Liz Phair’s latest, self-titled release is a departure from her previous albums for all the wrong reasons. The song writing is strong, as one might think, but someone must have told Ms. Phair that in order to sell records to the MTV set, drastic stylistic changes would be a necessity.
It’s been a few years since “Whitechocolatespaceegg” hit the shelves and what seems to have been a geological epoch since the groundbreaking “Exile in Guyville” turned the indie rock songwriter into a mainstream favorite. Since then, pre-packaged, adolescent sex pots have filled the empty spaces once dominated by the edgier, artistically- superior women of the 90s. Ani DiFranco is one from this era who has managed to stay the course by continuing to perform for her core audience, thus maintaining artistic credibility and relevance.
On her new album, Phair has chosen to go the way of Sheryl Crow and Madonna, and make something with a more teen beat, pop-like aesthetic with the calculated intention of selling to the Avril Lavigne-Christina Aguilera crowd. The result is mixed, because trendy production and obnoxious effects cannot mask the fact that Phair is a highly talented songwriter.
The first track, “Extraordinary,” is strong, and it effectively pulls the listener into the album. Phair sings of unrequited love: “I’m extraordinary, if you’d ever get to know me.”
Following up the opening track, “Red Light Fever” is more standard Phair. The lyrics are contemplative, and the spiffy effects are toned down enough to let the theme come through – a crisis; a person paralyzed by indecision.
Quite possibly, the most heartfelt song is “Little Digger,” a personal glimpse at a young child who must come to terms with a mother’s new love and the absence of a father. This is evidence that Phair’s best work is mined from her own life. In this case, it is of a domestic nature, the emotional complexity of family.
Striking an entirely different note, “Rock Me” is an ode to “young guys” who are uncomplicated, and despite the lack of money or a record collection, they are up to task of rocking all night – the kind of rocking enjoyed behind closed doors for the unimaginative. This song – although it is among the most tongue-in-cheek works on the album – could be more telling than any other track. Phair – possibly unwittingly – reveals the main insecurity which has obviously influenced the production of this disc. “He doesn’t even know who Liz Phair is,” she sings of her young lover. The generation she was singing to in “Guyville” is all grown up. Possibly fearing they have forgotten her, she plays to a younger, more profitable demographic, hence the Lavigne-like production.
Regardless of all the production, Phair demonstrates throughout that she possesses something the young competition does not – emotional maturity and the song writing skill to harness it. On “Love/Hate” she sings about the state of the world, and her vision is of a situation in which “It’s a war with the whole damn world,” but there’s just nothing to be done about it. Here, she shows her age and a jaded, adult view that is lacking in the competition.
The songs are good. Phair remains a consummate songwriter, but her sensitivity is often muddled by the glitzy, pop production. Unfortunately, she has set herself up to do battle with a generation of girls who are not worthy of her attention. Her lyrics are mature; her sexuality is adult; the writing is of a personal nature. These things are lacking in the music of her young female counterparts. Whether the artistic direction of this album was chosen for fear of failure or purely mercenary reasons, the final product suffers.
This CD was provided for review by CD Warehouse.
