Whatever And Ever Amen, Ben Folds Five

If “Kate” and the other slices of perfection on the follow-up Whatever and Ever Amen are any indication, Folds, now 30, hasn’t exactly mellowed. An “Ob-La-Di”-style circus march, “Kate” rhapsodizes over a girl who “plays ‘Wipeout’ on the drums” and is so magical that “you can see daisies in her footsteps.” The chorus – “I wanna be Kate,” shouted with aerobics-class zeal – is followed by a schmaltzy interlude that’s either good Liberace or bad Gershwin. Just when it seems that Folds has fallen headfirst into rococoland, along comes redemption in the form of a Beatlesque “oh-la-la” vocal chorale. By the time it’s over, “Kate” isn’t about a girl, it’s a shrine to all the pop classics ever inspired by a girl.

That’s what makes Folds so interesting: He can serve the history straight or give it a postmodern double-meaning twist, devote himself to pathos-filled Rachmaninoff arpeggios or crank up a sassy “Honky Cat” boogaloo without sounding like he’s reaching. The fast-maturing Folds has written another batch of sweet songs and supports each with disciplined, downright patient arrangements. After a while, it’s easy to hear why Counting Crows’ Adam Duritz, in a rare endorsement, sings about having “Ben Folds on my radio.” This is about as close to bliss as the radio gets.

—Tom Moon, Rolling Stone, Mar 17, 1997

(see my take on it over here)

“Great rock & roll is often cinematic, creating worlds that listeners can enter, sonic moments that they can live in. What is most impressive about August and Everything After, the debut album from the Bay area quintet Counting Crows, is how many such moments there are. August reveals a restless, confident band of songwriters who are steeped in the rock tradition yet anxious to extend it. It’s easy to hear the group’s influences – the Americana-drenched imagery and multi-instrumental explorations of the Band (“Omaha”); the entrancing soulfulness of Van Morrison (“Mr. Jones”); the lonesome Joshua Tree-era U2 (“Ghost Train”); the rootsy rock of John Mellencamp (“Rain King”) – but it’s much harder to specify the place from which music like this comes. And while the songs are almost always about individuals left wanting and lost, it is equally difficult to pigeonhole the Counting Crows’ sound. On the opener, “Round Here,” a Hammond B-3 whispers as an electric guitar plays an ambiguous melody. On top, Adam Duritz sings what amounts to a credo for the entire record: “Step out the front door like a ghost/Into the fog where no one notices/The contrast of white on white/And in between the moon and you/The angels get a better view/Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.” In relating the ensuing tale of disintegration, guilt and regret, he sounds like a bewildered storyteller, vulnerable to forces he cannot understand.” —Thom Jurek, Oct 28, 1993 (via August And Everything After : Counting Crows : Review : Rolling Stone) This is one of those albums I consistently return to. Sometimes, I’m not even embarrassed by this fact!

“Great rock & roll is often cinematic, creating worlds that listeners can enter, sonic moments that they can live in. What is most impressive about August and Everything After, the debut album from the Bay area quintet Counting Crows, is how many such moments there are.

August reveals a restless, confident band of songwriters who are steeped in the rock tradition yet anxious to extend it. It’s easy to hear the group’s influences – the Americana-drenched imagery and multi-instrumental explorations of the Band (“Omaha”); the entrancing soulfulness of Van Morrison (“Mr. Jones”); the lonesome Joshua Tree-era U2 (“Ghost Train”); the rootsy rock of John Mellencamp (“Rain King”) – but it’s much harder to specify the place from which music like this comes. And while the songs are almost always about individuals left wanting and lost, it is equally difficult to pigeonhole the Counting Crows’ sound.

On the opener, “Round Here,” a Hammond B-3 whispers as an electric guitar plays an ambiguous melody. On top, Adam Duritz sings what amounts to a credo for the entire record: “Step out the front door like a ghost/Into the fog where no one notices/The contrast of white on white/And in between the moon and you/The angels get a better view/Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.” In relating the ensuing tale of disintegration, guilt and regret, he sounds like a bewildered storyteller, vulnerable to forces he cannot understand.”

—Thom Jurek, Oct 28, 1993

(via August And Everything After : Counting Crows : Review : Rolling Stone)

This is one of those albums I consistently return to. Sometimes, I’m not even embarrassed by this fact!