Hardcore Liz Phair fans weened on the spiky likes of Exile
From Guyville and Whip-Smart have apparently reacted with disdain towards the latest
album from
the queen of alt-rock. Well, Liz Phair is definitely a change of
direction for the singer, but it's also her best album yet. On the new
album, Liz just seems to decide, "fuck it, I've had it with just having a cult
following, I wanna be a POP-ROCK STAR!" Good for her!
Of course, there's no way that an unique talent like Phair is
going to do a Justin Timberlake or Jessica Simpson album. Phair is in her
mid-thirties and recently divorced, she isn't likely to drop a bunch of
smiley-faced odes to the power of love. She's not going to fall back on
empty beats instead of having a tune. But there is nothing wrong with marrying a good melody to Phair's traditionally
eloquent confessional lyrics.
Those lyrics are every bit as good as Phair's previous work,
and in many ways more complex. Unlike many navel gazing post-breakup
albums, Liz Phair is sort of the aural equivalent of a middle-aged guy
buying a sports car. The overall feel one takes from the album is that of a
woman who is growing older, had kids, but still is desperate to prove she is
still a sexually potent being. If Britney likes to play a slutty
virgin, Phair is a horny divorcée desperate to get a little sumthin' sumthin'.
So when she pumps herself up for (mostly younger) guys, who
quite possibly don't deserve her, in songs like the crunchy "Extraordinary" and
the wondrous single "Why Can't I?" it is bizarre mix of seduction and
desperation. "It's Sweet" is a lovely examination of a truly down and
dirty one-night stand. "Favorite" has Phair using the dubious compliment
"you're like my favorite underwear," which I believe she means as a supreme
tribute... you're comfortable and make me feel sexy. "Rock Me" has her
tempting a boy who would just as
soon play X-Box while Liz acknowledges the gulf in their experience, "Your
record collection don't exist, you don't even know who Liz Phair is, pure
potential with no credentials."
She can sometimes go a little too far, but that's part of her
charm, too. In "H.W.C." when she begs "give me your hot, white come" over
and over it is a little uncomfortable to hear, and yet stunning in its naked
vulnerability. Still, Phair does recognize how her life influences those
around her, "Little Digger" is a heart-breaking examination of how her
son
reacts to mommy bringing home strange guys.
The people who write off
Liz Phair as a sellout just aren't getting the point. It is every bit
as deep and touching as Phair's previous work. If Liz feels the need to
bring in hip producers The Matrix (Avril Lavigne) to get a shot at receiving some
radio airplay, who can begrudge her? It'll still be the smartest stuff on
the station. (7/03)
