The record plays with so many rock tropes it is difficult to categorize them: the Stonesian naughtiness, the wise-beyond-her-years world-weariness, the blistering putdown, the porny sex incantation.” Looking back at Guyville after two decades, the New Yorker called it “an eighteen-song record of what used to be called indie rock, arguably the quintessential example of the form. Time hasn’t dulled the glow: Awards and accolades piled up, it got on every list of great albums released since, there was a 20th anniversary rerelease and tour (yes, I was there at Hiro Ballroom, with many other women my age). And the specificity - the quiet and heartbreaking exchange in “Divorce Song” for one - cut through all the crap of nineties pop radio. Oh, the power dynamics of “ Flower” could make you blush even more than the language. It was so naked, it was every nasty teenage girl thought strung together, complete with uncensored language and raucous guitar accompaniment. The press put it out there that Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville was a song-by-song reply to the Rolling Stones’ ultra-macho Exile on Main St. I read Rolling Stone and the Village Voice and plunked down my money. There was so much buzz about it, and this was pre-Internet, the old-school print media stirred things up: Everybody loved it. I bought this album - well, I bought this CD, it was 1993 - before hearing a note. Above, listen to a conversation with Alisa Ali and Darren DeVivo about Liz Phair's 1993 solo debut, Exile in Guyville, and below, Laura Fedele's overview. Album ReCue, a part of FUV's EQFM initiative, takes an on-air and online look back at influential releases by women that altered our perspective not only of the artist, but her invaluable impact on music history.