I was in a really bad mood earlier today, and was listening to Liz Phair all morning, and it was brutal. I was revisiting Phair to try and get at the root of why I’m still single (the answer is here somewhere!), why that kind of seems to be about being a woman who writes about music (even though there’s so much more to me than that), and why I have this complete inability to approach men I’m interested in and indicate my interest.

I mean, really, this put me in about the most terrible mood you could imagine.

And then I decided to listen to Rilo Kiley, and … even songs I wasn’t so hot on when they were first released — none of that leaves me disoriented and nauseated as Phair’s music. And yet! I’d say that band’s music was possibly more influential on my way of looking at the world (and other art and music) than Liz Phair ever was. It’s not just about subject matter, or musical prowess … though I’d put Rilo Kiley slightly ahead of Phair in both categories.

I guess what’s so shocking is the way that the cynicism and self-loathing of Phair’s lyrics really wormed their way into whatever part of of me that defines self-worth. Yes, there were things going on in my life at that time that were just as important at drawing those lines (I mean, I was a freshman in college! my life was a mess!), but dammit if I don’t think listening to Liz Phair nonstop kind of made it all worse.

Does this make any sense? It’s been a long time since I had a nice and semi-unhinged post about the way music makes me feel. (To a certain extent, meghanagain, I think this one’s for you.)

xoxo, c. hotpoint