Ben Folds

Super D

(Attacked by Plastic)

Ben Folds’ newest solo project makes one nostalgic for whiny rants against ex-girlfriends, depressing abortion anthems and quirky pop songs—the kind of things that made 1997’s Whatever and Ever Amen such a landmark for angst-ridden but grunge-free teenagers. Ben Folds is best appreciated for his catchy tunes, bitter and sexually frustrated lyrics and creative piano melodies, but the five songs of Super D possess few to none of these qualities. This disappointing disc follows Speed Graphic and Sunny 16 as the third in a trilogy of forgettable releases from the past year and a half.

Folds played a fantastic concert last summer with Rufus Wainwright and Guster in New York’s Central Park. The singer-songwriter consistently engaged his audience from behind the keys, at times conducting them to hum the orchestral parts missing during his performances of old Five songs. But there’s nothing engaging, and certainly nothing to sing along with, on Super D, which only includes three Folds originals. Instead, the ever-innovative pianist tries his hands at addressing the demand for a metal piano arrangement of the Darkness’s “Get Your Hands Off of My Woman,” and, in the album’s only highlight, nails a cover of Ray Charles’s “Them That Got,” recorded live at Boston’s Avalon. On the track, Folds addresses the incomplete nature of the song but leaves the listener wishing he might also explain the overall incompleteness of this CD.

The original material is nothing short of embarrassing, reaching its nadir in an overly-long sequence of “Adelaide” that draws new meaning to the phrase “musical masturbation” as it alternates between depressing piano solos and composed moments of Folds panting. Even the most devout fans of Folds should pass up this disc and wait for the dork-chic piano man to offer up something more substantive. Those who purchase the EP will forget its melodies and instead find themselves singing along with Whatever’s “Song for the Dumped”: “Give me my money back, you bitch.”

– Kristina M. Moore

Hem

Eveningland

(Rounder Records)

This second release from orchestral octet Hem was recorded in New York City and Slovakia—very far from the southern home of the “countrypolitan” sound that they try to channel. Judging from this bloodless collection of songs, the northward sonic transplant did not take.

Case in point is their cover of Johnny and June Carter Cash’s “Jackson.” The original duet was no lyrical masterpiece but instead drew its charm from the interplay of the couple. Here it is effectively gutted by their removal of the male voice, stripping the tune of its original charisma and replacing it with vocalist Sally Ellyson’s somnambulant, though urbane, croon. Here and elsewhere on the album, her voice lacks any of the smoke or hue that lends distinction to good country singing. As a result, the album drifts by affably and forgettably. None of this is helped by the excessively and almost comically maudlin lyrics, as in “Receiver,” with its chorus of “I will always love you like I do.” Celine Dion might beg for something edgier.

The disc could have easily been a lighter and more pleasant affair had the band not taken such a deeply self-serious attitude. Somewhere in between listing their songs alphabetically rather than in track order on the front cover and recording with the Slovak Radio Orchestra, they forgot to endow their music with any sign of levity or vivacity. The end result is a 53-minute lull, as sleep-inducing and unpalatable as warm milk.

—Eric Fritz