Phair is woman of the hour

Spencer Patterson

Monday, March 1, 2004 | 8:22 a.m.

Much as I dislike Liz Phair's latest, self-titled album, I won't knock the woman for following her heart.

Phair says her lifelong dream has been to record pop songs and garner mainstream radio play. At age 36, the singer/songwriter has finally done it, and I won't fault her for achieving that longtime goal.

When Phair's once first-rate live show also shows signs of artistic decline, however, she opens herself up to far more legitimate criticism.

Sadly, that's what happened Saturday night at the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay. Phair's concert failed on several levels, leaving a crowd of around 1,000 generally underwhelmed.

For starters, what serious performer, much less one who has recorded four albums in a decade in the business, plays for only 65 minutes?

Promising vocalist Rachael Yamagata, who opened the three-act bill, managed half an hour, and her catalog stands at one EP.

To Phair's credit, she wasn't entirely stingy with her time, remaining onstage to sign autographs for nearly 10 minutes. But wouldn't a few more songs have been a better reward for any true fan of her music?

Phair still had plenty of songs to choose from, having left much of her best material in her holster. She virtually ignored her second and third albums, and plucked just five songs from revered debut record "Exile in Guyville," the disc that earned her instant credibility in 1993.

As for what Phair did play, the set was heavy on new material, with eight numbers coming from last June's "Liz Phair." Most were noisy rockers marred by sloppy play from Phair's four-man band.

"I keep breaking my (guitar) picks," Phair announced at one point. "I must be getting more intense, right?"

Wrong.

Phair was far more intense when she spoke quietly, allowing her bright melodies and earnest lyrics to stand on their own.

We rarely got to see that side of Phair's persona on Saturday.

"Chopsticks," one of her signature "pottymouth" confections, featured the blond-haired mother-of-one on piano, backed only by sparse guitar accompaniment by Dino Meneghin.

Phair explained that she began writing her dirty lyrics to pass the time during piano practices as a child.

For "Uncle Alvarez," Phair's band dropped far back, allowing her to weave the fanciful story of a character and the "imaginary accomplishments" on his life's resume: "He isn't really part Cherokee Indian / He didn't fight in the Civil War."

Most of the time, Phair's famous lyrics were tough to make out. A metallic version of "Flower" dulled the impact of her sexually graphic words, while jarring keyboard fills spoiled the normally moving "Help Me Mary."

Even Phair's voice -- once warm and earthy -- failed her, coming up rather shrill for the high notes in "Why Can't I?," that hit single she's always talked about.

Through it all, Phair soldiered on energetically, smiling as she sang through her headset-style microphone.

Phair swayed her hips suggestively at times, but opted for relatively modest clothing, despite her portrayal as a sexpot on her album cover and publicity shots. That choice of attire may have been a nod to her godparents, whom Phair acknowledged in the audience.

Though several young girls stood near the stage, the crowd was mostly composed of mature adults. It seemed the women were there to sing along and dance, while many of the men may have had ulterior motives.

"I love you!," one male fan yelled out early on.

"You ought to," Phair retorted.

Actually Liz, we all want to, but at the moment you're making it awfully difficult.