![]() Thus fortified, the songs jump out at the listener. There were still LPs back then, and “Exile” was designed as a double album-it was, the young singer-songwriter claimed, a song-by-song counterpart to the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main St.,” designed to be consumed in 5-4-5-4 bursts matching the sides of the original two records of the Stones’ dense classic. Phair was as lyrical as Joni Mitchell but played as tough as Chrissie Hynde she was as smart as Courtney Love and as comfortable toying with sexual imagery as Madonna. At the time, it was a landmark of foul-mouthed, compromised intimacy, a tortured confessional, a workout in female braggadocio, and a wellspring of penetrating self-analysis and audacity. ![]() “Exile” is part coming-of-age story and part systematic inquiry into the fractured psyche of American nineties womanhood. It was conceived and written by Phair when she was a twenty-five-year-old Oberlin graduate, and then reconceived as an impressionistic, atmospheric song cycle in a Chicago recording studio by a young producer named Brad Wood. It’s an eighteen-song record of what used to be called indie rock, arguably the quintessential example of the form. If you haven’t heard it recently, “Guyville” is many things. ![]() Twenty years after its release, two things are apparent about Liz Phair’s début album, “Exile in Guyville.” The first is that the record is still worth listening to. ![]()
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