But I wander. What’s the deal with Liz Phair?
She makes Exile in Guyville, which I couldn’t stop listening to for 10 years and shoved in the face of everyone I knew until it was stolen by Jackie Gantzer, a coke fiend who went Mormon (and no, I did not love the song “Flower,” in which Liz threatens to suck some guy’s dick blue). Then her next album was OK–some good stuff, but pretty uneven. And everything else unlistenable. I won’t call her a sellout. That’s stupid. No one wants to be a critic’s darling only. Everyone wants to make money too. I get that. But where did the gift go? That’s what I wonder about. How is it that people do work of complete genius, then toss up airballs forever after? A mystery of art, artistic process, and creativity. Maybe we’ve only got one real good thing in us? Or, some have just one good thing in them.
It’s not that I want Liz Phair to make another Exile in Guyville. It’s that I want her to make something as spectacular.