Ben Folds Five
Whatever And Ever Amen

THE REVIEW

Ode to the idiot.

Give me my money back, bitch, I'm tired of doing the dirty work for you. Above all, don't forget my beloved and flatulent black t-shirt, companion of 1000 nervous breakdowns. You must be happy now, that we've reached the point of irreversible rupture; on the doormat outside the front door, my damn name was written for the use and enjoyment of your loving little feet: and now what remains? Nothing, an emptiness in my stomach and a bulimic hatred towards everything you represented. A poor Christ still on the cross, that's what I am. To think it would have been fun to be Kate for a day... But now it's past, and the past doesn't return. Unless you're Sting at 55, you call Copeland and Andy Summers; and you decide to go on tour after decades: Mr. Ben Folds has a complicated liaison with the Universofemmina, and he's not alone. That's why a mature modern male in sexual withdrawal prefers oral relations with a rubber doll. Always sweet, available, and, naturally, silently off-limits. It doesn't have a soul, but when I found you, a filly riding a porn stallion, did you have one?! And Francesca Lodo, does she have a soul? Sigh. Wretched me. Twenty years of proud feminism ended begging in a 'Sex and the city' embrace.

Mathematics is not an opinion (I prefer Jessica Biel).

Mr. Ben Folds has 4 imaginary friends (actually two) to share a true passion for the most noble pop, vocal harmonies of brianwilsonian memory, and a rhythmic and wild approach to the piano that recalls both the luciferian Jerry Lee Lewis and the young Elton of the early '70s, devoid of options like the wild hairpiece provided by Cesare Ragazzi. Ben decides to call the trio 'Ben Folds Five', and to hell with the 'Fab Four'... It will always be amen anyway. A fantastic amen. Liberating. Sincere. Twilight like the sunset of a relationship torn to pieces. The intro of 'Whatever and Ever Amen' is striking: 'One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces' is a sort of programmatic manifesto of Ben Folds' best intentions; piano stomped by the leader, frenetic drums by Darren Jessee and the vehement, growling bass by Robert Sledge. 'Fair' travels through time between the late '60s spring breeze of Bacharach and the joyous melancholy of the Beach Boys. It almost seems to want to take us for a stroll on the set of 'Buttati Bernardo!' to live the naive and technicolor story of the protagonist. 'Brick' is a suspended ballad, soft, with a killer chorus from Ours.. Everything is more subdued, intimate but damn informative of a dormant but alive feeling; not yet defeated by the ugliness of a bastard life's. 3 songs, 3 knockout blows. If it weren't for the arrival of the gender war of 'Song for the Dumped', mentioned in the opening, the extraordinary 'Selfless, Cold and Composed' (the romantic cynicism of Randy Newman meeting a '90s loser attitude Billy Joel..), the disarming smile of 'Kate', the elegy of 'Smoke' fading into the nighttime lullaby in 'Cigarette' and the futile battle of those who have already lost, maybe a love snatched by the hair... And between the doo-wop cabaret of 'Steven's Last Night in Town' and the post-Beatlesian 'Missing the War' creeps the suspicion that a page of our book is closed forever. 'Evaporated'. And ever amen. Because life is like a bin full of shit (until you empty it). It stinks. Worse than the garbage in Campania.