What impressed me most about Liz Phair's debut, Exile in Guyville, was not the candid sexuality of the lyrics or the supposed track-by-track takedown of the Rolling Stones' Exile On Main St. (to this day, I still don't know the '70s classic as an album, never having gotten around to it in its entirety). Instead, Phair's songwriting style, which didn't follow standard conventions and varied with almost every track, stood out from the first cut. On "6'1"," the thought in that first line stretched out over an unusually long set of bars and chords. The cascade of vocal lines in "Johnny Sunshine" offered another great example of her musical ear. Phair definitely had a way with words but she also had a way with changing a chord pattern at an unexpected moment to make a sharp left turn ("X-Ray Man" on the equally solid sophomore release Whip-Smart).
It's been a long time since I've heard a new Liz Phair album. That can be attributed to her self-titled 2003 album. Maybe that comes as no surprise. Legions of listeners felt the same way about an album that brought in the production team The Matrix, who had worked with pop singer Avril Lavigne and Britney Spears. They only worked on four of the 14 tracks but what they did left a stain on the whole disc, an aural spraypaint that said, "Don't expect anything close to Exile In Guyville here."
And no, you can't fault Phair for wanting to do something that did not replicate her past glories, but Liz Phair felt like the equivalent of a creative friend throwing themselves into a new style without really knowing what they were getting into. That move resulted in an album that tried very hard to present an image or identity, something that the post-college grad who wrote on her four-track would never do.
The Hot Mom look (spread-eagle on the cover, straddling a guitar, hair in her face) seemed awkward. (The CD also came with more posed photos that could be downloaded as wallpaper or screensavers.) Then there was the song "H.W.C." which sounded more like a Phair imitator who hadn't mastered much more than raunchiness. (The song's initials stood for "Hot White Come," which I spell out for clarity's sake but feel icky in the process.) Or worse, it sounded like a dude's idea of Phair lyric.
I meant to check out the albums that followed Liz Phair, but never felt the urgency. When a review compared her next album, Somebody's Miracle, to Sheryl Crow that's all that was needed to keep walking. Seeing Dave Matthews' name in the credits on 2010's Funstyle didn't assuage any concerns. Nor did the mention of a rap track on the album.
Then the most unlikely media (at least for this writer) came calling: music videos. Phair made videos for "Spanish Doors" and "The Game," the two songs that open Soberish. What came across in the former was the riff in the chorus that gives it one of those unexpected turns just like her early work. "The Game" includes an anthemic power-chord chorus that also tugs on the ear, and overrides the metronomic synths in the introduction. Speaking of electronics, the chorus of "Spanish Doors" has some back-up vocals that sound auto-tuned and threaten to drown out the main lyrics. Thanks to the lyric sheet, they don't, but it's hard to tell of the effect is used for irony or not. Regardless of the intention (maybe it's not even auto-tune) "Spanish Doors" makes a strong opening, which "The Game" continues.
Soberish reunites Phair with Brad Wood, who produced and played on Guyville and Whip-smart. Guitarist Casey Rice, who also appeared on them, shows up to play some guitar and co-write "Hey Lou," a puzzling if catchy song that takes the late Velvet Underground singer to task for his irascible attitude. (The third verse seems to take aim at his late partner Laurie Anderson, though she gets off a bit easier.)
Whether or not Wood and Rice had any direct influence on her, Phair sounds rejuvenated and focused. She always was a good storyteller and while many of the songs deal with relationships on the rocks, each comes with its own angle on the topic. They could all be of a piece or they could stand separately. Speaking as someone who's only a few months younger than Phair and continues to try and write songs, it can be easier to sing convincingly about romantic tension than romantic bliss. The reflective mood of "Sheridan Rd.," feels poignant without being too dramatic ("Winding down Sheridan/ the wind in our hair/ we notice the new but the old is still there").
Aside from the repetitive "Soul Sucker" she never lets anything go on too long. She couldn't go without getting a bit raunchy but "Bad Kitty" couches it in a slightly witty metaphor ("My pussy in a big dumb cat/ it lies around lazy and fat/ But when it gets a taste for a man/ it goes out hunting for him anyway it can"). Plus it's anchored by a solid guitar groove. The big surprise here is that her son James receives credit for "additional engineering" on this and one other track.
Musical textures change with almost every song. Several tracks could fit in with more commercial electronic pop, taking a streamlined, clean sound and adding something to it that is rarely heard in popular music anymore. That element in this case is Phair herself - a somewhat understated vocalist who knows how to spin a yarn better than most people in her position. She's still got it.
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