Liz Phair is a sellout.
And a copycat, and a Sheryl Crow and an Avril Lavigne, but most of all, a former hero. So says the naggy, invisible Greek chorus of former and current fans, purists, naysayers, and kneejerk critics who greet every record she's put out since "Exile in Guyville," her seminal 1993 album.
The reaction was just as strong when she released "Funstyle" last year, an album that — after she described it as "experimental" — was practically begging to be torn to shreds by critics. The Village Voice named one of its tracks among the worst of the year.
As if she cares. Though Phair said she's bothered by the harsh response, she sounded like she relished rubbing people the wrong way. This was especially evident in her review of Keith Richards' autobiography last year, where she praised the guitarist for being a lifelong agitator.
"He makes his own rules, something I suffer from too," she said in an interview. "If you have those traits, they'll get you into much trouble, and like my grandmother used to say, you'll always be fighting upstream."
So the hate that welcomed "Funstyle" misses the point. In the album, she's as confrontational and as iconoclastic as early Phair — she released the album on her own after her label refused to. More important, it finds her taking control of her creative output for the first time in seven years, free of label and bottom-line record executives, and in spite of her clingy fans.
She's now touring with "Funstyle," and will