Liz Phair's fourth appearance in Minneapolis, the last date of her summer tour, allowed me to flex my rockin' out muscles. Oooh, it felt good, but I'm perpetually offended by the Minnesota nice version of being a rock show audience member, as I'm the type who really wants to thrash when I see someone I adore. I rather enjoy an elbow in the ribs, or tipping over in time with the throng around me, or just plain freaking out while everyone else around me does the same. It's sheer bodily love of the music ("When they do the double Dutch/that's them dancing"…my concert-going companion Victoria pointed out to me we're both dancers and therefore groove bodily more so than most).
I took my head-bobbing place in the tepid, white crowd Thursday night and did my best. Thursday--as I missed her prior Minneapolis shows over the years--was my first time seeing Phair live, and she played a fine cross-section of her work, relying mostly on material from her new Capitol self-titled release. The witty sneer I love in her work was plainly evident, but much sweeter in person than I'd expected (although that curl in her upper lip might tell you otherwise). She kicked off with "6'1" from her first Matador release, Exile in Guyville, moving directly into her poppish hit "Polyester Bride" from 1998's whitechocolatespaceegg (a name I believe she devised in a dream). She covered new material with the radio-friendly "Rock Me", "Favorite", the current single "Why Can't I" and "Extraordinary".
Woven in were Exile gems "Glory", "Help Me Mary" and "Never Said"; she cooled it down with some acoustic-y numbers like "Uncle Alvarez". Being as it was the last show and she wanted us to bear with her on something "retarded", the band jammed through a basic blues riff to prove she actually could jam (although she claimed she couldn't).
To experience Phair at her most rockin', crank up Whipsmart's ubiquitous hit "Supernova", her last song of the set. I don't think any Phair show is complete without "Fuck and Run", which closed the encore set with, along with "Flower" and the pensive "Little Digger", a new song that exhibits good use of her upper register, whereas there's noticeable struggle shown on other new tunes' higher notes. Part of her appeal is the un-perfection of her voice, her rough yet sweet-on-the-edges alto, like the monologue-esque growl in "Flower" or "Chopsticks"; maybe end-of-tour strain contributed to the sound.
And there's much ballyhoo about this new album, the production, the vocal treatments, well, everything. So much of it points back at her early work, the stunning releases Exile in Guyville and Whipsmart, then shrilly declares, "We hate the new stuff". And yes, she's changed; the fans' growing pains are evident. Like many women who are open and strong like Phair, once they deviate, questions and criticisms fly. The interrogation light shines, the pedestal gets kicked over and fur flies. We don't want that sweet, slick pop made for today's radio, we want the brashness, the sexy lip curl, the frank sex talk, the lack of slick packaging or imaging that blows up the CMJ charts and like at my old radio station, leaves the new copy of the album in shambles within weeks from so much airplay.
It's hard to replicate or duplicate or perpetuate the sort of feeling I get when I listen Exile or Whipsmart. It's that intangible you won't find on my college transcript next to "Women's Studies", and it's that indelible feeling we debate. I'm sure both camps of people were at the show, although it was an ID show and I'm getting to be an old codger who doesn't listen to anything but NPR, so I don't know if young women are tuning in. Maybe they snicker at songs like "H.W.C. (Hot White Cum)" or latch on to something like "Why Can't I". I'd like to see their faces at hearing "Flower" for the first time to watch that intangible start to sink in, hearing a rock n roll woman make no apologies. I perpetually thank Phair for that, and her new album won't alter that respect. Neither will it keep me from future live shows where I'll witness her wit, sneer, sweetness and the evolution of her rock career.
