Tracklist: Disc: 1 1. Help Me Mary 3.
Dance of The Seven Veils 5. Never Said 6. Soap Star Joe 7. Explain It To Me 8. Mesmerizing 10. Fuck and Run 11.
Divorce Song 13. Johnny Sunshine 16. Stratford-On-Guy 18. Strange Loop Disc: 2 1. White Babies 2. 6 Dick Pimp 4. Divorce Song 5.
Don't Holdyrbreath 7. Johnny Sunshine 8. Elvis Song 10. Dead Shark 11. One Less Thing 12. In Love w/Yself 14. Hello Sailor 15.
Wild-Thing 16. Fuck And Run 17. Easy Target 18. Soap Star Joe 19.
Any In Alaska Disc: 3 1. GIRLSGIRLSGIRLS 2. Polyester Bride 3.
Miss Mary Mack 5. Batmobile 11. Open Season 13. Whip Smart 14. Salman khan old songs mp3 free download. Suckerfish 15. California 16. South Dakota 17.
2018 marks the 25th anniversary of Liz Phair’s landmark album Exile in Guyville. On May 4th, Matador Records will release Girly-Sound To Guyville: The 25th Anniversary Box Set. This release is an extensive, limited edition 7-LP or 3-CD box set to celebrate the anniversary of her classic album. The box set contains the first official restored audio of all three 1991 Girly-Sound tapes from the original cassettes. It also contains the 1993 Exile In Guyville album remastered by Emily Lazar at The Lodge.
Also included is a lavish, thick book, which contains an extensive oral history by Jason Cohen, plus essays by Liz Phair and journalist Ann Powers. The vinyl version of the book also contains never before published photos, unseen artwork, and ephemera. Originally released in 1993, Exile In Guyville is a seminal album and a feminist landmark. Its legendary status has only grown over the years. It’s continually included in countless listsRolling Stone’s 500 Greatest albums of all time + 100 best albums of the 90s, Pitchfork’s Top 100 albums of the 90s, etc. Numerous essays and think pieces have been written about it and the number of accolades piled on is endless. Since the release of Exile in Guyville, Liz Phair has continued to defy expectation and break barriers.
She has released five albums, is working on a new one and has also composed music for television shows and received awards for that work. In November, it was announced that she would be fulfilling a longtime dream to be an author with a two-book deal with Random House. Her first book will be called Horror Stories, which focuses on “heartbreak, motherhood, and everything in between.”.
What's the soundtrack of your youth? In ELLE.com's column, we revisit the tunes that made us who we are. In today's installment: the soundtrack to every crappy morning after, Liz Phair's 'Fuck and Run.' When you're a kid, the word 'fuck' has an unassailable appeal; its rude naughtiness makes for a tiny bomb rebellious youths love to throw.
And behind the frisson of the verb's cultural dirtiness is what truly makes it taboo: sex and the desire to have it. That's part of the long-lasting draw of Liz Phair's 'Fuck and Run,' originally released in 1991 on the Chicago indie legend's Girly-Sound cassette tapes, and then reworked for her debut studio album Exile in Guyville (1993). Today, on its 25th anniversary, Guyville is being reissued. 'Fuck and Run' is still its shrugging, blunt self: a post-hookup complaint song that's also a singalong jam. It remains the anthem for people who keep getting mixed up with the wrong people. 'I can feel it in my bones,' Phair laments on the chorus, 'I'm gonna spend another year alone.' ELLE.com talked to Phair about the song's origins, love, and what happens the morning after.
Here's what we learned. The song's morning-after malaise was loosely based on her life experience. 'I don’t think the facts were exactly right, there was no one encounter that I went home and just wrote the song about—I think I had a couple different hook-ups where I wound up in someone’s room who was a perfectly nice person but I wasn’t ready to have sex with them. And we either had sex or almost had sex—some situations that I had gotten myself into, wanting something that wasn’t what I got and coming away with that confusion of I participated willingly but I still felt wrong about it. I couldn’t find a place to be in the world where things happened in a way that felt like they should.
It was a song lamenting my inability to find what I was looking for and placing myself in situations that felt bad. Every night you think, This is it, I’m gonna do it right this time, and then you wake up in the morning like, Nope, once again I feel like I’m harming myself trying to find love, which is something that I want to find. It was really hard.
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It’s still really hard, nothing’s changed.' When Phair originally wrote the song, she didn't think many people would hear it. 'I think that’s what strikes me the most when I listen to it—the complete innocence of not really realizing anybody was going to hear it, or only thinking a few people who were my friends were gonna hear what I was recording. That younger version of me was kind of just goofing around and being brash and saying shocking things to be shocking.
The process of recording was unselfconscious and experimental—and embarrassing at times. That’s not who I was outside the recording environment. Does that make sense? I think I tried to pretend to be tougher than I was.
I felt a lot of insecurity, I felt very permeable about the things that had happened to me emotionally. But at the same time, I put forward a mask of toughness, coolness, and rawness, and shockingness. You know, there was a lie or two. I was leading with a false front.' Phair was writing rock songs when the genre was dominated by a male point of view.
Matador 'When we started to make 'Fuck and Run,' I was very clear that I wanted it to be a rock song. On Girly-Sound, it could’ve gone a number of ways. We could’ve treated it as a more soft and intimate song. When a woman back then decided she was going to step into the arena of rock, there was no way to do a rock song without somehow thinking about how men view rock songs. I think that was interesting, to take this song about my little weird, awkward morning-after insecurities.back then, to say, This is an important enough story to put in a rock song, was like making a political statement.
That my weird-girl, personal experience could be the scaffold for a legit rock radio song.' The song was completely misunderstood when it was exposed to a wider audience. 'A lot of stuff was very provocative back then. Download game guitar hero indonesia untuk pc. I was in a world where shock value was part and parcel in the indie-rock scene. But when Guyville was about to come out we were gonna do that whole thing all over again where other people heard it. I suddenly got self-conscious and I thought, 'Oh shit.' I knew that in society at large, this wasn’t going to be understood in the context it was intended to be; my indie scene would get it, what I meant, and how much I was actually living it, but the larger society was just going to be straight scarlet letter.
It was very, very frightening. I lost my knees out from under me because I thought, 'I’m not sure I can justify it in the public realm.
I’m not sure, even if I explain it—I don’t know if I can bridge that gap.' 'I was suddenly getting fan letters from music guys who wanted to have sex with me and thought I was up for it.'
It did become something so many music journalists picked up. I was like 'the blow-job queen' everywhere. There was no context and it was literal to them.
I was suddenly getting fan letters from music guys who wanted to have sex with me and thought I was up for it. It was just this whole avalanche of, No, no, no, you don’t understand, that’s what I’m kind of pushing back against—I’m trying to fight for women to have authorship in their sexuality and fighting to be a sex subject, not a sex object. That was just totally lost by the jump in audience size.' That line about understanding sex and power from a young age—'Fuck and run / Even when I was 12'—didn't cause much controversy at the time. 'I don’t remember that really being picked up. The funny part is, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was at least 18, probably 19. But I had felt that energy and sort of bumped against guys prior to that.
Though I hadn’t had sex and I wasn’t even close to having sex at 12, there was that awareness of how the world works. You know—when you’ve given something but you actually feel like it was taken away from you. Like, giving sex because I was hoping it would turn to love, that classic thing, and that feeling of being used.
That feeling of, How do I get to the sex that I want when they’re just trying to get sex from me? I understood that at 12—I probably understood that at nine, and it wasn’t necessarily linked to actual physical acts.'
Though the album has been on regular rotation for me for the past two decades, I was 10 and generally musically ignorant when Guyville came out, and I came to it somewhat backward. Her second album, Whip-Smart, was my first, and my best friend and I listened to it on her portable boom box, huddled on the bottom bunk of her childhood bed.
With its chirpy collage of sounds and fairy-tale-like lyrics, “” (the song) appealed to us, poised as we were to tip into our teenage years. When another friend—while we were playing pool in her basement a few years later—introduced me to Guyville, I was primed to like Phair, but not quite prepared for the revelation of songs like “.” I’d experienced neither the f.ing or the running at that point, but this woman was like an oracle from the future, and I trusted her fully.
Guyville meant a lot to many other women as well, a kind of raw, powerful, honesty. I asked a handful of women—and one man!—to explain what it meant to them.
Part of the reason I wanted to go to Oberlin is because Liz Phair went there. I’m proud to say, I (purposely) had sex once in the house she had lived in. Exile in Guyville has been the soundtrack to every essential and painful moment of adult self-actualization/lust/loss/pain/combat boot leopard coat–wearing night of my life. Liz (who I can happily now call a friend) made it okay, even wonderful, to be the weird girl, the lost girl, the fucked-up, angry, wet, lonely, curious girl.
This album (not to mention, what she’s done since) are the definition of pure self-expression, and it’s amazing how deeply something so personal can become so universal. I was just home from college that June, and I bought it at my local record store, Plan 9, in Richmond, Virginia—because I wanted everything on Matador Records, because I’d read something about her in Spin.
What does it mean for a straight 19-year-old American male to fall in love with Exile in Guyville? Maybe nothing—maybe simple chemistry. Liz Phair was gorgeous. She played her Fender low on her tiny frame and you could just see her left nipple on the cover.
Except this wasn’t a crush on a girl with a guitar; it was the songs, those lyrics about male entitlement, female vulnerability, lust, and love that got in my head, under my skin, explained the world to me in some critical way. I would see her live that next year, enroll in Feminist Studies 101, put deep cuts—“Mesmerizing,” “Stratford-on-Guy”—on mixtapes I gave to girls I liked, but really I didn’t even have favorite songs. The whole thing was essential, part of my education, some kind of holy text. The other day, my wife and I played “” in the car and sang every word while the children slept in the back seat.
Somehow I never had a Liz Phair CD in the ’90s, but “Divorce Song” is exactly the kind of thing I would have listened to as a serious, never-been-kissed seventh grader being pre-nostalgic for a divorce I had yet to have. Listening to her now, Liz Phair would have provided a much-needed sex-positive antidote to the (comparatively) conservative Sheryl Crow albums I was listening to in the ’90s. Sheryl had this song called “Oh Marie” that I loved when I was a preteen, but when I listen to it now, it’s so obviously a slut-shaming ballad (yes, there is such a thing) that it makes me cringe. Meanwhile, Liz was screaming about fucking some dude till his dick was blue! I had no idea such a thing could even be said.
A devout young Christian, I would have prayed for Liz. Now I’d like to thank her. — The first time I met Liz Phair was at a party 26 years ago. My boyfriend at the time had gone to Oberlin with Liz, and had a bunch of other guys there. I asked Liz what she did for work. She said, “I’m going to be a rock star.” I thought it was funny.
I was going to be a writer. We were sitting on a sticky wood floor, in an apartment in Chicago’s Wicker Park, drinking out of plastic cups. We were all, then, all potential. None of us quite realized at the time that her potential was more. Some of the guys in our crowd had heard the cassette of Girly Sound.
Their response, we’d all so learn, was so blithely, blindly dude: She barely even knows how to play her guitar! Then Exile in Guyville came out and every woman we knew listened to it on repeat (and half the guys did, too, though they knew in some sense they were eavesdropping. They all worried, incessantly, that “Fuck and Run” was about them).
Liz was saying all the things we’d been too afraid or embarrassed or inarticulate to say. That weird, unnamable mix of shame, power, sex, and boredom—she turned that all into art. The universe suddenly seemed also much less lonely. I was 10 years old when Exile in Guyville came out, so nowhere near ready for blow-job lyrics. But Liz Phair made sense to me because she was mad and sarcastic and funny, and one of the few things I knew about adulthood was that anger and sarcasm and humor were all a big part of it. I particularly loved the album’s opening track, “6'1',” a brief, droll ditty that, like many Liz Phair songs, is about a bad man. That interpretation was totally lost on me because I thought it was a song about a short girl who wished she was tall (I kept standing 6 feet 1/instead of 5 foot 2), which I could relate to as a tall girl who wished I was as short as my very short best friend.
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I still think of that friend whenever I listen to Exile in Guyville. It’s an album about angry, scary adult sexuality that, for me, will always be about childhood friendship and that weird, narrow kid vantage where you think you’ve got a glimpse of some of the trees but you sure as hell have no idea about the forest. — We’ve all found ourselves exiled in our own Guyville at some point or another—mine wasn’t until college, more than 15 years after the album first came out. I was introduced to it, fittingly, by a guy. There was a lot of sitting around listening to music then, and hearing boys tell me and my friends how we should feel about this song or that song. At some point, a guy put on Exile in Guyville and said it was “important,” and something about the Chicago indie scene. It didn’t take long to be seduced by the precise opposite of this helpful young man’s interpretation: Liz Phair sang everything I wasn’t saying while letting boys talk over me. The stuff of her private longings and contradictions—wanting to be wanted, hating only being wanted and not heard—and precious, elated moments of feeling free and loose.
I still remember listening to “Canary” and hearing her sing “Send it up on fire” over piano chords for days after, like a convocation.
Contents. Background In the summer of 1991, Phair wrote and recorded songs on audio cassette tapes, which she circulated using the moniker, in. Initially, she sent out only two tapes, one to Tae Won Yu from the band, and the other to.
The recipients of the Girly-Sound tapes circulated copies with other early fans. John Henderson, owner of the Chicago indie label Feel Good All Over, heard the tapes and contacted Phair.
Soon she moved into his apartment and started playing her songs to him. Henderson brought in producer to help develop the 4-track demos into full songs. Originally, Phair's recordings were supposed to come out on Henderson's label. However, the whole process was made difficult by the fact that he and Phair had opposite ideas regarding what direction to take in terms of sound.
Henderson preferred a stripped-down but precise sound, possibly with outside musicians, while Phair wanted a fuller sound. Phair has stated, 'We both wanted something for me. He was projecting onto me what he wanted my music to come out like, which was wrong.
So I blew him off.' Eventually, Henderson stopped showing up at the studio, which made Phair move out of his apartment and start working exclusively with Brad Wood on what would become Exile in Guyville. Eventually, a Girly-Sound tape had made it to the head of Matador Records.
Despite the outcome of the recording sessions, Henderson tipped off Brad Wood that was interested in Phair. When Matador was contacted by Phair in 1992, they signed her., co-president of Matador, stated that 'We usually don't sign people we haven't met, or heard other records by, or seen as performers. But I had a hunch, and I called her back and said okay.' Recording After the early sessions with John Henderson, Liz Phair started working with producer Brad Wood at Idful Studios, in 1992. Wood stated, 'We did two or three evenings of recording just for fun where we tried to discover something. We recorded 'Fuck and Run,' and that's when I realized we were on to something. This really spare beat: just guitar, drums and vocals.
It was right: simple, driving, direct and blunt. It had so much exuberance.' These sessions were thereby very different from the recording sessions with John Henderson. Eventually, engineer Casey Rice joined Idful and started working with Phair and Wood as she had no band of her own. Initially, there were many time constraints because Phair had moved into her parents' house which was far from the studio, and Wood had to manage his time between his work at the studio and his work as a janitor.
However, when Phair signed to Matador, she sublet an apartment close to the studio, which simplified the process. Regarding the recording process, Casey Rice stated, 'We basically all sat around and thought about how to make the guitar and vocals versions of the songs into what we thought would be better ones. Listen to her four track versions of the tunes, and try to come up with ways of doing them as a 'band'. I do recall there being no lack of candor and if someone wanted to do something, we tried it. If it sucked, no one would hesitate to say so if they believed it.'
Problems playing this file? Brad Wood provided a different recording approach, structuring the drum patterns and bass lines around Phair's vocal phrases and guitar riffs, instead of recording the rhythm section first and then layering the guitars and vocals on top. Phair has commented, 'It was fun. Actually we just played our parts separately. I laid down the guitar, and then I would just tell them what kind of song it would be and what kinds of instruments we needed to do.
And then they would go in there and figure out a part and then do it. It was more like collage work than really playing with a band.' 'Johnny Sunshine' was one of the first songs recorded in 1992 that eventually made the record.
The songs 'Fuck and Run', ' (as 'Clean'), 'Girls! , 'Flower', 'Johnny Sunshine', 'Divorce Song', 'Soap Star Joe', 'Shatter', and 'Stratford-on-Guy' (as 'Bomb') all originated from a set of home recordings by Phair under the moniker, and were re-recorded for the album. Packaging Phair was also responsible for a great part of the artwork design.
Originally, the was largely collage based and involved 'a fat lady in a pool'. In 2008, Phair stated it was originally 'an orgy of floating in a pool', a concept that Matador rejected, stating that such artwork wouldn't sell. The final cover design is a photo of Liz topless in a, taken and cropped by of Urge Overkill.
The interior artwork is based on that of Lopez Tejera's 1952 album 'The Joys and Sorrows of Andalusia'. The booklet also features a collage of several Polaroid photos of Phair, Wood, Rice (and various other people), with a paraphrase from lines from the movie. Meaning The term Guyville comes from a song of the same name. Liz Phair has explained the concept of the album, saying 'For me, Guyville is a concept that combines the smalltown mentality of a 500-person Knawbone, KY-type town with the Wicker Park indie music scene in Chicago, plus the isolation of every place I've lived in, from Cincinnati to Winnetka. All the guys have short, cropped hair, John Lennon glasses, flannel shirts, unpretentiously worn, not as a grunge statement. It was a state of mind and/or neighborhood that I was living in.
Liz Phair Tour
Guyville, because it was definitely their sensibilities that held the aesthetic. (.) This kind of guy mentality, you know, where men are men and women are learning. (Guyville guys) always dominated the stereo like it was their music. They'd talk about it, and I would just sit on the sidelines.' Phair has also stated that most songs on the album were not about her. She commented, 'That stuff didn't happen to me, and that's what made writing it interesting. I wasn't connecting with my friends.
I wasn't connecting with relationships. I was in love with people who couldn't care less about me. I was yearning to be part of a scene. I was in a posing kind of mode, yearning to have things happen for me that weren't happening.
So I wanted to make it seem real and convincing. I wrote the whole album for a couple people to see and know me.' Phair commented in interviews that the album was a song-by-song reply to ' 1972 album Some critics contend that the album is not a clear or obvious song-by-song response, although Phair sequenced her compositions in an attempt to match the songlist and pacing of the Rolling Stones album. Reception Professional ratings Review scores Source Rating A A 10/10 The resulting album was released in 1993, receiving widespread critical acclaim. It was the number one album in the year-end critics poll in and the critics poll. Exile in Guyville was also a mild commercial success. The videos for 'Never Said' and 'Stratford-On-Guy' received airplay on.
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By the spring of 1994, it had sold over 200,000 units, peaking at #196 on the and was Matador's most successful release so far. In 1998, it was certified gold by the. Phair reacted to the reception of Guyville, saying 'I don't really get what happened with Guyville. It was so normal, from my side of things. It was nothing remarkable, other than the fact that I'd completed a big project, but I'd done that before.
Being emotionally forthright was the most radical thing I did. And that was taken to mean something bigger in terms of women's roles in society and women's roles in music. I just wanted people who thought I was not worth talking to, to listen to me.' The sudden success of the album also generated a somewhat negative response from the local Chicago indie music scene.
Liz commented, 'It's odd. Guyville was such a part of indie.
But at the same time. I was kind of at war with indie when I made that record.' Another problem that arose from her success was also dealing with her. Despite this, the album inspired a number of imitators, and the sound and emotional honesty of Phair's lyrics were frequently cited by critics as outstanding qualities. It frequently appears on many critics' best-of lists. It was ranked 15 in '100 Greatest Albums, 1985-2005'. Named Exile in Guyville the 96th Greatest Album Of All-Time.
In 2003, the album was ranked number 328 on 's list of. The album moved one spot up in its 2012 revised list. In 1999, rated Exile in Guyville as the fifth best album of the 1990s. However, in its 2003 revision of the list, it moved to number 30. 15th Anniversary Reissue 2008 On March 31, 2008, announced that Phair had signed a new deal with and that her first release for the label would be a special 15th Anniversary reissue of Exile in Guyville, featuring three bonus tracks from the original Guyville recording sessions and an accompanying about the album's creation.
The album, which was out of print, was again available on CD, vinyl and, for the first time, in digital format. The reissue package includes three previously unreleased songs from the original recording sessions: 'Ant in Alaska', 'Say You', and an untitled instrumental with Phair on guitar (commonly known as 'Standing'). A recording of Phair's version of 'Wild Thing' (based on the melody of song) was planned for inclusion, but dropped at the last moment; the song was later included on the 'Girlysound' disc of Phair's ' album. Guyville Redux features Phair and all the people involved with the album, recounting its making and describing the male-dominated, Chicago indie music scene of the early 1990s. Phair interviews, among others, Gerard Cosloy and Chris Lombardi of Matador Records, indie producer, of the program, John Henderson, Brad Wood, (who founded the Chicago avant-garde theater group New Crime Productions) and. The reissue was released on June 24, 2008 in the and on August 25, 2008 in the. 25th Anniversary Reissue 2018 On March 15, 2018, Phair revealed that her former label Matador Records will be reissuing the album in celebration of its 25th anniversary.
The reissue also includes CD and vinyl pressings of her famed Girly-Sound tapes recorded circa 1991; this marks the first time that the full set of demos will become available for official purchase. In addition to CD and vinyl pressings, the demos will be released on cassette tapes replicating the appearance of the originals. These remasters were released on May 4, 2018 with the reissue of the album. Track listing All tracks written by Liz Phair. Title Length 1. '6′1″ ' 3:05 2. 'Help Me Mary' 2:16 3.
'Glory' 1:29 4. 'Dance of the Seven Veils' 2:29 5. 'Soap Star Joe' 2:44 7. 'Explain It to Me' 3:11 8. 'Canary' 3:19 9. 'Mesmerizing' 3:55 10.
'Fuck and Run' 3:07 11. 'Divorce Song' 3:20 13.
'Shatter' 5:28 14. 'Johnny Sunshine' 3:27 16. 'Gunshy' 3:15 17. 'Stratford-on-Guy' 2:59 18.
'Strange Loop' 3:57 Total length: Reissue No. Title Writer(s) Length 19.
'Ant in Alaska' (previously unreleased) 5:48 20. 'Say You' (Lynn Taitt and The Jets cover, previously unreleased) 3:25 21. 'Instrumental' (previously unreleased) 3:29 2008 Reissue Advance Promo No. Title Writer(s) Length 21. 'Wild Thing' (previously unreleased) Phair, 2:08 22.
Bill Wyman. Retrieved 2012-02-17. Matador Records. Archived from on 2013-06-15. Reilly, Dan (Sep 8, 2010). Retrieved 2013-06-24. Retrieved 2016-01-12.
^ Hultkrans, Andrew (July 2008). Retrieved April 27, 2016.
Retrieved April 27, 2016. (June 4, 2008). Archived from on June 15, 2008. Retrieved April 27, 2016. (September 5, 1993).
Retrieved April 27, 2016. (Subscription required ( help)). Christgau's Consumer Guide: Albums of the '90s. Retrieved April 27, 2016. (June 4, 1993).
Retrieved April 27, 2016. (August 1, 1993). Retrieved April 27, 2016. (May 2, 2018). Retrieved May 3, 2018.
(June 10, 1993). Archived from on April 7, 2008. Retrieved April 27, 2016. In Brackett, Nathan; Hoard, Christian. March 1, 1994. Retrieved February 13, 2013.
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2007-11-08 at the. Retrieved 2012-09-15. Erlewine, Stephen Thomas. Retrieved 2 March 2017. Records, Matador. Matador Records. Retrieved May 12, 2018.
Retrieved 2017-03-01. External links.