Sam Phillips' "Martinis and Bikinis" is a compelling patchwork of sonic fragments and lyric revelations. On her third album, Phillips and producer/ husband T Bone Burnett take apart the conventions of rock, blues, folk and pop and reassemble them in an eclectic post-modern jumble. But in contrast to the music, Phillips' riveting voice and prophetic words seem rootless, originating in the depths of a questioning soul. The album's puzzle pieces don't make a smoothly drawn picture; their colliding edges instead compose a complex portrait of personal and artistic evolution.
Like others whose allegiance to rock and roll shaped their new wave experiments - the Throwing Muses and R. E. M. (whose guitarist, Peter Buck, appears here) come to mind - Phillips and Burnett use tradition to gird their flights into less charted musical territory. "Signposts," for example, starts with an arrhythmic tumble of drums but settles into an easy rock-steady groove, only to later descend into a swirl of howling, guttural guitar. Throughout "Martinis and Bikinis," catchy pop hooks, country acoustic jangle and thick blues riffs rub against trippy keyboards, atonal guitars and disembodied crashing noises to create an appealing friction of idioms.
The breadth of musical styles on the album begs the question of artistic vision: Is Phillips or Burnett its guiding force? Although Burnett's arrangements - fleshing out Phillips' simple compositions with a slew of instruments and musicians - suggest he's the one in control, Phillips' commanding vocal presence and complex lyrical perspectives put her handwriting clearly on the wall. Thin yet powerful, nasal but open, Sam Phillips' voice defies current definitions of female pop singing. It's not a beautiful voice by any means - there's no honeyed sweetness, or even a range to speak of - but the myriad of tangled emotional secrets it reveals as Phillips asks and answers the questions that circle her makes it irresistible.
Casting about for a worldview that suits her on "Martinis and Bikinis," Phillips seems to settle for being critical but open- minded. On "Fighting With Fire," over ripples of sparse guitar and antsy snare drum, she muses, "Money's the only thing he has/ Wants to get down to business / It's a long way down . . . / I wonder when all this started / Who left him empty-hearted when he was a child." Pouring compassion into the mix, Phillips keeps her eyes open for what's revealed when differences converge - in time, in space or on record.