“Leaf by leaf and page by page, throw this book away.”

In terms of weather, Iowa summers can be dreadful.

Just a few months after our car doors are frozen shut from the bitter, unforgiving Midwestern winter, we’re subjected to a harsh, blistering heat. The summer of 2012 was especially brutal, as the air was so heavy that stepping outside of your suburban home led to an instant stickiness from the intense humidity.

Baseball games were canceled, and everyone preferred to stay indoors while the sun was out. But this gave us all the more reason to roll down the windows and blast whatever was coming from our speakers while on our way to Tropical Sno.

While the days were often a trial of the human spirit, the evenings were comfortably warm, with the summer breeze accenting the heat lightning that lit up the quiet neighborhoods of West Des Moines.

That was the summer I met Kate.

I had just turned 16. I was driving around my semi-new Honda Civic, I was just starting up my first band and I was discovering all sorts of new music for the very first time.

Kate, on the other hand, was 17, drove around a beat-up white sedan, introduced me to the holy grounds that is 80/35, and seemed to listen to all the coolest music in the world.

For an awkward, slightly-overweight teenage boy, she was essentially “The One.”

Late one night, as we sat curbside in the freshly cut grass, Kate and I discussed everything from music to that lingering, distant mystery known as “The Future.” She told of her aspirations that seemed, to her, impossible to reach in a single lifetime. I eventually realized that these weren’t moments that everyone got to experience; these were moments one had to earn.

For the first time in my life, I was in love.

The next day, Kate approached me explaining how she had stolen a CD out of her mother’s SUV and how she was going to get a mouthful because of it, but I just had to hear this record.

She handed me “Whatever and Ever, Amen” by Ben Folds Five.

“I said what you wanted to hear and what I wanted to say, so I will take it back.”

There’s a point partway through “Missing the War” where Ben Folds and his two cohorts launch into a soaring three-part harmony above nothing but Folds’ swaying piano. Immediately afterward, Robert Sledge and Darren Jessee hop into view, with bass and drums respectively, providing the true backbone to the track as Folds croons, “He drove home again pissed and beaten. It’s really no big deal; it happens all the time … I’m missing the war.”

Ben Folds Five consists entirely of a piano, bass and drums. With no six-string accompaniment, it really puts an added emphasis on the songwriting and rhythm section to make up for the lack of an instrument most listeners are so used to hearing.

It might not seem as strange in 2017 to hear about a pop-rock trio operating without a guitar, but look back to 1997 and you’ll see a very different music scene. Ben Folds Five – herby known simply as “Five” – subtlety paved the way for future groups to approach pop music in non-traditional ways.

Besides, take one listen to “One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces” and you’ll quickly disregard the notion of needing a guitar to have a full sound.

The record’s opening trio of songs sets the tone of what to expect. The aforementioned “One Angry Dwarf…” introduces the tongue-in-cheek, semi-aggressive quips that Folds has become known for, single “Brick” strips everything back into full-ballad territory and “Fair” lands somewhere in between, with quirky chant vocals serving as a chorus with Folds’ understated imagery filling the verses.

Beyond that, Five jumps around the spectrum of pop-music frequently, oftentimes bringing in some significant jazz influence on tracks like “Steven’s Last Night in Town” and “Selfless, Cold and Composed.”

And similar to how a small jazz combo might perform in a compact, intimate venue, “Whatever and Ever, Amen” often plays out like an informal jam session between a close group of friends. Offhand comments in between tracks and certain production choices, like the delightfully overdriven bass, lead to a strong feeling of camaraderie.

“Do you not hear me anymore? I know it’s not your thing to care; I know it’s cool to be so bored.”

The liner notes of the album also read as a self-aware jab at typical credits.

“The lyrics or text were created to detract from the repetition inherent in modern instrumental pop music … The band and producer are confident that your money was well spent on an album relatively free of major sonic and musical problems,” reads a note left in the lyric booklet.

“Whatever and Ever, Amen” was recorded entirely in a two-bedroom house that Folds rented in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, the trio’s city of origin. And the setting of the recording process really shows when listening to the record in full.

Partway through “Steven’s Last Night in Town,” a phone can be heard ringing in the background, with Sledge responding with an enthusiastic chuckle. Crickets can be heard throughout the runtime of “Cigarette,’ and this sense of genuine creation makes for a record with a true personality that is best experienced in full.

And similar to how Five recorded its sophomore effort, it’s best enjoyed in the company of close friends. The kind you discuss your favorite music with. The kind you get Tropical Sno with. The kind that Kate once was for me.

“Here I stand, sad and free.”

Kate would later break up with me about two months after the night we sat on the curb in front of her house. We would eventually date for another seven months or so, but I would be the one to inadvertently end it all after taking Kate for granted.

Similar to the cover of Five’s sophomore release, as well as the lyrical imagery of “Smoke,” the time I spent with Kate almost seems like a series of snapshots hanging on my wall.

I last said goodbye to Kate almost two years ago. Since then, Kate graduated from college and her family moved away from the town where we first met.

While Kate and I exchanged some pretty nasty comments, there isn’t a more frightening word in the English language than “Goodbye.”

Kate and I still occasionally chat about the newest music that comes out, reflecting on the groups we introduced each other to almost half a decade earlier. But in the back of my mind there’s always the thought that I might never actually see her again.

But who knows, maybe one day we’ll sit on a curb again and catch up while we share a “Cigarette.”