Liz Phair

Let’s get one thing straight: We really like Liz Phair. Or used to, anyway. In the past she’s done brash, sexy, pained, smart, and cool better than most anyone besides Bronson Pinchot. So what the hell is this crap we just listened to? Phair’s fourth album’s a drab mess on which the formerly acid-tongued indie rocker sings cutesy odes comparing her man to her underwear (“Favorite”) while a bland band grinds out modern-rock-by-numbers behind her. Pink and Avril fans will be thrilled; the rest of us will shudder and pray she gets help.