Deconstructing the Playlist - In Defense of Liz Phair

No homework for class tonight (that's a first this semester) means more time to write, so I am posting two days in a row! This gives me high hopes for this summer when my only goals will be to read many novels and write, write, write.

I enjoyed writing that completely spontaneous piece about Cat Power so much last week that I decided to go ahead and start a series about music. Music is a great prompt and I  have always been inspired by all the arts: music, dance, painting, sculpture, etc. For a long time, I even secretly dreamed that I was born to be a singer or a prolific watercolorist. It was only recently that I figured out you need more than a passing interest in these things to be successful at them. (I’m a slow learner, what can I say?) Plus, whenever I tried my hand at these forms of expression, I never felt truly… expressed. This discovery led me to focus on one thing and one thing only, my writing, something I’ve always found easy and natural to do.

This doesn’t mean that I can't still enjoy dabbling in artwork (drawing is especially cathartic) or singing karaoke with my friends. But having something to concentrate on is freeing. However, I realized I can go one step further and bring these things together, using my words to explore other art forms that inspire me. I find music and writing to be especially symbiotic. I’ve recently become one of those people who listens to music to match the mood of whatever I’m working on. Aside from being a surprisingly effective device, it has also allowed me to rediscover all the music I love so much.

So, here is the second installment in my music series, which I have now dubbed "Deconstructing the Playlist.” If there are any artists, albums, or songs you'd like to see covered, feel free to submit a comment!



"See the sun rise so loud this whole town gets drowned out/
Sky writing with the sweep of a flashlight/
I'm driving over that way/
Some pot of gold, it's just a carpeting store on opening day/
See the moon rise so low and shallow it burns halos in my eyes/
It's harder to swallow/
It's harder to breathe/
So many opals, nobody here knows what to believe/
They've got me underground" - Liz Phair

I’ve been listening to the song "Alice Springs" on repeat lately. It’s by Liz Phair, a singer-songwriter from Illinois who has always fascinated me. As many of you know, she released a series of albums beginning in 1993 - Exile in Guyville, Whip-Smart, and Whitechocolatespaceegg - that were adored by the critics, many who named Exile one of the most seminal rock albums of the 90’s. Labeled an “indie darling,” she did not shy away from subversive or crude topics in her lyrics. This music is not for the faint-of-heart. The first time I heard her music was when my sister, away at college, sent me a mix tape that included her song “Chopsticks.” The song recalls an awkward sexual encounter with a male acquaintance. It made me blush and then I wanted to hear more. Phair found a welcoming fan base in feminists, riot grrrls, and disaffected young people everywhere, but her albums never sold extremely well. She was far from a household name.

Then, in the early 2000’s, Phair began releasing music that was decidedly less rock and more pop. The vocals were auto-tuned beyond recognition and the content was a glossy, vapid version of what she sang about in her earlier songs. In interviews, she stated outright that she made the decision to change her musical style solely to sell more records. It worked, and her songs suddenly began appearing on the soundtracks to romantic-comedies and in commercials. Liz Phair had sold-out in the most literal sense, and many of her fans were understandably outraged. But I found it refreshing that she wasn’t pulling any punches about her intentions. How many artists take similar paths, but refuse to acknowledge the reasons behind their actions?  

For me, Liz Phair’s early work is so good that she will never be unseated as one of my personal heroes. I happen to be a huge fan of the show Girls (I know, I know) because it often feels like a modern interpretation of the themes explored by Phair in the 90’s. That decade was the perfect time to examine female issues. The Working Girl 80’s had given way to slacker grunge. There was suddenly a place for women in the arts to be just as shocking and frank as their male counterparts. Phair’s first three albums are about trying to figure it out, making mistakes, abandoning inhibitions and feeling the shame and exuberance that comes with that. I can’t think of anything that was released from 2000-2010 that tackled those issues so wisely. But now we have Girls, and it seems the tide has turned in favor of the outsiders again.

Though Exile and Whip-Smart were released two decades ago, they hold up incredibly well. I still listen to them regularly, and I never think, “Wow, that sounds dated.” Instead, I’m floored by how current and smart they sound. I also get flooded with memories because I’ve been listening to them for so many years. These records were in heavy rotation when I was in my early-20s, so they particularly remind me of that time. Those were my wildest years, you could say, and I vividly recall getting out of class at Pima Community College’s west campus after the sun had already set, driving down Anklam in my Ford Probe with the moon roof open, smoking a Camel Light, letting the wind tangle my hair, and listening to Liz Phair as the lights of Tucson twinkled in the distance. I would be thinking about the night ahead (because I still went out on weeknights back then) and wondering if anything exciting or new would happen.

This brings me to “Alice Springs.” It is a song I’ve heard literally a hundred times before, but I only recently fell in love with it.  It is exceedingly simple, brief, and low, so it’s not a big attention grabber, but when you spend a little time with it, you become enamored. It almost sounds like it was recorded in a closet somewhere. The vocal range is just below what is comfortable for Liz and she has to strain a bit to reach the notes. The melody is stark and bare and vulnerable, supported by a lone guitar chiming in at just the right moments.

I posted a link to the song as well as the lyrics in their entirety because they are equally important in this song. The words are special: vague enough to let you project your own interpretations onto them, poetic enough to make you dream. For me, she is singing about a small town and the feelings of isolation and boredom that come with living in one. The lines about seeing searchlights in the distance and seeking them out, only to find they’ve led you to something completely mundane strike a particular chord with me.

My hometown of Tucson is not small by any means, but it often feels like it is. There is that indescribable element to it, perhaps attributable to the sprawl, that haunts me. As someone who is inclined toward solitude, I found a lot in Liz Phair's music to relate to, to cling to, when I felt just a bit too alone. I'm still clinging to it, depending on it for memories, inspiration, wisdom. That is not something that a few pop albums can undo, so I will gladly continue including her songs on mixes and encouraging others to seek out her music.