Ham on wry

Ben Folds v. Victor Borge; plus, the Fly Seville

by Michael Caito

The Fly Seville

One pianist is 90 years old and the other writes songs like he's lived through at least that many years of star-crossed relationships. So on consecutive nights last weekend there were comparisons screaming to be made and I'm certainly stupid enough to try.

Victor Borge is still great, and had the full PPAC crowd in his natty grey tuxedo pocket from the moment he slowly meandered onstage, waited and bowed for about 20 seconds, then let out a giant plume of held-in smoke and mumbled "Mexican food" into the mic. Later came the trademark slip off the piano stool, tales of overweight countrymen and a half-sibling head count joke that still works on a Saturday night in 1999. For his part Folds, of the superb pop trio Ben Folds Five, did his Cleese-esque silly walks, mock-serious patter with bassist Robert Sledge and his own trademark cruiserweight move . . . jabbing his stooltop into the keyboard at the end of a song whose chorus goes "Give me my money back you bitch." Didn't do much for global diplomacy, but nevertheless it remains a People's Elbow for nerd-rock-adoring fans.

For Folds is their emerging champeen just as much as Borge is the champion of bringing classical music in through the side delivery door to the clock-punching masses outside royal salons, and while the accompanist headcount found BFF heavily outmanned (by about 40 to two) both had material and verve enough to make their tales soar. In this regard for the regular Joe and Josie they perhaps shared the most similarity.

Borge's piano playing is often called amazingly under-respected, but at 90 I'm cool with a mere "under-respected" because he will still tackle technically demanding works among the numerous shticky incidents like miscounting piano keys (146 that night), badgering the concertmaster and gaffing up his sheet music. Borge's rightful claim to having maintained classical music's populist elegance with humor stands as a genuinely herculean accomplishment, one of the very few which can dwarf those of Sir Duke in scope. And sadly, at no time more than now does the world need a suave and funny gentleman like Borge to hop into a time machine and come out at age 30, rarin' to go. Sadly ironic was the fact that a young orchestra on the rise, such as the Philharmonic again revealed itself to be, has precious little opportunity to make noise beyond our tiniest state, in sharp contrast to Borge's intercontinental accolades. So there's my contribution to the State Quarter Debate. Sure, the players' likenesses will be really tiny crammed onto a coin, but their playing is anything but two-bit, and any state that puts its Philharmonic on its money (and vice versa) is a decent place to be.

But back to the post-slacker immediacy of BFF. In the time between undergrad years there and now every single band I've ever heard at Keaney sounded, well, like they were playing in a gym. Leave it to the Five to crush that streak, with Folds serving as serious biographer on a trek through the adventurous, mostly sad life of Reinhold off the brand-new The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner (Sony/550 Music). This character, purportedly based on some famous mountaineer, seemed on Sunday to be cut more from the cloth of Brad as played by Judge Reinhold back in the teen cult film Fast Times at Ridgemont High: a golden-hearted, dues-paying, soft-spoken Forces of Good guy continually outmaneuvered by the Forces of Evil. Songs like "Mess" and the set's tour-de- force, a splenetic "Army," took you through Reinhold's scenes of disappointment, chaos and inner doubt, feelings quite in synch with the work of the BFF's first two records. With the exception of "Army," the new single, Reinhold's tales, perhaps due to their newness, were delivered in a more straightforward manner than the by-now familiar efforts from the BFF debut and Whatever and Ever Amen. So a newcomer may, at first listen, have believed them to be veering towards introspection these days when they've actually never veered away from it. "Underground" was stellar, all hyperkinetic vocal exchanges. But "Brick" and efforts from Folds' recent and challenging Fear of Pop were not heard. Overall the band seemed not yet at emotional ease with the new material, compared to the rascally delivery of the old. Ripping pages, as Folds does, from a life rife with tumult will probably do that, at least early on in a tour. And there really is no way to be rascally in the total immersion of self-doubt which permeates the brilliant "Brick," so that omission makes sense.

Though the old Dane had the ability to blast through decades and centuries in minutes, given the sprawling repertoire, what stood out, and what was emphasized in the playing of the accompanying Philharmonic, was the beauty woven throughout. In Folds' world, beauty is perhaps more elusive, but no less enchanting. Borge immerses while Folds more often trips you slyly after depressing you. Both will get you there.

The Fly Seville: Carousel (Sealed Fate 12-song CD; www.sealedfate.com)

Former Prov-based quartet now plying what producer Eric Masunaga calls "majestic mid-tempo pop" in Boston serves a winner on their debut. The faces are familiar: singer/ guitarist Jesse Blatz fronted Pollenate and bassist/singer Colin Rhinesmith came from the Godrays (who disbanded last year, with Phoebe Summersquash now playing in Brilliantine and Alex Kemp playing and living in California). Both Blatz and Rhinesmith are sharp on this impressive pop outing, bringing some recognizable traits from their old bands and injecting a fresh new feel with the addition of keyboardist/ violinist Stacy Joy and drummer Randy Noonan. Extraordinarily affable and listenable, with elements of Sebadoh, Versus, mellowed-out Lemonheads and even some from labelmates Sleepyhead and The (so-excellent) Push Kings tossed in for seasoning. The texture is seamless, the vibe gentle and expansive without being florid and vacuous, the playing confident if extremely measured. So this is as fine a summer listening record as you could hope to hear, with the first five songs especially serving notice that they've found their sound in Beantown.

The Fly Seville perform at AS220 on Saturday with Purple Ivy Shadows and Rodeo Boys.

STARS & BARS. For the first time ever there are write-in victors in our annual Best Music Poll, but that would not have happened had voters filled in every category on their ballots. Fine with us, just letting you know. And after a dip last year we again grew in number of ballots received, both paper and electronic. Stuffing ballots happens yearly, and for the tenth straight year it didn't work because them's the rules. Thanks again to the many hundreds of readers who took the time.

April 29 at AS220 a very weird and intriguing show featuring the MakeUp, Bratmobile and La Machine, all courtesy of Load. Heads up for the newest from Arab on Radar (Rough Day At the Orifice) and Art Official Intelligence, whose self-titled debut find the band in the same good form they showed at Lupo's opening for Grüvis Malt. Key tracks include "Next Testament" and "Masturbate Your Brain," with typically quick MC work by Sage Francis and pals, backed by g/b/d. One hint, though, and maybe this is a reflection of hip-hop culture or maybe it isn't: if you're gonna ask for more mic volume half a dozen times, it's guaranteed you will irritate the soundman. On Friday I was standing about 10 feet away from Steve D, a veteran who has mixed more bands than AOI have ever collectively seen live. While Lupo's won't ever be confused with the Half Shell acoustically, if he had given in to some of the band's requests they would've been electrocuted and died with melting faces and teeth blown through the backs of their heads. Usually limits return invites, whatever the genre. Just FYI.