Published on Jul 4, 2003
I looked cautiously at my Liz Phair CDs, even the bootlegged
Fuck and Run live CD as I unwrapped the cellophane of her
latest album. I know that by the end of this album, I would not be
able to listen to these CDs in the same way again. “God, let’s get
this over with,” I thought to myself as I put
Liz Phair in the CD player. Add one more statement I never
would have imagined myself uttering: “get this over with” before
listening to a Liz Phair CD.
Once a prolific indie stateswoman, Liz Phair has spent the last
year or two stuck in the Matrix – limited, trapped and surrounded
by machines.
Liz Phair is not an abomination, it’s more of a sad fact of
life facing female musicians. It seems that in the mid-30s/40 being
the cutoff, a popular female artist has two avenues to face: keep
doing what you’re doing and risk losing record sales, or go pure
pop and try to compete with artists 20 years their junior (meaning
spend more time worrying about image and let the ‘in’ producers
worry about making the album sound right). Last year Sheryl Crow
made this decision with
C’Mon, C’Mon. Now, Phair seems to have chosen a similar path
with her self-titled album.
It shouldn’t have come as a shock: on the last track of
whitechocolatespaceegg, her last album, she wished upon
herself and her friends “shitloads of money.” In hope of living up
to that statement, Phair hired The Matrix recording team (the same
team that made Avril Lavigne the pop sensation that she is). To
save some indie-cred, she hired Michael Penn to produce a few
tracks. But it’s too late, since almost every aspect of
Liz Phair seems soulless and artificially crafted.
Almost every annoying cliché in today’s popular music can
be heard in
Liz Phair; right down to the annoying robot echo effect of
“Why Can’t I?” Not only did the producers take control of the
music, Phair had songwriting contributors for about half of her
album. For five years worth of life experience (including divorce
and raising a child), it seems that the most quoted lyric of
Liz Phair will sadly be, “I want to play X-Box on your
floor” in the cloying “Rock Me.” Even a more desperate attempt,
most of the songs Phair shares songwriting credits with come at the
first half of the album, opting to keep her solo songwriting songs
near the back of the album.
The myth is that her fans were expecting
Exile in Guyville II. That cannot be further from the truth.
Most fans who grew into adulthood with
Exile know that artists cannot recreate albums of that
magnitude. In truth, her other albums,
Whip-Smart and
whitechocolatespaceegg were great extensions of her
abilities. The only thing that was lacking was the media coverage
of those albums.
Most fans are willing to give their favorite artists slack for
taking artistic detours. Tori Amos, PJ Harvey, Lucinda Williams and
Bjork have each released an album or two that have thrown off their
loyalists, but most are willing to go along for the ride because
most of their fans know that what’s coming from the artist is a
sincere statement of truth: They know that what they’re hearing is
coming from the artist’s heart (as hopelessly romantic as that
statement is). It’s no surprise that “Little Digger,” one of the
songs that Liz Phair exclusively penned, is also the most effective
song on the album. The lyrics are reminiscent of her earlier, far
more devastating, autobiographical statements. Liz does a great job
of painting the scene: her young son meets her boyfriend who is not
his father. As her son meticulously puts his toy trucks on the bed
next to her boyfriend, Phair thinks: “I’ve done the damage, the
damage is done/I pray to god that I’m the damaged one.” It’s those
honest statements that are lacking in Liz Phair.
Which brings us to another myth: fans expect Liz Phair to shock
them with dirty lyrics. On the surface, it would stand to reason,
since “Flower” and “Fuck and Run” are two of her most-quoted songs.
But it was the emotional honesty, not the vulgarity that leaves an
impact with the listener. Her latest song to try to shock an
ever-increasing hard to shock audience is “H.W.C.” The song is a
poppy ode to “Hot White Come.” It’s not shocking that she’s asking
for “H.W.C” at the age of 36. Hell, Lucinda Williams and Patti
Smith are still sexy way into their 50s. It’s the sense of
desperation that bogs down the entire album.
Liz Phair knew she would alienate her fan base by trying to make
a “summer album.” But the sad thing is that none of the songs are
even that memorable or catchy. She has stated that she had no
qualms about making an album to pay the bills (in interviews, she
alluded that
Liz Phair will have to go platinum to at least break even).
However, she has the odds stacked against her: most of the general
radio audience that she is aiming for has never heard of her. In
most cases, that would cause me to root for her, but with the
exception of “Little Digger” and “Friend of Mine,” there’s not much
to root for.
Ironically,
Exile in Guyville, the album that she has tried to lock away
in this album, will likely continue to bring in money for Liz
Phair. After this album makes a brief splash in the
adult-contemporary market, it will glide off the charts. However,
like Jeff Buckley’s
Grace and PJ Harvey’s
To Bring You My Love, there will always be about 30,000
college students (sullen art majors, confused gay boys and indie
rock DJs) a year that will add these staples to their music
collection. It can be a safe assessment that Liz Phair will be able
to feed her son and keep a roof over her head. You don’t need to
guilt yourself into buying her latest album. However, most die-hard
Liz Phair fans will eventually pick this album up out of curiosity.
The question now is: How many fans will welcome her back after this
failed flirtation at superstardom?