Liz Phair
Liz Phair
On Sale Now
For $12.58

When I saw Liz Phair at SXSW in Austin, her new material sounded fresh, inspired, and even surprising coming from her. It was because she was playing with a guitar, and two other guys. Nothing else. Her wry voice and magnetic charm emulated throughout the crowd and it only made me look forward even more to her new material. After all, I wasn't dreading the fact that she may have gone all-out pop singer on us. I think it was inevitable that she'd venture into the verse/chorus/verse territory because "Polyester Bride" and "Supernova" hinted at it. It's hard for me to dislike her because she's one of the main reasons I picked up a guitar. (I even had the pleasure of meeting her and telling her that Exile In Guyville and Matthew Sweet's Girlfriend changed my life). So without hesitation I listened to her latest endeavor with open ears and endless anticipation. I was soon shattered into a tiny million pieces by the time Liz compares her lover to a favorite pair of underwear. She's always been lyrically sharp, so it's shocking to report that there is simply no more razor-edge wit to her diatribes. As hard as I tried to enjoy the record without internally screaming "sell-out," as each track progressed, I could sense that my ears were bleeding profusely and that my adoration for her was deteriorating rapidly.

There's nothing wrong with a well-produced pop record. Artists such as Bleu, Fountains Of Wayne, and Nada Surf have all put out terrific records that encapsulate everything catchy, wholesome, and endearing about good pop music. But Liz loses herself in the music, the moment, and yet she doesn't own it. It's as if the record was put together not by her standards, but by committee, in hopes of attaining a stronger fanbase. She's even gone on record as saying she doesn't feel connected to the indie rock scene... and gulp, never has! So she calls in Avril's partner-in-crime, The Matrix, who is kind of like Glen Ballard with no soul. He just polishes and polishes, and overloads them until there's nothing left but ear candy instead of one single solitary drop of geniune emotion. It's definitely sweet at first, but a toothache later ensues. Lead-off track "Extraordinary" is anything but, and proves that even a catchy chorus can't compensate for such nausea-inducing production that overwhelms nearly every song on the record.

Co-producer Michael Penn has better luck with capturing the essence of Ms. Phair and the only time the album rocks is with a calmly executed song like "Firewalker" rather than something like "Rock Me" which is cute and cool, but never lingers. However, Penn's tracks aren't overbearing with power chords and erupting keyboards. He lets some of his contributions breathe along with Liz's improved vocal stylings. "Little Digger" is a sweet little anthem that plays on Liz's strong sensibility as being confessional and revealing, rather than cloying and shocking. The song confronts the issue of her son dealing with the presence of a new man in her mother's life. It's about the most sweet and profoundly engaging track on the record, but in comes "HWC" which is like a musical equivalent of the film "Porky's." At least the sister-song "Flower" was sexy, sweet, scary, and memorable while "HWC" comes off as being shocking, just for the sake of having shock value. There is no point to its existence and it's the first time I've ever written that about anything Liz Phair has done.

Maybe Liz is tired of being this idolized feminist rock icon that confronted sexuality from an angle that very few women ever had before. She may simply just be content joining the ranks of Shakira, Britney, Avril, or the latest transformation of poet Jewel. And she'll say that we're requiring too much of her, and expect her to always be confessional and mysterious. I don't know about the rest of the world and how they'll respond to this departure, but I thought her last record, WhiteChocolateSpaceEgg got it right, and was a step up in many regards from solid production to lyrics to songwriting quality. It managed to be all things poppy, but still managed to have some snap and crackle that Liz is known for. This time, it's all about the pop! Her self-titled release is taking many steps back in terms of everything that made Liz such a standout among not just female artists, but rock artists in general. And as much as I think she's a Goddess, and I still am captivated by her "Bionic Eyes," quite frankly, I just don't think this is Phair. While the songs are commercially viable, that doesn't give them any artistic merit. Better luck next time I suppose.

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