While listening to Party Shuffle on iTunes, up came:
Cigarette • Ben Folds Five • Whatever & Ever Amen ★★★½
Now, I’ve had this album since, well, it first came out. I remember when “Give Me My Money Back Bitch” was all we were singing (Song for the Dumped). But apparently I’d never really listened to the start of this song. It’s about Fred Jones. So what?
But, then, in his first solo album, Ben has the song:
Fred Jones, Part 2 • Ben Folds • Rockin' The Suburbs ★★★★★
Which, those of you with decent fonts installed can see, is one of my all-time favourite songs. It’s a sad little number, about an old guy who retires from working at a Newspaper, where he’s worked his whole life, and everyone else in the whole place has been there for less time than he. The place has been taken over by the next generation, and he’s being made redundant. The live version on Ben Folds Live is truly excellent, with John McCrae from Cake helping out. (Apparently, he’s in the Album version as well. I always wondered who that was!)
So, what is the first song, Cigarettes about then?
The first hit from Google tells me:
Fred Jones
was worn out
from caring for
his often
screaming and
crying wife
during the day, but
he couldn’t sleep at night for fear that she,
in a stupor from the drugs that didn’t
ease the pain,
would set the house ablaze
with a cigarette
Now, from what I can recall of Fred Jones, Part 2, there’s no mention of a wife. And Cigarettes makes it sound like he doesn’t have a job. Still, it’s pretty unlikely there’d be two people in the world with the same name – especially one like Fred Jones. And at least one reviewer seems to think it’s the same person…
;)
For the record: the lyrics of Fred Jones, Part 2 are:
Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark,
there’s an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall.
He has cleared all his things and he’s put them in boxes,
things that remind him that life has been good.
Twenty-five years he’s worked at the paper,
a man’s here to take him downstairs.
And “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, it’s time.”
There was no party and there were no songs,
‘cause today’s just a day like the day that he started.
And no one is left here that knows his first name,
yeah and life barrels on like a runaway train,
where the passengers change they don’t change anything,
you get off, someone else can get on.
And “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, it’s time.”
The streetlight it shines through the shades,
casting lines on the floor and lines on his face.
He reflects on the day.
Fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement.
Projecting some slides onto a plain white canvas,
and traces it, fills in the spaces,
he turns off the slides and it doesn’t look right.
Yeah, and all of these bastards have taken his place.
He’s forgotten, but not yet gone.
And “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones,”
and “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones,”
and “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, it’s time.”
This song has so much power over me, it makes me feel sad just reading the lyrics. I guess it sums up my fears of wasting my life.