he original title of Liz Phair’s new eponymous album was Happy Tragic Thing; perhaps someone at Capitol with a sense of irony realized how painfully apt this title was and opted for a safer route. There’s a glistening veneer of contented happiness coating the record, as if some adult-oriented radio programmer gleefully shat on it, but the tragedy is that Phair is wholly complicit in this utter waste of talent. The glimpses of what made me enjoy the whole of Exile in Guyville and parts of Whip-Smart are opaque, barely extractable from the overwhelming mediocrity.


The crime of Whitechocolatespaceegg was being content with everyday life, departing the overt sexuality that Liz Phair espoused on earlier efforts. Remarkable as it sounds, this record commits a far more egregious sin; reattaching that sexuality to her new soccer mom sound. It’s fine and dandy that Phair can still be sexual when she has a child – I’m not attacking women’s liberation – but the problem is the outright contradiction of being sexually liberal when the backdrop is so thoroughly conservative.


Exile in Guyville's “Flower” has been the most quoted Phair track, introducing horny indie rock kids to a bona fide “blowjob queen,” but more than that, it did so in a nearly a cappella environment, touched up only with abstract guitar sounds and girlish background vocals. Not only does she enjoying pleasuring you, she has the same taste in music, and that’s hot. “Chopsticks” took a solemn piano figure and twisted it with talk of doing it backwards and watching TV, but didn’t lose that all-important reticence; “I dropped him off and drove on home, because secretly I’m timid.” It's the fragility present on Exile in Guyville that made it last beyond the novelty, and that’s what’s been glossed over.


Now take “Hot White Cum,” the eleventh song on the new album and the clear nadir of Phair’s career. If you’re wondering what this album sounds like, this covers it. If not for the lyrics, it could be a b-side from Phair’s new pal, Sheryl Crow, complete with handclaps. It’s great that she’s singing about facials and whatnot, but shouldn’t it sound... sexy? “So hot, so sweet, so whet my appetite / Give me your hot white cum” is followed by a harmonica solo. It sounds as sexy as a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond for some new dish towels.


What about the songs not dealing with hot white cum or other such “lewd” sexual affairs? The lead track, “Extraordinary” covers those bases. “I am extraordinary / If you’d ever get to know me / I am extraordinary / I’m just your ordinary average everyday saint psycho super-goddess” might as well be stolen from an Avril Lavigne diary or one of a thousand Live Journals. Just before I can ask her about how this is possible with such pedestrian guitar tripe blaring in the background, she goes and turns the table on me; “Have you ever thought it’s you that’s boring? Who the hell are you?” Oh, snap!


I’m not going to say that Liz Phair can’t attempt to finally get a modicum of success, but how about she goes through a complete identity change first instead of this half-assed attempt to appeal to a different radio format. Let’s kill off any memory of the old Liz Phair, who once upon a time released some important material, and rename this woman Brooke Carter or something similarly innocuous. The used bins are full of people you’ve never heard of, and I wish this record could fit in that category.