Fear of Pop
Volume 1 (Sony 68809)

It is baffling to imagine Ben Folds approaching Robert Sledge and Darren Jessee (the rest of Ben Folds Five) with his desire to make a "funk" record. BFF were already pushing the geek envelope to begin with, but a supposed funk record by three skinny, whiny white guys might have completely alienated their fanbase and worn out the "geek rock" joke once and for all. So Ben Folds set off on his own, under the pseudonym of "Fear Of Pop."

Some of you are wincing already, understandably. But in my opinion, this record was actually moderately entertaining, and certainly more of a success than something like Midnite Vultures by Beck, which to my ears sounded more like an ultra-post-postmodern "nonironic" ironic stab at black music (in the process, sounding labored and smileless).

Ben's too much of a nerd to not fully throw himself into the music, for better or worse. The first song (the title track, co-written by Folds and longtime producer Caleb Southern) has a great chorus driven by a robotized bassline and Folds screaming "FEAR OF POP!" at the top of his lungs. Like Folds's hairline, the track wears thin (a recurring drawback to this album), but just as the track seems to calm down, Folds offers this: "You're free to run … BUT HERE'S A HOOK!" before zipping back into the chorus.

"Kops" is a funky song that's supposed to be some sort of musical car chase (or cop TV show theme). Fairly interesting, but WAY too long. "Slow Jam '98" evokes new age pianist George Winston and the theme to "Chrono Trigger." To my ears, anyway. Perhaps I need to get out more often.

There is a bit of a masterpiece here in "In Love," a slow, dreamy song with vocals by William Shatner. This is probably the collaboration that spawned the idea for those ubiquitous Priceline commercials (some of which featured Folds on piano or percussion), but all is forgiven after hearing Shatner's "portrayal" of the narcissistic, insensitive narrator of this song.

Folds sings a sweet melody under the verses of the song, while Shatner lays out the tale – boy meets girl, boy uses girl for sex, boy gets sick of girl talking about her problems but is drawn in nonetheless, boy starts to develop feelings but hides them under a veneer of masculinity, boy breaks up with girl to avoid her getting too close to him and deflects her pleas with malice – "You're right! I can't commit … TO YOU!" Very enjoyable, even if the whole "William Shatner makes music" joke is well beyond tired by now.

"Avery M. Powers Memorial Beltway" shuffles along with some nice doo-wop vocal harmonies, which Folds later tried to replicate with little success on "Regrets," a godawful track on the bloated The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner. "I Paid My Money" is a song about a crotchety guy who sits through an entire movie even though it's terrible and everyone else is leaving. It features the least soulful exclamation of the words "funky bass!" possible (except, perhaps, were I myself moved to make the same exclamation).

"Rubber Sled" is hilarious – a conversation between a old store clerk (portrayed by Folds) and a young, panicked customer leads into a bizarre, loping jam, then an arena rock section with a wankerish guitar solo and keyboard interlude with those "orchestral hit" noises, capped off by a James Brown-style thundering coda, with female gospel vocals for good measure. The kitchen sink kitsch actually works on this.

"Root To This" isn't really interesting, per se, but it isn't a total waste of time, either (the sample near the end of Shatner saying "You will never know me!" always makes me smile). End the CD with a brief reprise of the Shatner song, and we're done.

The replay value on this one isn't high, as you might imagine, but it's an interesting diversion nonetheless (particularly for sad sack BFF fanatics like myself). This probably would have worked better as an EP with less filler ("Interlude" and "Blink" merely pad out the running time) and shorter songs.

I'm probably the worse for not listening to actual black music (they did stop calling it "race music" recently, right?), but I have no problem leaving the funkin' to Folds, while I shake my pasty, Chrono Trigger-lovin' ass. Huh?!

Loud Bassoon rating scale

Review by POW