I love Ben Folds. People close to me know how deep my affection for the man and his music runs. And Lonely Avenue is no acception.
His upcoming work, a collaboration with English novelist Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, About a Boy), Lonely 
Avenue, may not be in his own words (Hornby provided those), but Folds has a unique way of telling a story through his cadence. Poppy yet classic, smooth and sound, Folds voice carries the lyrics to a new height. In the past, listeners could enjoy “The Secret Life of Morgan Davis,” a campy showtune about a drug using elderly man who sneaks out at night to paint the town red, right before “Fred Jones Pt 2,” a slow, moving tale of a man who has been fazed out of his long-term job. It’s these extremes that make Folds who he is. He’s not just the guy who sings “Brick.” He’s so much more than that, and he’s shown that on Lonely Avenue.
But Folds couldn’t achieve this level of success on LA without Hornby, of course. Hornby’s lyrics are detailed, drawing the listener a picture of an awkward situation in a world that isn’t too unlike from their own. It’s in these awkward moments that Hornby thrives. Capturing the silent conversations, the telling glances from across the room, Hornby provides the base for Folds to create the picture, to paint the lyrics with the ebb and flow of his voice.
In “Claire’s Ninth,” the listener doesn’t quit know what to expect. The upbeat tone of the piano tells them it’s an upbeat song. The simplicity of the words and the tone imply it’s a child. Despite these two summations, the underlying story is what’s really important.
“Here’s the cheque/
They pay with two cards like they’ve never met/
Goodbyes outside; it’s cold in LA”
A child torn in divorce. Two parents that can barely stand each other yet try to make it work for the child’s sake – not realizing all the while she wanted two birthdays anyway.
In “Belinda,” Folds sings about adultery and breaking up. The lyrics are slightly abstract, the way they might appear in someone’s mind. Fragmented, the words describe a chance meeting on a plane with a woman. The lyrics are simple and provoking in such a way that you can hear the conversation taking place:
“I met somebody younger on a plane/
She had big breasts/
A nice smile/
No kids either/
She gave me complimentary champagne”
The work as a whole is great. I can’t fault Folds for not writing the words because, well, that’s the way it was supposed to go. And though I’m happy with the end result of Lonely Avenue, I’ll still be waiting for another Folds solo album.
That Music Writer Girl 