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Jan 19, 2011 Web Exclusive By Frank Valish

It a brand new year, and in the spirit of new beginnings, the time seems right to revisit what was perhaps one of last year's strangest releases, the latest album by Liz Phair. Widely panned from the moment it was first released for download-only on Phair's website, Funstyle deserves at least a second listen, or the benefit of delay in the rush to judgment. But by now there has certainly been time enough to digest, and first impressions are far gone. So, with the empty champagne glasses still resting on the CD player, let us revisit Funstyle with the sixty-four thousand dollar question: Is it really as bad as everyone says?

Unfortunately, the short answer to this question is probably yes. Phair has been on a downward spiral of artistic relevance since releasing Exile in Guyville in 1993, from her cheaper imitations in Whip-Smart and whitechocolatespaceegg, through the X-rated radio pop of 2003's Liz Phair and its unremarkable follow up, Somebody's Miracle. With the best spin put on things, Phair has become an artist without a country. With the worst, she's become an artist without inspiration. Yet, you'll notice even my reticence to make global statements about Phair, evidenced by the "probably" qualifier in my overall judgment above.

Perhaps an annotated track-by-track examination would be best in looking at this bizarre hodge-podge of an album:

1.     "Smoke" - Deep bass line, all sorts of voice-overs (industry suits, laymen, club bouncers, naysayers), and Phair herself saying, "It's career suicide."

2.     "Bollywood" - Rapping (!) over what sounds like the background to the opening credits of Outsourced. Seems to be comment on art, the industry, and Hollywood, with cell phone rings, "manager" speeches, and the like.

3.     "You Should Know Me" -  A nice melody and that winds oddly and intriguingly around a bare, zig-zag guitar line. One of the album's stronger tracks.

4.     "Miss September" - A beautiful nugget of '60s pop-esque tunefulness punctuated by Phair's distinctive vocal timbre and phrasing, all husky verse and jubilant bouncy chorus.

5.     "My My" - Is she trying to be Sly Stone? Not a good thing, despite fair, funk-filled chorus.

6.     "Oh, Bangladesh" - Simple melody, with enough lame lyrical suggestiveness (shooting balls in pockets, swelling love, getting under) to fill a harlequin romance novel.

7.     "Bang! Bang!" - Dark and mysterious. Not as bad upon repeated listens.

8.     "Beat Is Up" - Cornucopia of crude attempts at cultural critique with offensive Indian-accented sage and Valley Girl spoken word.

9.     "Satisfied" - Mediocre retread. (See Whip-Smart)

10.   "And He Slayed Her" - Melody un-messed with, and Phair at her most charming, despite the moronic "I came, I saw, I kicked its ass" lyric, and a line about some poor sap holding her hair while she "puked everywhere."

And finally:

11.  "U Hate It" - Another "commentary." People arguing about who hates the album more. Phair singing about how much she loves it, and rhyming genius and penis (pronounced /pēnyis/)...twice. And the best line of the album, from one of the arguing listeners: "I listened to it twice. The second time was worse."

After visit and revisit of this album, it is clear that the bad is so bad that it forces even the acceptable to be remembered as complete shit. But there are a handful of good, if not exactly laudable, tracks here, "Miss September" and "And He Slayed Her" being the cream of an admittedly weak crop. Also, there is a certain self-awareness that Phair displays that is bizarre at best. It's like a reality show that is commenting on how stupid it is while you're watching it. The album breaks the fourth wall as you're listening, almost defending its indefensible positions while it's proving itself wrong...or right. I'm not even sure. Up is down, east is west, and vice versa. It's like Phair is intentionally bucking a system that she has been on the periphery of for at least 10 years now, and the sonic and lyrical means by which she does this is akin to a five year old insulting you by saying you have poop in your pants: the immaturity of the statement renders it meaningless.

To add some level of intrigue to the proceedings, Phair released Funstyle its physical form with an additional disc of her infamous pre-Guyville Girlysound recordings. In an obvious sense, this gives some marketability to an album that would otherwise be a marketer's nightmare. But it also makes painfully obvious by its direct juxtaposition the artistic merits of the Phair of old compared with the Phair of new, like pairing your Greatest Hits with your Worst Misses, with the Worst Misses out in front on disc one. So, why would Phair do such a thing? It's because of this question that I personally waited so long to pass judgment on Funstyle. I like to give Liz Phair the benefit of the doubt. She still exudes an exciting pop presence, as evidenced by her live run through of Guyville in its entirety just two years ago. And she can still attract an audience. Hopefully this album won't change that, although I wouldn't fault anybody for staying away. Of course, for bad or worse, I'll likely be hanging around next time Phair decides to release a record, just to see what's next in this bizarre soap-opera of a pop career. Happy New Year, Liz Phair. At least you always keep us talking. (www.lizphair.com)