MUSIC NOTES j.d. buhl
Sister Sam Goes Before Us
yelped in “Expectations,” and she left the strictures of evangelical Christian music behind. She and Burnett married in 1989 and together made seven albums presenting Sam as a quirky singer/songwriter with a fondness for wry observation and dry, While she can sing prettily, Sam Phillips’ crackling production. Her songs were is not a pretty voice. The way grace is often little more than strings of words, conveyed through her instrument is more avoiding the big verse/chorus message along the lines of what ColleenTownsend with aphoristic wisdom. Some could be heard as precursors to Alanis Morissette; Evans wrote about forgiveness: others were as tender as a Wesley hymn. Don’t Do Anything is the first CD she Forgiveness does not allow a fool has produced herself, the marriage sadly to persist in folly…or lies to go being over. It works as a whole, rather unchallenged…or prejudice to than a collection of interesting pieces, flourish unopposed. Forgiveness thanks to its short songs and textural is reality dealing sensibly with consistency. reality — love with a rugged face. Phillips’ musical work is that of “reality dealing sensibly with reality.” Hers can be the voice of the most encouraging girlfriend (ask Gilmore Girls devotees) or a romantic prophet. Both voices are present on her newest album, Don’t Do Anything (Nonesuch, 2008), which reflects on the vagaries of love and the perseverance of faith. While some fans play the same tiresome “Is she still a Christian?” game played with Bob Dylan, it is of some interest to consider Phillips’ CCM roots. If Amy Grant was the girl any guy would want to take home to his parents, Leslie Phillips was the weird chick with whom he’d only be friends. But she had it going on, considering the synthesizer-and-drum machine confines of Christian music in the ’80s. She wrote her own songs and betrayed an interest in rock melody beyond new wave radio fare. After three releases on Word/Myrrh, things took a turn with The Turning in 1987. Producer T Bone Burnett understood the kind of records she wanted to make; he shared her interest in sounds as well as songs. Welcomed by secular listeners, Phillips turned to them, officially adopting her old nickname, Sam.“I can’t breathe!” she
Love with a rugged face walks streets in “Under the Night,” where in the dark it can see “what the light can’t find.” The revealing of things, often those whose existence was not even suspected prior to their outing, is a theme relating these 12 songs: simple slivers of reflection, tiny meditations flying by on the dark breeze. All along, her probings into folly and lies find forgiveness at hand. The album begins with the warning, “This is bigger than you and the part of the truth you trust,” and concludes with an assurance that “The splendor / the holiness of life / that reveals itself / convert[s] blind fate / into destiny.” PRISM 2009
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After the release of the album (her second on Nonesuch), Phillips set out on a seven-gig Borders tour last summer. On a chilly night in San Francisco, the artist and I chatted before she took the stage. Signing my LP of The Indescribable Wow (1988), she exclaimed, “Oh! I love vinyl. It’s so big!” She remains as lovely and funny as ever, a charming combination of Lucille Ball and Bette Davis, but in holey thrift-store fashions, knee-high boots, and unbrushed hair. What’s not to love? Appearing beside her was Eric Gorfain, the young multi-instrumentalist who recorded and arranged much of the album. He played his Stroh violin (neck and strings amplified through a silver horn) and three-quarters guitar through tiny miked amps (“All of the distortion with half the volume,” Sam quipped) while she strummed a six-song set. She then sat down to sign copies of the CD, a line of fans winding round the record racks. Nice work, if you can get it. (Learn more at SamPhillips.com.) Fans of Raising Sand, the Robert PlantAlison Krauss collaboration produced by Burnett, already know Phillips’ “Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us.” Having “lost the love I never found,” a lonely soul sets out, acknowledging the guidance of Sister Rosetta Tharpe (see “I’m Shouting!” by Al Tizon in the November/December 2007 issue of PRISM) and her “music up above.” Tharpe’s “Up Above My Head” pivots on the belief that “there is a heaven somewhere.” But music is not the only thing up above her head; there is also trouble in the air.“I know I’ve loved you too much,” sings Phillips’ protagonist, having stood in her “broken heart all night long.” “I’ll go on alone, to get through.”The song is delivered plaintively by Krauss, her fiddle lending a floating quality to such abandonments as “the sight of my heart” and the “sound of hope” having left her again. Phillips’ own version is more shattered and dreamlike. However, the accordianfold liner notes in Don’t Do Anything leave