Monday, Sep 8, 2008
Sam Phillips on Christian music and classic porn, working with T-Bone and her quietly successful comeback release.
Jun 12, 2002 | "It's been a little crazy around here," singer/songwriter Sam Phillips reports from her Los Angeles home. "Mostly because of that tornado that I live with, T-Bone. He's been having quite a time." T-Bone, of course, is T-Bone Burnett, who picked up the Grammy for producer of the year for his work putting together the "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" soundtrack; he also produced his wife's Nonesuch debut, "Fan Dance." Released last year, the disc marked Phillips' return after a five-year absence from recording. Including 12 eclectic, stripped-down compositions, "Fan Dance" is an album of post-millennial campfire songs. In spite of glowing reviews and appearances on many year-end lists, Phillips may once again be underappreciated by the public.
No matter. She'd rather talk about her hubby's Grammy success. "That was very strange," she says, adding that a night out at the Grammys is far from where they usually find themselves. "I remember feeling at one point that I was being assaulted, sort of pinned to my seat by all of this crazy show business, and then all of a sudden, Dr. Ralph Stanley is singing 'O Death.' The last thing I expected was that that establishment would recognize T-Bone. And all those people are able to buy houses now." Phillips' voice can briefly be heard on the "O Brother" disc as well, though she insists it was a matter of simply filling in a missing voice at the last moment. "The funny thing is that it's probably the only gold record I'll ever receive."
Phillips seems more than happy to sit along the sidelines these days, still shaky about her place in the business of music after a disastrous, though critically acclaimed, five-album run with Virgin in the '90s. Sam Phillips is one of those mysteriously obscure talents who everyone has heard, though mostly without realizing it. "I Need Love," her almost hit from 1994, has appeared in a number of movies, from Bertolucci's "Stealing Beauty" to the teen flick "Down to You," and for the past few years it has been featured in Ralph Lauren's perfume ads -- the kind of thing some people might have avoided for fear of accusations of selling out. "There was an illness in the family," she says of the deal. "It's something that I'm still ambivalent about, but it was something that I couldn't pass up, because I needed the money to help this family member.
"I've always been a ghost in pop music," she adds, "and sometimes I hear rumors that people have heard my records. Being a pop star has never appealed to me, and I didn't know if I was going to make another record after the Virgin experience. And then having a little girl. Certainly I didn't expect anyone to be interested in putting it out. Perhaps I should raise my goals here, but I am just happy that 'Fan Dance' came out; I was really happy that we made the record, and that it was released."
From her first album, "The Indescribable Wow," in 1988, Sam Phillips (with Burnett at the helm) forged a loyal following among pop music geeks and critics, but radio never quite knew what to make of her. She followed with two more acclaimed discs, peaking with 1994's "Martinis & Bikinis."
"Record companies were still under the impression that they were in the same business as radio," she explains now, sounding more bemused than bitter. "They are two very different businesses. Radio picks their music based on what will sell advertising. They threw things at radio and whatever stuck, that's what they went with. There was no idea of how to promote things at a grass-roots level. I always thought the way to make a single was to make something that I wasn't already hearing on the radio. But that's not the way to get things on the radio." She describes attending a marketing research session, where 20-second samples of 100 songs were played for a roomful of people collected on their way home from work. "You better be either No. 1 or 100 or you're not going to get much from them."
Asked whether her five-year retirement was intentional, Phillips explains, "In show business, all you need to do is not pursue it to 'quit.' By the time we finished 'Omnipop,' everyone at Virgin had jumped ship, except maybe Nancy Berry. And we all know that story," Phillips says, laughing. "I didn't do anything for her. If she'd been attracted to me in some way, that would be a different story." But Phillips admits that the failure of "Omnipop" had its roots in the music itself. "I don't know what to think of that record," she says somewhat ruefully. "I mean, you make them and they are what they are. I wish I could have written some other songs to even it out a bit. I tried to make some jokes, but when you are in pain, the pain sort of draws all the attention to itself. I've always been drawn to art that points beyond to some other thing, to longing or meaning. But 'Omnipop' seemed to be throbbing with pain. I wouldn't want to be remembered by it, let's put it that way."
"Martinis & Bikinis" sold over 100,000 copies. "Omnipop" took in about a quarter of that. Even more puzzling to some was Phillips' final Virgin release, a best-of compilation sardonically titled "Zero Zero Zero." Rather than pick the actual best or most popular songs, she teamed up with Burnett to piece together an entirely new disc, combining new versions of old tracks with odd interludes and new songs, including the prescient "Disappearing Act." "We decided, let's make a record of it, supposing that all of the other records go away, which had been the case at various times. Let's put together something that would make up a listenable record in its own right. It was a darker tone than if we'd just put together everything as it was."
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