by Alex Reindl (@oldjoychicago)
"I don't want to talk about it, cause talking about it makes me sad," sings Liz Phair in the opening track of last year's Soberish, a song called "Spanish Doors". After eleven years without releasing a record she seems to have a lot to say, as sad as it may make her to say it. Soberish was released last June on Chrysalis Records and was produced by Brad Wood, the same producer at the helm of Phair’s first enduring alt-rock masterpiece Exile in Guyville. Partly inspired by the deaths of music legends Prince and David Bowie, the album was conceptualized after Phair’s manager asked her if she was making her best work, stuff she'd be happy with as the last thing she left behind were she to die tomorrow. With characteristic self-deprecation Phair said in an interview that it would have been terrible if she died after Funstyle, and that she "wouldn't make that mistake again."
Although the album certainly isn't Exile, even with Brad Wood producing it, it plays to Phair’s strengths as a lyrically intelligent and casually poetic songwriter, and although there are certainly hooks, she isn't trying too hard here, it doesn't sound forced. Her last two records, 2001's self titled attempt at mainstream pop stardom ("Why Can't I" notwithstanding, it's really a catchy song to be honest) and 2010s nearly painful rap-rock-sitar mishmash Funstyle have been.... learned from, to say the least, and she thankfully isn't making those mistakes again. Instead she opts for tasteful, understated arrangements which make the songwriting the central focus, and that's a very good thing.
The record opens with "Spanish Doors," a song about the desire to disappear when faced with a hard decision, or a decision that has already been made for you. The lyrics are the beginning of a reflective process that continues through the rest of the album. "I'm slowly disappearing behind our Spanish doors, the ghost I see in the mirror doesn't smile anymore," she sings over a danceable beat and crescendoing synths, while her backing vocals become more and more distorted and mutilated. It's not a club banger, but it's not supposed to be, and it sets the tone for the rest of Soberish, catchy, unpretentious, superficially simple but deceptively deep.
Liz Phair has always been an honest songwriter and that's why she has always been admired. She isn't afraid to be herself, wherever that takes her, and at fifty-four years old she is coming to terms with who she is versus who she was. The honesty is compelling, inviting, and almost always clever. She touches on her struggles with addiction here, and though one might be forgiven for thinking this is some kind of rehab/recovery record with a title like Soberish, it's really not the centerpiece of the album. Her addictions are coincidental to her life, and that's more honest and realistic, and therefore more relatable. The album is about love as much as it is addiction: Most of these songs are about relationships, relationships ending even as they make one feel safe (“Ba Ba Ba”) or the fear that comes from actually enjoying something good (“Soberish”) or knowing things need to end while they can still be remembered fondly (“Good Side”), which could also be about her career, given the circumstances behind the record.
Speaking of her career, Soberish as a word could be used to sum up more than her state of mind on a first (or last) date meeting at a bar while trying to maintain sobriety (as it is used to describe that very situation in the title track, which is one of the strongest songs on the record). It speaks to Phair’s place in music history and the pop idiom as well. She's never going to be looked at as a dour, overly sentimental songwriter, but she will also never be considered a joke. She has carved out a place all her own, lyrically and culturally, comfortably in between her grungy alternative roots in 90's Chicago and her flirtations with the glitz of west coast American pop stardom.
Although she lives in California now, there are reflections on her time in Chicago. The resignedly nostalgic "Sheridan Road" sees Phair and a friend smoking on the roof of a penthouse on the north side, looking down on a city that's "sparkling like diamonds" and not quite lamenting as she offers to play a song called "our dog days behind us." "We notice the new but the old is still there," she sings over a simple acoustic bed. It’s a telling scene for Phair, who never really made Exile in Guyville again, despite what some fans may have wanted. The only track from Soberish even vaguely reminiscent of the lo-fi anthems that made her first album famous is "Dosage," which also happens to be the catchiest track with the strongest melodic hook. The layered harmonies here recall what made old Liz Phair so good.
Not that she isn't still good. It's just different. She obviously understands the old axiom "You can't step into the same river twice,” and she isn't trying to here. She is trying to be honest about where she's at, and that she does very well. Ever since 2001’s self titled album there has been a pretension to mainstream pop in her work that hasn't always gone over well with critics, and yet the lead single from that record is her most played song on Spotify (the aforementioned "Why Can't I," It's really not bad, seriously!) so she's obviously doing something right. That pop sheen is still here even with Brad Wood producing, but it isn't overbearing. Upon first listen the album may seem to blend together under the production, but listening to it carefully demonstrates a remarkable range of subtle stylistic choices, it's just that they're all there to serve the song, which is a wise choice for a lyrically confident songwriter like Phair. Who else could get away with a chorus that starts with the line, "why do we keep dicking around?" No one would get away with that if they didn't have the confidence to back it up.
All things considered, Soberish is enjoyable to listen to, and that's the bottom line. The record looks back without ruminating, and looks forward to what's next without getting ahead of itself. For a new fan, you'd certainly be starting in a better place than if you started with Funstyle or Liz Phair. You'll be getting all the hard-won wisdom of a life full of setbacks and successes. The admirable introspection that she brings to falling into and out of love in the middle of a life well lived is reason enough to listen, even without the hooks. For a long time fan of Phair, you're not going to get your favorite album again, but there's a lot to like about it, and a lot to think about right under the surface: the deeper you go the deeper it gets. That's usually the case with Liz Phair, and all of her records reward repeated listens. This one is no different.