Call Ben Folds a rock star, and he laughs. It's not just Ben. It's happening to drummer Darren Jessee and bassist Robert Sledge, too. In fact, it is getting harder for Ben Folds Five to deny their rock-star status with their latest album Whatever and Ever Amen going platinum.

You'll see it at their shows. They are playing sold-out bigger venues with the new addition of barricades at the front of the stage. You'll find people in front defending their positions by asking usurpers how long they have listened to the band. People are slipping $20 to someone for a better spot to see the band's addictive live performance, which is well worth the extra cash.

Rock-star status is making it difficult for Ben Folds to see his friends, what with more people demanding his time. But in between three shows in the Midwest over Valentine's Day weekend, Ben found the time.

The morning after the show in St. Louis, a tired Ben crawls into the backseat of a friend's Toyota, and we all head to the next show in Chicago. He wants to get there early to go roller-skating at the Rainbow. Their tour manager gave us a 3:00 deadline.

"Once, I was going to come to St. Louis to see U2 play under the Arch," he says as we drive by the Arch and head out of town.

He then becomes occupied with the condition of his fingers. He asks his friend for some clippers and trims his nails. "I really messed this one up last night," he says, talking about a torn gash on his finger he received as a result of his now infamous rock-finale piano-stool toss.

I kinda stare at him in mild wonder. This is nuts. I've been a fan of the band since their first album on Caroline. My first show was at the Regency Showcase in Springfield Missouri on March 15, 1996--not that I'm keeping track or anything. When I started out trying to get interviews with the band, I got a half-hour phone interview with Darren. The day before the scheduled interview, it was cancelled. I never thought I would end up talking with them, let alone riding in a car with Ben for five hours. So, I sheepishly ask Ben in my best casual voice if I can interview him.

"Essentially, what I do is make pop music," he says. "That [making pop music] has the potential to be real bad, but by knowing that, it makes me better. It makes you better at what you do. Like I know when what I'm doing sucks, and I stop. So, sure. If it gets you out of a bind, ask away."

Honestly, I didn't want to. I just wanted to chat. I mean, I had watched this guy pack his bag. I saw his rolled socks. I couldn't interview that.

Ben plays DJ. His first selection is Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits. "You don't like Bob Dylan, do you?" asks his friend.

"Yeah, I like Bob Dylan. I don't listen to him, but I like him," says Ben. He then starts singing something else under his breath and tapping his leg.

He sits back and looks exhausted. "If we could stop for a bagel or something. No rush. Whenever. What time is it? Will we get there in enough time to go skating?"

I don't know how he thinks he's going to be able to roller-skate. He keeps edging towards sleep. The driver and I watch him as he finally gives in, and he nods off for a half-hour. We listen to some Jackson 5, and we both want to belt out some "ABC" but we're too intimidated by the sleeping rock guy in the backseat.

"This sure is scenic," he comments as he wakes up on the drab surroundings from St. Louis to Chicago, littered with road signs and uprooted trees. He starts beating on the back of our seats.

Eventually, we stop at a Subway. We all go in and eat.

"So, what magazine are you writing for?" he asks. "Did you get to pick who you wanted to do, or did they tell you what to do?"

I start to explain the whole mess that is to be my first attempt at an interview when a woman standing at the door starts sharing her morning with the people working.

"I told her if she wanted to wear a bra, it was just up to her," this woman says seriously. "I told her I didn't care. Just whatever made her more comfortable."

We all look around a little wide-eyed and wonder what just happened.

"Did she just say that?" asks Ben as he offers us some of his cookie. We hurriedly refuse so we can get outside before our laughing gets us thrown out.

We leave, and in the parking lot we talk about Chicago. I tell him the wind there will rip the skin right off your face. He replies, "That's why they call it the Windy City, I think."

We get back in the car, and our driver excitedly puts in an "Apples in Stereo" album.

"I hate pop music," says Ben. We both turn around and look at him.

"You're in a pop band, Ben."

"Yeah," he says. "I just like to listen to things that aren't pop. I've been listening to Rage Against the Machine a lot lately. I just don't like pop bands."

"Look at this guy," says Ben, holding a Barry Manilow album. "He didn't write any of his songs. Can you believe that? I can't believe it. Look at him."

"You should get a sequined jumpsuit like that," I say. "I think that would really do it for you. That would be just the thing that would make you rock."

Still bewildered by this, he asks, "Would you buy a record from a guy who didn't write his own songs? Would you buy a record from a guy who did write his own songs, but did it without his band on the record? I would never make a record with songs I didn't write."

Along with the sounds of piano, bass and drums, Ben's lyrics build songs from personal experiences or observations into anthems for the listener. They are bigger than just pop music. A Ben Folds Five album pulls you into an emotional marathon. The band is able to bring you into their intimacy, and leave you reeling in the end.

It may be this sense of intimacy that has many die-hard fans shunning the newest additions to the Folds. On one of the band's listservs, a classification system was suggested to rank people according to their level of devotion to the band. Mercy to those that are "Brickheads," the new fans that latched on to the band with the success of their last single "Brick." The die-hards' once-private party has suddenly turned into a street carnival, which keeps getting bigger each week as the single climbs Billboard's Modern Rock chart.

We start talking about what we are most ashamed of owning in our record collections. I admit to liking Boyz II Men. "Boyz II Men, they're good," says Ben, which made me feel better as our friend explodes in laughter. "There are too many choices for me to pick," he says. The laughing friend can't even answer her own question.

Speaking of being ashamed, I share my conviction that I will die in the middle of a twister, and it scares me because it is the most trailer-park way of going out.

"Have you ever seen a tornado?" he asks in rapid fire. "Have you seen them forming?"

"Yeah, I've been in like three tornadoes," I say. "They're gonna get me. They find me. I'm serious. One went right down the street behind my parent's house, and the first time I came to Chicago, we had to pull over under a bridge and hope the tornado in front of us would change directions."

"Wow," he says, "I would love to see that. I have these videos, and it's just so cool. If I knew I could get away from it, I would be right there when it forms. Twister was a great movie. I went to see it with my mom."

"So, if you weren't a rock star, you'd be a storm chaser?" I ask.

"Yeah, I'd be a storm chaser," he laughs.

We stop for gas in Romeoville, IL. We all wander around inside the gas station.

As we are stretching, Ben notices a sign for green stamps.

"That is really old. I didn't know people still used green stamps," he says. "People save them up in booklets and trade them in for shit."

"Yeah, we used to do that a long time ago," says his friend.

"Oh, I bought you something," he says. He gives his friend an electric glowing and singing top he picked up in the gas station.

"Come on, lady, let's go," he says in his exaggerated drawl.

As we head into Chicago, he says this is the first time he has ever seen the city coming into it. "I guess I've always been asleep."

We listen to Cake's Fashion Nugget. He sings along and beats the back of our seats.

"Do you like Cake? What's your favorite song?"

"'Stickshifts and Safetybelts,'" answers the friend. "I also like 'Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.' I think people should use the word perhaps more often."

This leads us into varying interpretations of the word "perhaps".

We head to the venue. Ben sits quietly in the back while I give directions to our friend. This means he didn't notice when we got a little lost.

We park the car and head toward the bus. Ben and I notice an ad on a bus for the Billy Crystal movie, My Giant. We both look at each other and grimace.

"You just know. You just get this feeling something is just not a good idea, don't you," he says.

As we approach the venue, a waiting fan stops Ben and asks him to sign a CD. It's back to his rock-star life. He hugs us as he goes inside the venue. And no--he didn't have time to roller skate.