PLAY PHAIR: You know I'm a fan of the underdog. ISHTAR is probably my favorite movie, the Cubs are my favorite baseball team, and I happen to really like Liz Phair's roundly dismissed, self-titled fourth album.

LIZ PHAIR-the-record arguably features three or four of Liz Phair-the-person's best songs. Interestingly enough, which three or four they are keeps changing for me. I like the pop confections ("Extraordinary" and "Why Can't I?"), the divorced mom anthem ("Little Digger"), and her signature cynical introspections ("Take a Look" and "Love/Hate").

At the same time, this record also harbors two of her absolute worst tunes (the just-plain-dumb "Favorite" and the jaw-dropping-in-a-bad-way "H.W.C."), and features her most contrived art direction to date.

Years ago I was lucky enough to meet Liz on a number of ocassions -- when she was guest-bartending at Delilah's, in the VIP balcony at Metro before and after her own gigs, and so forth. What always struck me about her was how simple, down-to-earth, and friendly she was. Contrary to her image at the time, Liz was not some foul-mouthed sexpot or cooler-than-school indie princess. She was a Midwestern music fan who happened to have an act of her own, and she was polite and casual and generally seemed pretty happy. If she happened to swear here or there or talk about sex, it seemed somehow appropriate, or at least genuine.

Granted, her live show was bit wooden, but it also appeared earnest and heartfelt, a nice antidote to much of the slouching, disinterested indie shows of the day.

On her recent Chicago homestand, the local critics savaged her. This only steeled my resolve to get the word out about the record. Check it out if you get a chance. It ain't Aimee Mann (although the Michael Penn-produced tracks shade in that direction), but it also ain't Avril Lavigne by a long stretch. In a summer devoid of musical gems, Liz's latest record is, at worst, a very compelling fake -- a Cubic Zirconia that shines just fine until the real thing comes along.