The New Dylan

Back during my sophomore year of college, I took a close look at my burgeoning record collection and noticed it was sadly lacking in female artists. While this was not exactly intentional, it was not altogether unexplainable. I always have been interested in music that I could relate to and understand, and that is something no one has ever accused me of doing with members of the opposite sex.


So, I asked all my educated buddies to suggest female artists and soon my collection contained everyone from the Pretenders to Slapp Happy, from Marianne Faithful to Emmylou Harris to Sheila Jordan. I listened and enjoyed much of what I heard. I've gone through my Madonna/Bangles/Joan Jett phase, have enjoyed current groups like the Throwing Muses, PJ Harvey, and L7. Yet the more I listen, the more I must admit my understanding of women has officially reached an all time low. When the best concert I've ever gone to was Bananarama at the Guthrie (they couldn't sing, didn't play instruments, couldn't dance, but damn they faked their way through Cruel Summer great), I must admit my admiration for female artists has bordered on patronizing.


Ultimately, I gave up. At the same time I was trying to add a female base to my record collection, I discovered Bob Dylan. I no longer cared about finding a female artist or any other male artists that I could relate to. For me, Bob was the real thing, all others were playing in the B league. His creative language, his vocal style, his spit into the wind attitude, oozes the very definition of all that is cool about life. Bob is one of the rare artists who doesn't make music to entertain or please; nor to express himself or reach others; Bob makes music because he has to- he wouldn't know what else to do. His music is religious, the very reason they sing hymns in church. Bob is cool.


When I first heard Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville, it was a stirring experience. I really listened. Phair was the first female artist to whom I could relate; and she shared many Dylanesque qualities: clever heartfelt lyrics; unique and personal guitar playing music; the absolute need to sort through the inner while expressing to the outer. She doesn't do this for approval, or for tangible things, she seems to do it because of the need to. There are those in my life who ask me which new artists they should listen to, figuring since I work at Cheapo, I have some knowledge of what is good out there (yeah right). I suggested Exile in Guyville to a woman and she brought it back and said, "I see why you like her. She sounds like a female Bob Dylan. She can't sing either."



Working for state government doesn't exactly inspire one to creative heights. There are certain days when I can feel whatever embers of creativity that once lingered inside, quickly die away. Yet one of my all time favorite achievements was sending a Liz Phair quote across a division wide email. What made this even better was getting another Liz Phair quote sent back to me in response. Cool.


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SHE strolled onto the stage at First Avenue Saturday night wearing striped pants and a leather halter top thing. She smiled and strummed her way into Divorce Song and the place went nuts. She sang all the songs one might expect her to sing (except I guess, Whip Smart and Dance of the Seven Veils). There was some new material; a song answering the artist formerly known as Prince's song to Cindy Crawford. "I feel so beautiful..."; and an anthem to those who wish to impose the death penalty to someone caught growing cannabis. Liz also announced that the much sought after Girly Sound will be released soon. "I gave all my tapes from my closet to someone. Call it juvenilia..."


The stripped down sound of just Liz with her electric guitar was quite appropriate. The bigger sounds of songs like Supernova and Jealousy may have lost their powerful electric riffs but something was gained in the poignancy of the angry performance (the line about, "and your lips are slippery like a cherub's bare wet ass," always gets me somehow). The absolute highlight for me was Never Said which Liz introduced by saying, "Do any of you know any jerks?"


So what is it about her music that makes one stand alone in a room full of packed humans, squished against a barrier, intertwining with the swirling smell of smoke and sweat? Maybe it isn't exactly music I understand genderwise (one of the questions of the evening was if she would sing Flower a song that might make Lenny Bruce blush- she did, turning afterwards to smile and say, "Just kidding"), but her songs aren't so much about the act and the gender of sex as they are about the complexities of love and loneliness, reaching out to be understood in an ever confusing world. Standing in the crowd, I wondered what the guys listening think and feel when she sings Divorce Song ? Do we get it? I know I, for one, have had many of the conversations that Liz sings about, either with another or internally. I finally can see the other side.


She closed the evening with the ultimate Liz song, a searing version of Fuck and Run. "What ever happened to a boyfriend? The kind of guy who makes love because he's in it. I want a boyfriend... I want all the stupid old shit like letters and sodas." Then she smiled, shyly walked off the stage. It was a rare, wonderful evening, the sounds buzzed through my mind- man, you make me dizzy Miss Lizzy, the way you rock and roll. You're a better man than me. And you're way cool.