I struggled to think of which song off “Exile In Guyville” I wanted to write about. The whole album could have made up most of my list. I chose Shatter because it would be difficult to write about, because so much of the song is based off of a feeling it gives me. It’s not like “Flower”, “Fuck and Run”, or “Divorce Song”, where the lyrics spell and spill out Phair’s emotional state. “Shatter” is a little more complicated. It’s not as black and white as “every time I see your face I get all wet between my legs.” “Shatter” is a song of maybes. It’s a song of change.
I feel like the bulk of shitty love songs out there boil down to the sentiment, “I was a jerk, but then I met you, and now I’m different, I’m better,” as if the power of love suddenly righted all the wrongs and removed decades-old flaws and transgressions. Anyone who’s ever been in love knows that’s bullshit. Love doesn’t erase; it amplifies. The shit you pulled in the past, you do harder. Being in a serious relationship is a great way to see how badly you can hurt someone else with all of your issues, hang-ups, and insecurities. If you didn’t know what they were before, you’ll know when you’re both crying at two in the morning, making a check list of things you both need to do to improve.
Liz Phair’s issues revolve around sex (Liz Phair the narrator, not the person) and having too much of it too soon, too easily. She sleeps with guys she knows are bad news because she wants them to like her, and in a weird way, it makes her like herself. “I know that I don’t always realize / how sleazy it is messing with these guys,” she confesses, after two and a half minutes of a beautiful, rising guitar riff. “But something about just being with you / slapped me right in the face, nearly broke me in two.”
Figuring out all your bullshit is just the first step, though. The second step, the step that all those other love songs gloss over, is actually changing your behavior. And that’s the world where “Shatter” lives, the place between knowing you have a problem, and getting better. Phair knows what’s ahead of her - what she doesn’t know is if she actually can actually do it. “I don’t know’s” and “maybe’s” are repeated throughout the song, saying so much more than any brazen confession of self-doubt could. Just one “honey, I’m thinking maybe,” says, “I know I want to be the perfect girl that you deserve, that girl that has all her shit together like you do, but I don’t think I can fucking do it. I’m a wild, insane wreck. I’m going to mess this up. But I’m going to try, because I like you so much, and when I fuck this up, I’m really sorry.”
I know I don’t always realize how selfish I am. How caught up I am in my own head, ignoring the woman standing in front of me, telling me she loves me, that she’s going to be here for me. How hard it is for me to express my true feelings. How sudden and furious my anger gets. How deep and seemingly unshakable my depression runs. I can honestly say I tried to fix them all before they messed things up. I don’t believe the crash Liz Phair sings about is inevitable, but I do know it’s hard to change.
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johnztownsend reblogged this from thematthewbriancohen and added:
Matt Cohen rules
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thematthewbriancohen posted this
