Ben Folds, the erstwhile Ray Davies of the American college circuit, is tossing expletives into the air like confetti. Although he's never needed an excuse to soil his nerdy appeal with a filthy word, the sentiments aren't his. Deftly striking his piano, he weaves a tender melody through Dr Dre's Bitches Ain't Shit, singing each stinging word with a low-key passion that would turn Dido pale.

Since Ben Folds Five split up in 2000, Folds has made a quiet career out of doing what he pleases. After releasing the solo album Rocking in the Suburbs in 2001, he moved to Australia and made a series of EPs exclusively for the internet. His new album, Songs for Silverman, reflects these changes. Instead of presenting frat-friendly rockers, Folds gets personal, exploring his own life rather than plundering everyone else's.

"My pain is your entertainment," he tells us, truthfully. No longer relying on a stream of recognisable characters, he picks out the subtleties of Trusted, tracing resignation through to burning frustration. Joined in three-part harmonies by bassist Jared Reynolds and drummer Lindsay Jamieson, Folds sits at his piano - head back, mouth agape, and hovering above his seat - like a thirty-something Elton John, minus feathers and flares. He's missing a hit, too.

Playing the haunting Jesustown first in its original form, as a haunting morality tale, then as an all-out rocker, he exposes the gap between his art and MTV-generated commerce. Though he laughs off his bitterness, it hangs around the curtailed jam like a bad smell.

Alone on stage, he dissects the unspoken emotion of Brick brilliantly. He uncovers the everyday brutality of The Last Polka through a pounding piano melody, playing so aggressively that his warm vocals are overwhelmed. Still, sincerity is Folds' forte. When he climbs on top of his piano to the crowd's eager harmonies, it is because he wants to, not just because he can.

· At the Dome, Brighton, June 2. Box office: 01273 709709. Then touring.