In Australia with his new memoir, the ‘songwriting sociopath’ discusses creativity and what Shatner taught him about coolness: ‘He just does not give a shit’
Ben Folds has what appear to be perfect piano-playing hands. They’re large, with long, elegant fingers – until you look closer and inspect the damage.
“My left hand’s fucked,” he says, raising a beer with it. He lowers the glass, then vigorously shakes out the hand, from the elbow down. There’s an audible click. “Good to go for the next couple of hours.”
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