The Five had disbanded a year earlier (though you could tell on their last album they were getting bored) so fans anxiously awaited Ben’s grand statement of independence. In its place we got Rockin’ The Suburbs, an album full of tracks that could well have been recorded by the band. Tellingly, he plays the bulk of the instruments, including drums, distorto bass and some guitar.
If there was anything new in his approach since the band stopped, it was a preponderance of songs written in the third person starting from the titles. “Annie Waits” is a lonely spinster of the “Eleanor Rigby”/“Another Day” school, but “Zak And Sara” takes a wacky trip in time to predict the musical horrors that will follow. The first great song comes in “Still Fighting It”, an imagined conversation between father and son that remains both effective and futile. “Gone” is another rousing kiss-off to a former paramour. “Fred Jones Part 2” is an amazingly touching portrait of a reluctant retiree, and fans would have recognized this particular character from a song on Whatever And Ever Amen. The flipside comes on “The Ascent Of Stan”, a look at a person who hasn’t aged as gracefully.
With each track his musical depth grows and grows, as evidenced on “Losing Lisa”, a remarkably insightful glimpse at the end of a relationship that’s eclipsed by the song that follows. “Carrying Cathy” takes a couple of verses to paint a picture of a somewhat needy person, before detouring into an impressionistic bridge colored by just enough strings over a wordless chorus. The song expertly drops out to accompany a vivid image of people “carrying a box through the rain”, fulfilling the threat of the song’s title. Then it’s a trip (pun intended) to the aftermath of a party in “Not The Same”, which would provide some of the world’s better audience participation over the years. The title track nicely skewers the current state of white rap, and we’d like to think it’s one reason why Fred Durst doesn’t sell anymore. “Fired” is an odd one; it appears to be a rant from an angry boss, but ends as if it was merely an excuse to write a song based around the final twelve-letter obscenity. But in keeping with his M.O., he gives the last word to tenderness in “The Luckiest”, a wedding song for the 21st century.
Arguably, the best songs on Rockin’ The Suburbs are the depressing ones, much to the dismay of those who liked the funny ones better. He gave himself a tough line to walk, stuck between the role of a compelling songwriter with a musical comedian. But as ever, no matter what his songs make you think, they also tap your toes.
Ben Folds Rockin’ The Suburbs (2001)—3½
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