Sigh. I miss the days when I could look at hot pictures of Liz Phair and actually respect myself in the morning. Not so much anymore, huh? Yeah, I could bitch and moan about the fact that she's "sold out" and is appealing to the lowest common denominator for posing for the craptacular Maxim machine. I could retch a little when I'm reminded that she's heading up a Maybelline-sponsored tour entitled "Chicks with Attitude." (Blech!) But the real key for my growing hatred for her is that she's doing all of this backed by the power (?) of her weakest album to date. And it's not just weak—it's horrible and, for the most part, lyrically bland. It hurts me to hear it. There was a time when Liz could sing about cum and I was right there with her, thinking she was speaking for all the bitter sluts like me. How I'm supposed to believe that someone who threw the terribly disturbing "even when I was 12" lyric into a song called "Fuck and Run" ages ago is suddenly naively asking us why she can't breathe when she's around us? I just can't reconcile it. When a 16-year-old pop princess sings vapid pop songs at me, that's fine. I expect nothing more. When a powerful, once-groundbreaking female artist who's pushing 40 tries it, it's really kinda sad.
This cover, by the sometimes worthwhile and sometimes annoying all-over-the-map quirk rockers Self is surprisingly straightforward and slightly boring. I'd have a expected something a little more interesting from a band whose last album was performed solely on toy instruments. But it's a good song. Classic Liz. Sexy, ballsy Liz. Not the new Avril-Lavigne-meets-Carmen-Electra Liz.
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