The Wake

The last time I saw Ben Folds was in 1997 in Raleigh, North Carolina. He was still with Ben Folds Five, and Brick had flown up the charts of Modern Rock and Top 40 radio and their album Whatever and Ever Amen was consistently in my dinky five-disc boom box. Ben Folds Five rounded out a daylong festival, and one of my fondest memories is seeing Folds throw his stool at his piano at the end of their set.

Now, seven years later and halfway across the country, I made the trek down to Northfield, Minnesota to see Ben Folds play the Skoglund Gymnasium at St. Olaf College, hoping to relive some of the magic of that day.

I have little to say, especially for compliments, about the opening act, The Astronaut Pushers. The brother members of a group called The Vestals, they played folk songs on acoustic guitars that, while unusual and mildly clever, failed to be catchy in any way. One small group of students bounced through their set, either local fans or people too drunk to realize that the music didn’t warrant jumping. The security guard who was watching the front barrier described them as, “watered down Simon and Garfunkel.”

After a brief interlude, Folds came on stage. Folds embodies the idiom that rock stars are just normal people with extraordinary talent. Dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, he pulled everyday crap out of his pockets before taking his place in front the piano: keys, receipts, wallet, etc. He then commenced with the ass kicking. He is truly an everyman. The two men with whom he has recorded a set of three EPs, and is currently recording his second full-length solo album, joined him on bass guitar and drums.

I’m not going to lie. As big a fan of Ben Folds as I claim to be, what I really mean is that I am a fan of Whatever and Rockin’ the Suburbs, Fold’s first full-length solo album. The opening track and most of the songs played that night were from The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner, the Ben Folds Five album that followed the hit Whatever, and an album I never purchased. So while all of the “true fans,” were singing along to all of these songs, I stood idle, attempting to look as though I were carefully analyzing every aspect of the performance in order to write this article. Folds also played tracks from Rockin’, to which I jumped and sang along, from his recently released EPs, and from his upcoming full-length album. However, as the show went on, I realized that no songs from Whatever were on the play list. No “Song for the Dumped,” no “Evaporated.” These songs helped me in my troubled struggle through adolescence! I felt somehow forsaken.

Ben was magnificent nonetheless, a true entertainer. His disposition for story telling carries over to the live stage; he described the background for a number of songs, explaining that he was never creative enough to come up with a full story on his own. He also got the crowd involved, singing the trumpet part on “Army,” background vocals on “Not the Same,” and screaming “Fuck!” during “Rockin’ the Suburbs.” During a few songs, he took up a maraca in his left hand while playing piano with his right. He also took pictures of the audience during the course of the evening with a little 35mm camera.

My fulfillment arrived in the final song of the encore. Folds pounded his way through the opening track of Whatever, “One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces.” I had a sense of completion at the end of the show that I didn’t fully understand until I reflected on it later. In the years since I last saw Folds perform, he has become a father and husband. He has matured beyond talking about The Rockford Files and smoking weed in his music. I didn’t realize it until afterward, but Folds has grown up. His music, while perhaps less accessible, has continued to be a true embodiment of the man, without regard for what sells and what receives radio play. Have no fear, loyal fans! While growing older may have mollified Folds, let there be no doubt: he can still “rock this bitch.”