Album Review: Liz Phair by Liz Phair

Anybody who first tuned into Liz Phair during her indie period 10 years ago, when she was signed to Matador and recorded the much-admired Exile in Guyville, will listen to this new major-label offering and assume that Phair must have fallen under the influence of an evil svengali armed with personality-warping drugs. Where she used to be smart and provocative, Phair has become crass and bloated, her lyrics crude and her image apparently a grotesque exercise in self-parody. Once renowned for barbed commentaries on the "women in rock" theme, her new songs are more like audio pornography, splattered messily with her thoughts on shagging, lust and underwear.

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