New Ben Folds Album NOT About Ben Folds!

I had all but given up on Ben Folds. I came to expect Ben seeking to treat fans to Ultimate Repackaging of the same handfuls of hits (through symphonies, college acapella groups, etc.), while letting his own new creative work trickle out-- through unfortunately banal collections as "Back to Normal" and "Songs for Silverman." A few chestnuts reside on each, but neither album had more than a few examples of Ben working hard: the words, it seems, MUST be truly personal, for Ben to be able to even think of an appropriate chord structure and melody, matching the similarly-valuable message.

I don't fault Ben for this-- my own songwriting career feels plagued by the same reluctance to 'get into the hard stuff' of life, tending towards the goofy and the general over the personal and confessional. Three divorces, kids, and a big relocation to Australia, and Ben still hadn't achieved a lyrical ability to speak generally, honestly, and without tongue in cheek, about his life-- in the same way that one of his obvious heroes, Randy Newman, achieved in the early 1970s, certainly within his first three albums. I wish Ben would have challenged himself to some different extent over this near-decade of ego: perhaps covering Newman's "It's Money I Love" over arranging "Brick" for perennial symphony, acapella and solo piano engagements. Because the message would have been the same.

This is why his best album was still (until recently, perhaps) the final effort by Ben Folds Five, "The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner." Running with liberties made of his seizing another's identity (that of the name and photo found on Folds' adolescent fake ID), those songs held an intrinsic connection between words and the music that was somehow more earnest, forthright.

All those days are over now for Ben: with "Lonely Avenue," he's become as empowered as Elton John, and as separate from the meaning of his songs. His Bernie Taupin is Nick Hornsby, and the lyricist and Ben have done a yeoman's job of delineating their relationship, and the evolution of such, via Facebook, Myspace, Twitter, and all manner of New Media. It's all very lovely, and worth your reading.

What this means for this music is that Ben is relieved of half of his duties, and that's not a bad thing. The first song, "A Working Day," is Ben at his best, and most clear, at the helm of everything in the studio: if Stevie Wonder set the bar back in the day, for performing all instruments in the multi-track environment, Ben uses "Lonely Avenue" to explore his own abilities to literally build in his own drum fills, making every choice imaginable-- except the lyrics. That whole collaboration with William Shatner, with Captain Kirk reading his poetry and Ben jamming out doesn't count in this genre-- that was spoken word, and weird performance, and "Lonely Avenue" is seeking (again) the pop song, with attach-yourself-to-'em lyrics.

And those are good, too-- most notably, "Levi Johnston's Blues" and "Claire's Ninth." Whether or not "Lonely Avenue" reaches heights of piano-power-pop set by songs like Elton John/Bernie Taupin's "Tiny Dancer," or even achieves standards set by Ben himself decades ago ("Alice Childress," "Eddie Walker") remains to be seen: I need more listening time. I hope to find the same reasons to pound the dash and sing loud while driving, as found back in the day myself. At the very least: props to Ben for trying something new.

Gandalf Murphy Opens Tupelo Music Hall!

The new Tupelo Music Hall is not located in Slambovia, but White River Junction-- though Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams was happy to "launch the maiden voyage" of the new small-scale, upscale venue over two easy-ridin' sets, to a sold-out crowd. Frontman Joziah Longo took a poll after the first song, and was surprised to find that half of the crowd were Slambovian virgins. Mentioning their old stomping ground, the defunct Middle Earth Music Hall in Bradford, the band may have been expecting a reunion with crowds from those days: they had prepared songs from their earliest studio albums, to present alongside new material.

This didn't matter, though. Joziah and company have become Masters of their Craft, to the extent that any song, it seemed, was do-able, even the Van Morrison number "She Gives Me Religion," dedicated to an about-to-be-married couple in the fifth row (Joziah noted how this and other "sissy" songs were all too useful on the folk festival scene-- their 'live bootleg' from Falcon Ridge in 2009, among other recordings, was available in the lobby). "We wanted to come up and visit y'all," said Joziah, "but we didn't have a place to play." Until now. By the close of the show, Tink, the band's talented instrumentalist and vocalist, suggested (to the roar of the crowd) the Slambovians return to Tupelo for a Christmas show. They closed the show with one of their best inventions, taken from that holiday catalog: "Angels We Have Heard On High," breaking into a Doors-style "G-L-O-R-I-A" chorus, as triumphant as any other joyful noise I've heard.

Gandalf Murphy's strength lies in their variety: introducing one song as being a mix of Syd Barrett, the Moody Blues and Jose Feliciano, their embrace of post-psychedelic ideals through country, folk and rock idioms makes sense (and, as they'll be traveling to London this fall, money). Many tunes sounded like they were written by a less-formal Tom Petty, or was the result of long consultation with the powerless late pop of Paul McCartney-- "Let Me Roll It" would be an excellent cover for the Circus. Gandalf Murphy stuck to the basics, however, pulling two songs from their recent Dylan tribute album, including a remarkable "Positively 4th Street," a "singalong" for the crowd. This sounded far more like Bob's 1975 Rolling Thunder Review over The Basement Tapes, and though the crowd didn't likely know much more than the line "Johnny's in the basement/mixing up the medicine," lead electric player Shark took the opportunity to shine. Through the show, he wailed away on a number of guitars, never trusting sustained feedback-driven notes over his own noodling choices: his licks were quality, thoughtful, sounding as though they belonged on a mid-1970s Dick's Picks. He used a slide on everything, including his phasered-out electric mandolin. The setlist was fluid; the sitar was onstage, but went unused. At one point I wondered how much Aerosmith Shark knows by heart, while more often I imagined his work in a New Riders of the Purple Sage: hiding out among a Nashville groove, picking away, doing on electric guitar what pedal steels can't.

Tupelo could have made easier opening-night choices; the crew owner Scott Hayward assembled obviously doesn't shy away from challenges in microphonics and amplification. Besides singing, Tink played viola, accordions, a glockenspiel, a baritone uke and a few other interesting instruments. Only a truly proficient sound crew could attenuate the room's spankin' new Meyer M series sound system to adequately differentiate between the massive kick drum (18" at least) and Joziah's habit of pulling bass notes out of the last string on his acoustic, while Shark took the lead. In a heavier song (more Deep Purple, less folk) called "Genius" they teased "Voodoo Chile" and Lennon's "I Am The Walrus," before resorting back to more-typically-structured songs, built of simple, complicating shuffles.

In all, the first show at Tupelo Music Hall in White River Junction may serve as proof positive, confirming suspicions: it really is BYOB, it really is classy enough to welcome all manner of New England concert patrons.And, most importantly, Tupelo's crew won't allow anything to go wrong during a performance. The sound of a Circus is fantastic.