Throughout recent history, musicians have occasionally tried to be funny and comedians have, about as often, tried to be musical. Aside from the early work of "Weird Al" Yankovic and the late Sam Kinison's occasional forays at the piano, these experiments have almost always ended in failure.
That said, it's sad to see Ben Folds' stock drop with every release. Ben Folds Five, his trio's debut, exhibited a flair for stunning songwriting and piano pyro with just the right dose of wry humor. The follow-up, Whatever and Ever Amen, didn't totally disappoint, but relied heavily on ballads and lacked the melodic sparkle of the original. A B-sides/rarities comp, Naked Baby Photos … well, the joke started getting old. And now this.
Fear Of Pop is billed as an experimental/spoken-word project (a worrisome prospect from almost anyone). But it's hard to experiment when you have no new ideas, and worse yet, resort to iffy comedy bits. Ben has four schticks: whiny little white guy does screeching metal ("Fear Of Pop"), whiny little white guy does hip-hop bluster (comes and goes through the whole disc), fake-o easy-listening ("Slow Jam '98", "Interlude"), and Hick ("Rubber Sled"). While they may have been good for a chuckle on Naked Baby Photos, they certainly add no magic here. "Rubber Sled" does earn points with this reviewer for the use of the phrase "faster than a three-peckered owl," but come on!
"In Love," the featured cut, somehow manages to make William Shatner, an inherently ridiculous individual, not funny. "I Paid My Money" is simply horrible. And it goes on. That the creator of such airtight tunes as "Philosophy" and "Best Imitation Of Myself" has stooped to such tomfoolery smacks of a cynical attempt to wring the last few bucks out of the hardcore fans before their interest fades and Ben Folds Five discs litter used bins like spent beer bottles in a dumpster. Play us a song, piano man.
--Lane Hewitt