then takes off into an instrumental frenzy of adventure and excitement and meets with applause, screaming "Rubber Sled!" "Rubber Sled!" all the while.
I am not making this up.
This one-man show has a wealth of interesting production ideas, like a nice choral effect built from vocal overdubs, and a gleeful mania that could all conceivably make its way on any full-band release. The musical noodlings he explores here are more suited to a one-off night at New York City's Knitting Factory - or being played on the P.A. at a Combustible Edison show - than as a followup to "Whatever and Ever Amen."
