NRO Weekend, Thanksgiving 2000
Bass, Drums, Piano
Mourning the passing of Ben Folds Five.

By Ben Domenech, NRO contributing editor---------btdome@wm.edu

he announcement came at the beginning of November, but true fans of the band Ben Folds Five had been expecting a break-up for some time, and hoping against hope that it wouldn't come. It's an amicable parting — drummer Darren Jessee, bassist Robert Sledge, and pianist Ben Folds go their separate ways more for geographic issues than anything else — but one that marks the end of one of the most unique, interesting, and talented musical acts of the past decade.

The three friends have come a long way from their hometown of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Indeed, Jessee has been performing solo gigs in New York since he moved to the city a couple years ago, and Sledge has been touring with Tom Maxwell and The Minor Drag. Folds, the leader of the group, took an Australian bride named Frally two years ago, moved Down Under, and now plays dad to some beautiful one-year-old twins.

It wasn't just geographic distance that led Ben Folds Five to call it quits; it was musical distance. Among BFF's cult-like following, rumors flew that the band members felt they had done everything they could do together as a band. It could be that they were right — that the trio had truly reached the peak of their musical powers; that "Brick" was a flash of success, not the first of many big crossover hits, heralding more to come; and that three studio albums, one collection of rare tracks, and countless concert bootlegs really did encompass the limit of their skills.

We may never know, unfortunately, if they were wrong. But we can try.

First off, let's explain that name. According to an interview Folds gave near the beginning of their career, Ben Folds Five settled on its numerically deceptive moniker because it "sounds better than Ben Folds Three." Yes, it's really that simple, folks.

Second, let's figure out who these guys are, and why we should care about them.

Ben Folds was born in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. The son of a carpenter, Folds graduated high school in the mid '80s, and then took off, writing songs and drifting from city to city (jumping continents once or twice) before landing in Nashville in the early '90s. Folds' eccentric songwriting and piano-based nerd-rock style wasn't exactly in vogue among the producers and managers of the city, and it wasn't until he'd settled in Chapel Hill and cut a demo track with bassist Sledge and drummer Jessee that the trio attracted the attention of Caroline Records.

The three shared similar backgrounds, indie music credentials, and marked affinities for ballads over pop hits. Their 1995 eponymous debut record was many things that a hit record in the '90s was not supposed to be: Ben Folds Five was guitarless, for starters. They were also melody driven (as opposed to the hooks and riffs of standard pop). They had a penchant for referencing a myriad of alt-rock genres and sensibilities, and you get the sense that they were a little too smart for their own good. All in all, though, the record was stylistically impressive, full of alternately joyful, somber, witty and whimsical tunes. The members of Ben Folds Five were suddenly the captains of coy post-modern power pop, even turning in a breakthrough single with the deadly funny "Underground." Overnight, shy high-school girls were wearing T-shirts with the Folds' lyrics:

I was never cool in school
I'm sure you don't remember me
And now it's been 10 years
I'm still wondering who to be
But I'd love to mix
In circles, cliques, and social coteries - that's me
Hand me my nose ring! (Can we be happy?)
Show me the mosh pit! (Can we be happy?)
We can be happy underground

Folds managed to skewer and honor the pretentiously hip indie roots from which he hailed, and all with a lopsidedly goofy grin. It's a gorgeous thing to witness. But even more excellent were the small moments encapsulated in that first album — lambasting the ideological certitude of "Philosophy," the factory workers of "Jackson Cannery," the girl who "looked like Axl Rose" in "Julianne" — Ben Folds Five was fun nerd rock at its finest, or, as they put it, "punk for sissies."

The most beautiful song on the album, though, was a slow footnote at the end: "Boxing," a waltz-like ballad that Tom Waits might've written. With a sad, heartbreakingly good-natured melody, it tells the story of a mythical meeting of giants, Muhammed Ali and Howard Cosell:

Howard, the strangest thing has happened lately
When I take a good swing and all my dreams
They pivot and slip I drop my fists and they're back . . .
Boxing's been good to me, Howard

After the commercial success of their first album, suddenly all the major labels were locked in a bidding war over this young band. It was the kind of reaction that songwriters fantasize about — eventually, Folds and the others decided on Sony. In 1997, they released their sophomore effort, Whatever and Ever Amen, and embarked on a continuing (and strenuous) touring schedule. The critics and fans loved it, and the album met with even greater commercial success than their previous work. "Kate," "Battle of Who Could Care Less," and "Song for the Dumped" were all hits, ingrained with the kind of amiable sarcasm that had already become BFF's callsign. Nothing compared, however, to "Brick." It was their "one little hit," according to Folds, but it ranks as one of the most recognizable songs of the '90s, a melodically haunting pop poem for the masses. The subject matter, on closer examination of the lyrics, is clear. It's sung as a minor tragedy in a small town, and might be closer to Folds' heart than he cares to admit. It's a song about abortion.

Up the stairs to her apartment
She is balled up on the couch
Mom and Dad went down to Charlotte
They're not home to find us out
They call her name at 7:30
I pace around the parking lot . . .
Can't you see it's not me you're dying for?  

"Brick" goes on to tell the story of a boy taking his girlfriend to a clinic on the day after Christmas, and the immediate aftermath of their decision.

As weeks went by, it showed that she was not fine
They told me: son, it's time to tell the truth
She broke down, and I broke down
Cause I was tired of lying  

It's a tearjerker once you understand it, a pop tune that has the ability to move you in ways most people though pop songs couldn't, or shouldn't. And maybe Ben Folds Five wasn't immune to that sentiment. After succeeding in the guitar-drenched charts with the single, BFF took a respite from their recording, instead releasing a compilation of live tracks and rarities called Naked Baby Photos. It's a great display of the band's live talent (though seeing Folds destroy a piano is a sight worth any $20 ticket), with such brief spiritual audience pleasers as "Satan is My Master," an "old gospel tune" that consists of only four lines, in total:

Satan is my master
He has always been
He tells me what to do
He buys Metallica records for me.  

On the stage, Folds' tongue-in-cheek lyrics become over-the-top escapades, with lights, sounds, and action. The band's been known to do extensive Flaming Lips' cover sessions, and produce some ludicrous pyrotechnic backdrops to their (as they're prone to shout) "Heavy Metal stylings, people!"

After taking a break from touring, BFF released The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner; for those of you that aren't climbing buffs, that's the climber who holds the dubious distinction of being among the first to claim a Yeti sighting. There were airwave hits on this one, too: "Army," where a Chic-fil-A worker thinks about joining up; "Don't Change Your Plans," about a geographically sparked breakup; and "Lullabye," a quirkily sweet song about moonlight, airplanes, and James Earl Jones.

As a whole, Messner is a more subdued record; Folds still sang of loneliness, and his ballads were still crammed with hearty sarcasm, but now it was with the heart of a star, looking back, not an up-and-coming indie musician. They weren't going to cop out and churn out three-and-a-half-minute pop songs, but they weren't that interested in what they were doing. Ben Folds Five had made it, big time; and after all the critical acclaim, the comparisons to Randy Newman and early Billy Joel, they were left wondering if there was anywhere else to go. In the press release announcing the breakup, Folds claimed that this was the band's way of avoiding "making the inevitable fourth, 'sell out' album." He said that all the band members are still friends, will still pursue their own individual projects, and might even work together again. A reunion, though, still won't bring the kind of energy and cynical enthusiasm that dominated their earlier work.

Regardless of whether or not this is all Ben Folds Five has to offer us, one thing is sure: they gave it their all. Touring, recording, and producing music that is already considered influential and intelligent, the trio used their gifts to leave us with a catalogue of songs that, while small, is wondrous to behold. At the end of BFF's all-too-short career, perhaps the words of a song from their second album, the whimsically poignant "Evaporated," are the most appropriate:

Here I stand, sad and free
I can't cry and I can't see
I poured my heart out, and…
It evaporated.

We're thankful for what we have, Ben Folds Five. Bring us more, if you can.