Schizophrenic Supernova |
by Jennifer Behrens |
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We should have seen it coming, really.
Liz Phair was always an unlikely rock goddess. Raised in the affluent suburb of Winnetka, Illinois by a world-renowned AIDS researcher and an art professor, the whiff of privilege followed Phair to Ohio’s prestigious Oberlin College and eventually Chicago’s Wicker Park, where the young dilettante hawked charcoal drawings on the streets by day while recording demo tapes by night in the comfort of her parents’ house. But she certainly didn’t write like a high-society poseur—her homemade Girlysound cassettes revealed a songwriter of uncommon self-assurance and honesty. Phair’s brash, bold, and sexually frank lyrics (sample: “I want to fuck you like a dog…I want to be your blowjob queen”) more than compensated for her paper-thin voice and bargain-basement production values. As the tapes made the rounds in the Chicago music scene, they caught the attention of New York’s Matador Records, which promptly offered Phair a deal.
The resulting debut, Exile in Guyville, arrived during the perfect storm of 1993, during which the mainstream media had grown increasingly fascinated by the concept of musicians who could also lactate. “Women in Rock” was the name of the game, and Phair its instant jackpot winner, with her sharp character studies of dysfunctional relationships (“He’s just a hero in a long line of heroes / Looking for something attractive to save”) and her wry, world-weary outlook on sex (“It’s fuck and run, fuck and run / Even when I was seventeen…Even when I was twelve”). Comprised mostly of re-recorded Girlysound tunes, loosely sequenced as a feminist response to the Rolling Stones classic Exile on Main Street (although even Phair herself seemed at a loss to explain the exact correlations), Guyville drew universal accolades and eventually sold over half a million copies. Phair was encouraged by the moderate success, but dreamed of major stardom: “I want to hit main rotation!” she told Second Skin magazine. “I want a breakthrough video.”
Phair returned to the well of Girlysound for her sophomore effort, 1994’s aptly titled Whip-Smart. Buoyed by MTV support of its lead single “Supernova,” an unabashedly hard-rocking ode to a lover whose “kisses are as wicked as an F-16…you fuck like a volcano and you’re everything to me,” the album peaked at 27 on the Billboard charts, landed Phair on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, and, like its predecessor, was certified gold. But it still wasn’t the commercial breakthrough that either Phair or her label had wanted, and a brief tour by the notoriously stage-averse singer (“If performing live is a livelihood, I’m never gonna make any money in this business,” she once told The New York Times) did little to kick-start sales.
Phair mostly dropped out of sight after Whip-Smart’s release, marrying film editor Jim Stakauskas in 1995 and giving birth to son Nicholas the following year. She sometimes considered early retirement but eventually issued her third album, whitechocolatespaceegg, to lukewarm reviews in 1998. The new album drew its inspiration from her recent domestic bliss, and featured a softer adult-pop sound on tracks like “Perfect World” and “Polyester Bride.” Fans who had patiently waited four years for new material from the architect of Guyville expressed disappointment with this new batch of songs, easily her weakest yet. But this kinder, gentler Liz was a natural choice for Sarah McLachlan’s all-female extravaganza Lilith Fair (which rolled through Darien Lake that summer).
And then…silence.
For five years, barely a peep was heard from Phair, who by the end of 2002 was a 35-year-old single mom adrift in Los Angeles. A rumored new album was given a working title and a potential release date, both of which were eventually scrapped. There were recording sessions with producer Michael Penn, with singer-songwriter Pete Yorn; there were 40 or 50 songs to choose from at one point. Phair’s attempts to shop an early version of the album proved frustrating: “the industry itself was telling me I was over…they all looked at me like, ‘Nice piece of art, hang it on your wall, but it could never sell.’ I kept hearing that from everyone and I kept not getting my calls returned,” she told Playboy. Unhappy to be pigeonholed by the industry as the official spokeswoman for divorced MILFs, Phair decided to be the voice of their pre-teen daughters instead. She commissioned The Matrix—a songwriting team whose previous credits included Avril Lavigne, the Backstreet Boys, and Ricky Martin—to help pen some radio-friendly tunes for her new album. Fans and media alike raised a unanimous cry of “sell-out”; Pitchforkmedia.com reported the story under the headline “Liz Phair Determined to Make Worst Album Ever.” Phair eventually lashed back with a lengthy, defensive e-mail to a fan site: “I needed to get on the radio,” she protested. “I promise the album rocks...It’s only music. You don’t have cancer.”
True, it was only music. But coming from the woman who just a decade ago had penned the brilliant “Divorce Song,” chirpy, un-ironic couplets like “Isn’t this the best part of breaking up / Finding someone else you can’t get enough of” made some fans wonder if their heroine had spent the last five years recovering from a lobotomy. 2003’s embarrassingly tacky Liz Phair was battered by critics, although it did spawn two hit singles—“Why Can’t I” and “Extraordinary.” Stung by the backlash, Phair approached the creation of her fifth album more cautiously: “I did think to myself, what is it that [the last album’s detractors] really missed?” she told Entertainment Weekly.
Somebody’s Miracle, released earlier this month, represents a compromise of sorts between the two Lizzes: there’s the cheerful, adult-contemporary pop of “Everything to Me” and the title track (both of which could easily pass for Phair pal Sheryl Crow); there are also hints of the darkly funny, vintage Phair on “Got My Own Thing” and “Why I Lie.” Where Liz Phair felt like an extended put-on, Somebody’s Miracle seems like a return to her early candor, with songs referencing extramarital affairs and alcoholism. There’s another familiar selling point, too: as Guyville used the Rolling Stones as its springboard, several songs on Miracle were intended to answer the Stevie Wonder classic Songs in the Key of Life. It hasn’t been a smooth ride, but it appears that Phair is finally coming full circle.
Liz Phair makes her first Buffalo appearance since 1998 next Thursday (Oct. 20), bringing a full band to UB’s Center for the Arts. The Brooklyn-based chamber pop outfit Matt Pond PA, who last graced a Queen City stage at Nietzsche’s in April of this year, opens the show in support of the group’s stellar fifth album Several Arrows Later.
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