Liz Phair
Somebody's Miracle

THE REVIEW

Ladies. Are you in the midst of a midlife crisis? Don't worry, you'll find it easy to befriend this record. Because in the end, it's an album that shares your problems, and there's nothing like being understood by someone experiencing similar struggles in friendship, right?

Perhaps it's precisely the midlife crisis that's currently inspiring Liz Phair, the self-proclaimed "Blowjob Queen" who with "Exile In Guyville" in 1993 shook that decade musically with her irreverent and brazen talk about sex, alongside the generous helpings of sarcasm and cynicism that generally permeated her lyrics. Liz Phair's previous self-titled album was anything but a masterpiece: the Connecticut singer-songwriter appeared as a sexy thirty-six-year-old mom who would have moved heaven and earth to become the adult answer to Avril Lavigne. Despite everything, the album was a smooth pop-rock record that was quite enjoyable if listened to without any expectations.

"Somebody's Miracle" neither here nor there, presents a lost singer-songwriter with few ideas. The album won't satisfy the recently acquired mainstream audience nor win back the fans who praised her until "Whitechocolatespaceegg." The result is a total failure, no matter how you look at it.

Most of the songs are bland and useless, lacking the courage and sharp wit that defined Liz Phair in the '90s. The single "Everything To Me", for example, is a cluster of disarming clichés: phrases like "Do you really know me at all, would you take the time to catch me if I fall, are you ever gonna be that real to me" are so predictable and lack depth that I refuse to believe they were written with serious intentions. Musically, it's even worse: a typical pseudo-melancholic pop ballad that spills over into a chorus decorated with plastered guitars, evoking a strong sense of déjà-vu and heavily reminiscent of Natalie Imbruglia and the latest Sheryl Crow in their mediocrity. At this point, it's fortunate that Phair remains physically attractive, as she ages gracefully. Even less defensible are "Lost Tonight" and "Count On My Love." The title track, on the other hand, would be more palatable if it weren't so cheesy and hadn't been dubbed by someone as "Fuck and Run pt. 2", which is quite a stretch since it lacks the punch and credibility of "Fuck and Run" from "Exile In Guyville."

There's little left of "Somebody's Miracle": there are the energetic refrains of the fun and carefree "Stars and Planets" and "Got My Own Thing." There's "Leap Of Innocence", which opens the record decently with a nostalgic soliloquy and might faintly evoke "Polyester Bride" from "Whitechocolatespaceegg"; or even the following "Wind And The Mountain", enjoyable despite extending too long without truly renewing itself in its five and a half minutes. But these are songs of dubious longevity, which do not save the album from the depths of inadequacy nor the listener from a bitter disappointment.

I don't know what will happen to Liz Phair after "Somebody's Miracle": it's commendable that she's trying to break away from her '90s persona, because she could easily release a "2000 version of Exile In Guyville" and have a slew of timid indie-rockers hanging on her gorgeous scarlet lips. Perhaps, though, she just needs to filter this desire to stand out from megalomaniac commercial ambitions - for which she has shown she's not up to the task - and combine it with more thoughtful, mature compositions that represent the irony that has always characterized her.