Ben Folds - Way to Normal (Album)
Despite being frustrating and interminable traits in our co-workers, family and friends, we idolise emotional stuntedness and in our pop-stars, especially when coupled with an undue confessional candour. In this regard Ben Folds is the platonic ideal, having cryogenically preserved the sarcasm and subversiveness of his twenties for use well into his forties. Having effectively painted himself into a caricature Folds, now into his seventh studio album (eight if you count this years ‘leaked’ internet release), is trying to find his Way To Normal and getting more than a little lost along the way.
Pathos and self-depracation is Ben Folds stock in trade and his new album unfolds like a greek tragedy, beginning with the fall of the hero (from a stage in Hiroshima) and ending with the dissolution of all he’s loved and lost. The albums narrative never really attains a sense of resolution however and Folds’ wry humor is evidenced throughout but, more so than his other solo albums, is revealed as a not-particularly-effective coping strategy for lifes unexpected prat-falls. Even without the knowledge of the artists personal upheaval of the last couple of years (Google it –I’m not a gossip monger), Way to Normal suggests intractable passive-aggression that quickly turns from humorous to distasteful. Moreover Folds seems uncomfortable owning up to his own internal dialogue and when he shudders “you don’t want to see what’s in my head” on ‘Hiroshima’ I get the impression he’s only half kidding. In fact Bitch Went Nuts, the albums vitriolic torch song, left me wondering if Folds himself can distinguish between irony and what he’s really thinking or feeling.
Nevertheless Folds is a consummate pop songwriter and Way to Normal possesses with the catchy hooks and devastatingly effective lyrical poignancy. Folds duet with Regina Spektor – You Don’t Know Me – is a highlight as is the morose ode from a tour bus Cologne. Unfortunately you need to wade through some fairly unimpressive fists-on-the-piano power pop of the type Folds has been disgorging for over a decade. Despite a few concessions to more ‘contemporary’ sounds (synths, samples and casio keyboards) and some fairly ordinary string arrangements the album is, for better or worse, basically the same one that Folds has been recycling since his debut with the Five. Consequently the album is good for a bit of nostalgia and maybe even a little cheap therapy but is hamstrung by too much baggage and no new insight.
