[rating=1.50]
I don’t know what to think of Liz Phair. The way this particular blonde fireball chooses to package and present her public persona doesn’t exactly make it difficult for dudes like me to ponder her “work” and “significance”. And I do admire her often self-deprecating sense of humor and the fact the she is unapologetically doing whatever the hell she wants. I have often wondered if it is possible to set aside our love of Liz Phair the Old School Indie Queen in order to objectively critique her newer stuff.
Phair’s new Funstyle CD is a weird accomplishment. It’s pure fluff. But because it comes from our darling Liz I wonder if we don’t reflexively apply an extra measure of serious scrutiny to it than we might for a new record by Christina Aguilera or Kylie Minogue. Because Phair continues to confound our expectations so brazenly, I wonder if anyone can honestly claim to be a fan of all of her records. Perhaps the unspoken pun of the song “You Should Know Me (Better Than That)” on her new disc means to imply that we never really will know her.
Alternately calm and keening, Phair’s singing voice still feels like a naturally melodic extension of her speaking voice. With songs like “And He Slayed Her”, Phair proves that she’s still capable of coining simple pop tunes that are catchier than most. Stranded like stray geeks at a hipster convention, there’s only a couple of them here, amidst programmed drechno like “Smoke” and “Beat Is Up”. Unremarkable electronica accompanied by Phair’s cutesy, half-clever midlife observations is hardly worthy of unreleased B-side status. Here though it comprises half the disc and it’s sad to think of her needlessly shedding even more fans by passing off tunes like this as an artistic statement.
Phair’s bold swan dive into the realm of overproduced mainstream pop of several years ago now looks like an almost gutsy sell-out. Here now she mocks us all who mocked her then with a slew of self-referential rants. The first unsettling inkling is “Bollywood”, which features an ill-advised rap. That tune and “U Hate It” represent the contingent of cartoon techno nightmares on Funstyle. Together they comprise an uncomfortable tour of Phair’s career, business dealings, industry standards, media rumblings, and personal observations about the many hypocrisies of a reluctant rock star’s public life. This feels like going to your mom’s art show. You kinda have to be there but it’s awkward and you have to keep a respectful half-smile on your face even though her work isn’t really that good anymore.
Not quite enough to salvage the project is the bonus disc of Phair’s 1993 Girlysound demos that predate her classic Exile In Guyville. Perhaps included as counterpoint to the new stuff, more likely it’s just tacked on as incentive to increase sales. These early demos deserve better than to be buried on a bonus disc included with her latest stab in the dark. A limited release of the old demos perhaps could have performed a measure of damage control for her flagging reputation. My guess is that she’s just not interested in looking over her shoulder to shore up some good publicity. I don’t know who’s more lost right now: Phair or her audience. It’s sad because the handful of rockin’ pop tunes here show that she’s still got it. She’s got balls and every right to do what she wants. But in an industry where CD sales are flat-lining, just how long can she afford to play jokes like this on her fans? This unfortunate misstep reminds one of Mick Jagger’s inexplicable and embarrassing attempts to connect with today’s youth market. But at least he’s trying. Two or three good tunes lost in a wash of programmed electronic crap raps and rants? Seriously, Liz. If ya gotta be obstinate and peculiar, just put out a 7” until something closer to true inspiration strikes.
