Day 20: Liz Phair, “Exile in Guyville”

When: Released June 22, 1993

Why? Liz Phair is the only artist on this list that I’ve really known prior to listening to this album. I own and thoroughly enjoy both “Liz Phair” (2003) and “Somebody’s Miracle” (2005), albums that have gotten a lot of flak from long-time fans for being too overtly commercial, particularly in light of how Phair’s career began. “Exile in Guyville” is an album that critics have called “an astonishing debut,” “one of the best albums of the Nineties,” and “a masterpiece.” Since it also has a reputation for being markedly different than Phair’s later work, I wanted to give this one a listen.

What? “Exile in Guyville” is an 18-song, 57-minute double album.

Some background: Guyville was a nickname given to Chicago’s indie music scene in the early 1990s when Phair was working to break through there. In other words, it was a guy’s scene; women need not apply. This is Phair’s assessment of and rebuttal to that situation, ostensibly presented to mimic the flow of the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main Street” (1972).

First Impressions: In a series of concise, focused songs—many of which eschew traditional verse-chorus structure—Phair explores toxic masculinity and female agency in a variety of scenarios. Some songs are full band performances, others are built on just a piano or a guitar accompanying Phair’s distinctive voice.

From the very beginning, in opener “6'1",” it is clear that Phair has no desire to measure up to men’s expectations for what a woman should be, do, or want. Yet those misogynistic ideals continue to threaten: In “Help Me, Mary,” the narrator says that the men who surround her “make rude remarks about me / They wonder just how wild I would be. / As they egg me on and keep me mad / They play me like a pit bull in the basement…” She closes with the plea, “Weave my disgust into fame / And watch how fast they run to the flame.” To these men, she will always be just an object until she has something they’re desperate for.

There is nothing like a traditional love song here—or, for that matter, a traditional song of any type. On “…Guyville,” love more closely resembles lust, and relationships between the sexes are often abusive, unequal, demoralizing. In song after song, Phair’s voice highlights hypocrisies while fighting back with quiet power and agency. And even though she can be biting in her satire, it never feels bitter or self-pitying. She’s simply a woman who has had enough and believes it’s time for a reckoning.

“If I want to leave, you better let me go,” she sings in “Girls! Girls! Girls!” Why? “Because I take full advantage of every man I meet. / I get away almost every day / With what the girls call…murder.” In the album’s most unabashedly raunchy song, “Flower,” she takes the stereotype of how men think women should think about sex—as submissive, virginal partners or even bashful ones—and explodes it with an inventive and hypnotic vocal arrangement and lyrics that spell out exactly what she wants to do. To the extent that, other than the line “Every time I see your face / I think of things un-pure, unchaste,” there’s almost nothing else in the song I feel comfortable quoting here!

But Phair’s frank sexuality here highlights an interesting point about this album, I think. When male rockers sing about sex, they tend to couch it in the kind of metaphors best delivered with a wink and a nudge. When Phair sings about what she wants sexually, she cuts to the chase. She uses the words. That brings female sexuality into the light and puts it on the same plane as everything else she’s exploring so honestly: divorce, manipulation, fame, desire. I respect that.

The penultimate track, “Stratford-on-Guy,” brings a revelation. As the narrator flies high above Chicago in a plane, she realizes that Guyville, with all its seemingly overwhelming flaws, doesn’t represent the world. Looking down at it from 30,000 feet, it’s insularity shrinks to insignificance. Up in the sky, free of the gossip, the backstabbing, the narrow-mindedness, she gains perspective: “It took an hour / Maybe a day / But once I really listened / The noise just went away.”

So? Like Patti Smith’s “Horses,” this is a tough album for me to evaluate after a single listen. There are layers and themes to the stories in these songs that will only come to light through additional listens. And while I still prefer the more straightforward pop-rock of Phair’s later work at this point, I’ll definitely listen again.

Day 19: The White Stripes, “Elephant”

When: Released April 1, 2002

Why? According to one reference, this is White Stripes’ best-selling album. I chose it specifically because it contains the only WS song I’ve ever heard, “Seven Nation Army,” which I enjoy. Music journalist Jake Kennedy calls this album the White Stripes’ “most dynamic release.”

What? Fourteen songs, 51 minutes, from the once-married duo of Jack White and Meg White. Famously, White Stripes’ songs are built on Meg’s drums, Jack’s guitars, some additional keyboards—and no bass.

First Impressions: I liked this. A lot.

So let’s talk about the “Elephant” in the room.

If there’s a unifying sound to this album, it’s distortion—multiple distinct flavors of distorted guitars, along with occasionally overdriven keyboards, vocals, and perhaps even drums. Spare arrangements mean that there is still a clarity to all of the instruments; each one has a role to play.

Jack White’s lyrics (all songs were written by him, apart from the Hal David/Burt Bacharach cover, “I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself”) are generally clear, poetic, fluid, and often tinged with humor. His delivery frequently shifts from singing to singing-speaking to something close to a poetry slam, depending upon the material. And I enjoyed all of it.

I was surprised to learn that Meg White is also a singer. Her vocal performance of “In the Cold, Cold Night” is, pardon the pun, chilling. It’s also a great moment of quiet and vivid storytelling musically. It’s too bad this is her only solo vocal appearance on the album. (She joins Jack and guest vocalist Holly Golightly on the lighthearted round-robin closer, “Well It’s True That We Love One Another.”)

There wasn’t a bad track on the album; I found something I could appreciate in every single song. But highlights include “Seven Nation Army,” “Black Math,” “There’s No Home for You Here,” “I Want to Be the Boy…” (with piano/guitar instrumentation reminiscent of early-70s Elton John), “In the Cold, Cold Night,” “Ball and Biscuit,” and “You’ve Got Her in Your Pocket.”

I want to elaborate a bit about “Ball and Biscuit.” It is over 7 minutes long, but it didn’t feel like it. Like the other songs on “Elephant,” there are multiple short instrumental breaks (often involving a repeated theme) that put breathing space between verses and choruses. I’ve heard albums where such things feel like filler, but that wasn’t the case here. In “Ball and Biscuit,” as in every other track, the short instrumental sections blended melodies, crunching guitars, distortion, and sometimes feedback to introduce changes that always kept me interested and engaged. I was actually surprised when “Ball and Biscuit” started to fade out; I couldn’t believe it had been 7 minutes already.

So? As I said above: I liked this. A lot. After just sitting through a half-dozen albums that, while sometimes enjoyable, didn’t get me excited, this was eye-opening.

Day 18: The Pretenders, “Pretenders”

When: Released January 11, 1980

Why? I’ve only heard a few of the radio hits and just thought they were okay. But the group has been considered highly influential on bands I like, including No Doubt and Garbage, which put iconic female singers/songwriters front and center.

What? Twelve songs, 47 minutes. This is the Pretenders’ debut album.

First Impressions: This is, at various times, punk, New Wave, radio-friendly pop, reggae, and Sixties guitar band. If there’s a unifying presence to the Pretenders’ first album it’s the distinctive voice and lyrics of founder Chrissie Hynde.

Given the veiled, cryptic nature of most of the lyrics, I can’t really begin to decipher them…or, unfortunately, even relate to them. Nearly all of the songs seem to carry weight, though, telling stories or revealing memories that feel grounded in at least some kind of real-life experience (though not necessarily Hynde’s own).

The obvious exception is the instrumental “Space Invader” (by band members James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon). But the cover song “Stop Your Sobbing” (by Ray Davies of the Kinks) is another; instrumentally and lyrically this one seems like the odd one out in this collection, and it was probably my least favorite track on the album. It’s not a bad song. It just doesn’t seem to belong here, particularly with the early Beatles-inspired instrumental break, which looks backward when the rest of the album feels so current and even forward-looking.

The album’s big hit, “Brass in Pocket”—perhaps the biggest hit of the Pretenders’ career—seems oddly “normal” among the sung-spoken poetic free verse that supports most of the songs. In fact, I think this may be the only track here (co-written by Hynde and Honeyman-Scott) that takes a wholly traditional approach to song structure.

So? I’m glad I took the time to listen to this…but I didn’t feel any connection to either the band or the album. At this point, I don’t know if I’d revisit it or not.

Day 17: Suzi Quatro, “Suzi Quatro”

When: Released October 1, 1973

Why? Quatro is considered highly influential by such bands as The Runaways, Blondie, The Go-Gos, as well as K.T. Tunstall and members of Talking Heads. Prior to this listen, the only Suzi Quatro song I’d ever heard was 1978’s single “Stumblin’ In.”

What? Initially released in the UK as a 12-song, 46-minute LP, the actual track listing was altered for various countries and over the course of numerous re-pressings. The original UK album did not include the hit single “Can the Can,” but I am including it in this listen due to the fact that it did appear on subsequent pressings, tacked on at the end of Side Two.

First Impressions: This is straightforward, raw rock and roll performed with energy, hampered by some inconsistent mixing/production choices.

Producer Mike Chapman would go on to write (or co-write) a long list of hits for many well-known acts. He was also involved in a number of important and influential albums in the late Seventies and early Eighties (including some of my favorites). In 1973, though, he was both inexperienced and, apparently, strongly opinionated when it came to mixing and production. That’s not an ideal combination, and I think this album suffers because of it. Recording quality varies from track to track. Basic mixing and production choices are inconsistent as well, with opener “48 Crash” sounding particularly poorly recorded and mixed, while “Skin Tight Skin” (a strong track) sounds so polished and multilayered it feels like it came from a future album.

Quatro’s bass playing is well represented and occasionally showcased. I wish her vocals had been treated with as much respect. Not to pick on “48 Crash,” which was a hit, but the key is so far out of Quatro’s range that she seems to be shouting/screaming most of the song. “Shakin’ All Over” is also too high for her to sing comfortably, and one of her biggest hits, “Can the Can,” comes close. I know from watching interviews that Quatro wasn’t comfortable singing in this range; these keys weren’t her choice. She says it was done at Chapman’s insistence.

Favorite tracks for me include “Shine My Machine” (although it missed some lyrical opportunities for sly innuendo), “Primitive Love,” “Sticks & Stones,” “Skin Tight Skin,” and her very fun (and unexpected) cover of the Lennon-McCartney song “I Wanna Be Your Man.” Overlooking the vocal performance, I also enjoyed “Can the Can,” though I can’t say I have any clue what it’s about—assuming it’s about anything.

The least successful tracks for me were “48 Crash” (surprise!), “Get Back Mamma,” and “Rockin’ Moonbeam.” The latter two are pure filler. Part of me wants to include “Official Suburbian Superman” in this group as well, but I can’t help feeling that there are the bones of a really good song here; it just wasn’t fully realized.

So? Quatro would go on to release over 18 albums and dozens of hit singles, becoming an international rock star and an icon for young women. I wish this had been a better showcase for her talents. Even so, I’ll listen to this album again.

Day 16: Talking Heads, “Remain in Light”

When: Released October 8, 1980

Why? I’ve heard a couple of Talking Heads radio singles (I love “Burning Down the House”) but never an album. Rolling Stone ranks this at #39 in their list of the top 500 albums (from all popular genres) of all time. The only track I had heard before was “Once in a Lifetime.”

What? Eight songs, 40 minutes. Music journalist Daryl Easlea calls this “Talking Heads’ greatest statement.”

First Impressions: This feels like an album that will only reveal itself with multiple listens.

To me, this is art-pop, with oblique, stream-of-consciousness lyrics frequently delivered in spoken-sung style by David Byrne. I was two songs in before I realized that each one was built on a single chord, with no chord changes. That one-chord-per-song approach continued for the entire album. To add interest and variety, sometimes other chords are hinted at by Tina Weymouth’s bass notes or Byrne’s top-line melodies. In addition each chord is expanded upon by a multilayered instrumental track recorded to sound like a continuous loop, although each one is actually a real band performance. (Seamless computer-based looping was not an option in 1980.)

Apparently, this album was heavily inspired by African rhythms and melodies—at least that was the case for Byrne’s songwriting—and that comes through from the very first notes. What was less clear for me was the meaning or intent behind most of the tracks. (Producer Brian Eno has been quoted as saying he doesn’t believe lyrics are necessarily the heart of a song.)

Meaning aside, I enjoyed most of the tracks here. The less-successful ones for me were the opener, “Born Under Punches,” and the closer, “The Overload.” I especially enjoyed “The Great Curve,” “Once in a Lifetime,” “Houses in Motion,” and “Seen and Not Seen.”

One surprise for me was discovering how the musical arrangements here reminded me of tracks from Godley & Creme’s “Ismism” (1981). It wouldn’t surprise me if Kevin Godley and Lol Creme had heard and been inspired by “Remain in Light” prior to writing their own album (originally released as “Snack Attack” in the U.S.).

So? Given the somewhat experimental approach of this album—all songs based on a single chord, musical performances meant to sound like repeating loops—I’m not sure it’s a fair representation of what a typical Talking Heads album might sound like. But I didn’t dislike any of the songs, and I enjoyed six of the eight. The musicianship required to sound like a computerized loop when actually playing live is remarkable; Byrne’s voice is appealing and interesting to me, providing just the right tone of quirky detachment; and the songwriting offers ample food for thought.