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Liz, it used to mean something when you said "f*ck."

I'm listening to Liz Phair's 1994 album Whip-Smart - perhaps not the best choice for listening while at work, but I'm all dense like that. For anyone wondering, this is the same Liz Phair who is responsible for one of the more frustrating releases of the year (her self-titled disc) and is currently clogging our airwaves with a Matrix-produced, American-Eagle-soundtrack-ready single called "Why Can't I?"

I actually started off with Exile In Guyville a couple of years ago, but I think Whip-Smart is a better example of the conundrum that is Liz Phair. Exile was the cool one to have, with its lo-fi production lending a confessional, "you're sitting on my bed and I'm going to tell you all these dirty thoughts before my dad comes up and tells us dinner's ready and, oh yeah, maybe I'll let you make out with me, but then I'll laugh, because I'm the one taking advantage of you," vibe. Every critic in every outlet loves this one. When Liz plays "F*ck and Run" or "Divorce Song" at a show, those are the ones that the audience sings along with. That's how it goes.

Then there's the sophomore album. Released to relatively high expectations in 1994, a time when Matador Records was riding high- Pavement even had a hit that year-Whip-Smart has been all but forgotten. It's not the shocking debut, it's not the transition to a major/having a baby album (that's whitechocolatespaceegg), and it's not the "I want a big hit record" disc. It's the sophomore album. It's her Jan Brady album, all braces and glasses.

All this said, I still really like it for the charm it provides. The title track is as bouyant and frothy a tune as I've ever heard on a Matador release, like Josie and the Pussycats after Josie had experimented with sex in college and decided to be a soccer mom after graduation; it's a pleasantly sweet distraction. The rest of the record shifts into pop for the four-track crowd, pure and simple. Songs like "Supernova" and "Cinco de Mayo" are power pop stripped down to its basest elements- it's like a female counterpart to Nuggets. The only song to pull off the kind of punch that Exile pulled is the opener, "Chopsticks," which sounds like the girl from the previous record's "Flower" recast as someone tired of a scene and her position in it (Ben Folds Five had a live cover of this one circulating for a while-it's worth hearing).

The big complaint was, of course, that this wasn't as open or frank as the first disc. Her songs here are more akin to character studies this go-round, less the "dear diary" found previously. The bad girl was keeping listeners out of her bedroom now, and she took a hit for it, perhaps wrongly. It's the difference between freshman and junior years in college.

We probably won't get this Liz back again. She still plays some of these songs- I remember "Supernova" from the show with the Flaming Lips this past June- but she doesn't write them any more. The self-titled record has its moments (the Michael Penn-produced tracks in particular), but she seems content with using pitch controls and producing KISS-FM playlist fodder. Her once-confessional potty-mouth is a gimmick now, and she knows it. There are now two Liz Phairs where there once were one: LIZ PHAIR, the "risque" MILF of lite-rock, and Liz Phair, artist and mommy. More power to her, especially if it leads some teenage girl to investigate her back catalog...including Whip-Smart...

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