BONE CHINA BEN, PART TWO

My friend Ben is always babbling about music. Notes and octaves. Range and harmony. Tempo and tenors. Stuff like that. Most of the time I have no idea what he's saying.

Most of the time my car radio is tuned to soft rock, which I'm told isn't really music at all. Nevertheless, I do love that syndicated Delilah show, the one where people call in and confide to millions about some relationship issue, then request a pop song that perfectly captures their feelings. Like some dude will sob for three minutes about how he had this awesome girlfriend but failed to appreciate her and now she's with his best friend and he would like to hear Lionel Richie's "Three Times a Lady" in her honor. And he hopes she's listening and knows that he's sorry, wherever she is. The other night some lady was talking about how she lost a bunch of weight and how her boyfriend likes her better and she'd like to dedicate "Natural Woman" to him because that's how he makes her feel now.

To me, that's an evening of musical entertainment.

But Ben has other ideas. To him, a musical evening means dressing up exactly like three other dudes and singing songs together. This is called a barbershop quartet. Each dude takes a part: tenor, lead, baritone and bass. I think Ben is the lead, which is the best part, judging by the name. He has the best part and also the best hair.
The songs are mainly in praise of women — like you're as pretty as a rose, and you're really nifty, and I get a thrill holding your hand, wear my fraternity pin and drive around in my roadster, etc. Old-school stuff. Not contemporary stuff like I'm in love with a stripper, show me yo booty and rub my muthafuckin' d***.

Not that those songs couldn't be beautifully adapted to four-part harmony. I was just thinking yesterday how Ben could do a lovely arrangement of Wu-Tang Clan's "Shame on a Nigga." It would be a win-win situation: He'd bring a new aesthetic to rap AND bring barbershop — kickin' and cussin' — into the modern era.

And he could change the name of his quartet from Kansas Express to Three Wus and a Tang. Ben would be the Tang.

Speaking of, I was just reading on NPR's Web site about the real origins of barbershop. Its roots aren't English like everyone thinks; they're black. The poor blacks started it up and then white people began recording it and commercializing it. Crazy, huh? Have you ever heard of such a thing? This guy in the article said he didn't know of any black quartets who sang barbershop now. But surely there must be some.

Ben's quartet — comprised of a white lawyer, a white home inspector, a white nurse and a white ladies' shoe salesman — sang a black song last weekend: "Swing Low Sweet Chariot," the remix. Ben broke out in the middle with some awesome chain-gang type R&B. If he were in the quartet at left, he'd totally be the dude whose jacket doesn't fit.

They sang this song Saturday at the Topeka Performing Arts Center. It was part of an annual gig. It was my first barbershop show, and it was fun. I can't say anything about the music — I wouldn't know a C-sharp from a D-flat — but here are some minor observations:

• Barbershop singers make funny faces. Look at Ben's mouth above. They contort their muscles to make the words come out right. I suppose all singers do this, but it seems especially exaggerated — and entertaining — with barbershoppers.

• The best quartets to watch are the ones where the members have distinct personalities and characteristics.
Like one will have giant ears and another will be short and rotund and another will be huge and goofy or wear glasses, like the quartet at right, called 3 Men and a Melody. The disharmony in their physical appearance really underscores the harmony in their sound.

• The other barbershoppers are jealous of Ben's hair. I heard a couple of people say, rather vehemently, that he should cut it. One was the wife of a guy from another — lesser — quartet. This guy's hair was nothing more than an oily film of razor stubble coating his scalp. Apparently, she thought that was a swell look and Ben should give it a try. She was badgering Erin about how on earth she "managed" Ben's hair, as if looking after your husband's coiffure were chief among a wife's duties. Another one who recommended a haircut was this old barbershopper who seemed to think anything longer than half an inch meant you were a gay homosexual. As noted, they are jealous. Ben is the Samson of his quartet, and they are trying to rob it of its strength.

• I was in the company of barbershoppers for only a few hours and I picked up right away what a cutthroat bunch they are. Underneath the quaint bowler hats and spats, underneath the wives' sweet smiles and adoring looks is a world of fierce competition and intrigue. Only recently I was made privvy to a coup plot in a certain south-central Kansas ensemble. Beneath the honey chords, discord reigns.

• Barbershoppers are fond of silly jokes, ones with a long lead-in and a rimshot punchline. And barbershop groupies don't mind hearing the same jokes about 1,000 times. The familiarity is part of the enjoyment. Standard humor and standard songs. Content takes a backseat to delivery. Ben said some really funny things on stage, but they weren't jokes. They were just Ben's Ben-like observations, and they complemented his hair really well.

He'll be performing again at the end of this month. If he is not too busy conditioning his hair or aerobicizing to D's hip-hop dance party, he can give you the details here.