Be still my bleeding heart

Liz Phair is coming to Amazon on Tuesday to play a few tunes from her upcoming new album. I may even catch her live tomorrow at the Gorge at the Sasquatch Festival, along with The Coral, The Flaming Lips, Jurassic 5, Coldplay, and other such nobrow (neither highbrow nor lowbrow) acts.
The first time I heard Liz was in high school, when Nate and Rich introduced me to Exile in Guyville. That album rocked. Then I saw a picture of her and for a long time was madly in love; here was an indie rocker chick who was hot! Later, as I matured, I realized that it wasn't love but merely celebrity adulation, causing me to question the basis of all my relationships to that point in life.
But that's another story. The story at hand is that I am going to meet Liz Phair. Somewhere in those 10 or so years since she hit the music scene, she lost her indie cred. More accurately, the indie cred police revoked her membership. She appeared in a Calvin Klein ad and a movie titled Cherish whose cast included Jason Priestley. But who in this day and age can remain a citizen of note in Indieland? Anyone gaining any notoriety in any field as an independent artist is rapidly assimilated and marketed and distributed by the capitalist engine. There's nowhere to hide. Those who retain their indie badges tend to be slightly cuckoo, on the path to senility, or so radical in their art that only a sliver of people can stomach it (e.g. Noam Chomsky, Lars von Trier).
She's still hot, she still rocks, and I hope she'll sign my album covers.