A performer with as many albums to her credit as Sam Phillips owes an audience more than a stingy, 30-minute set and a two-song encore.
But that's just what the 200 people who paid $12 to see Phillips perform Monday at Peabody's DownUnder in the Flats got. The Los Angeles singer-songwriter has six albums in her catalog - three gospel recordings for the Word label and three pop albums for Virgin Records. But Monday, she acted more like a studio rookie with a single album of material.
Phillips dashed through 10 tunes - most from her new Virgin album, "Martinis and Bikinis" - then limped through a 10-minute "unplugged" encore before retiring to the comfort of her tour bus.
The audience felt cheated and let Phillips know it. When applause and screaming didn't produce a second encore, they turned to hooting and hollering. When the house lights went up, many in the crowd sat in their chairs in disbelief. Most left angry.
It was disappointing ending for an evening that held a lot of promise. Phillips has a reputation as songwriter of rare talent and insight. Her music a mixture of Beatlesque pop and rock - is just as honest and beguiling. "Martinis and Bikinis" is rock 'n' roll at its adult best - witty, intelligent, full of melody and rhythmic energy.
There were glimpses of that studio magic Monday night. Phillips was backed by a superb three-piece band that included husband T Bone Burnett on guitar, Jerry Scheff on bass and Josh LaBelle on drums.
Phillips and Burnett kicked off the show with a great take of the title track from "The Turning." The band then joined in, rolling into a rocking set of "Martinis and Bikinis" gems, including "Signpost," "Circle of Fire" and "Baby I Can't Please You," a wonderfully vitriolic rant against religious and political fundamentalism.
Phillips' voice is rather rough, a monotone mix of nasal country and girl-group pop. But it has a unique character in keeping with the iconoclastic nature of her material. She flubbed the vocal on "Lying," a track from her second Virgin record, "Cruel Inventions," later complaining that she couldn't hear herself above Burnett's guitar. But otherwise her voice was in studio form.
Phillips sings at military attention with her hands at her side, sort of like a kid performing at her first school recital. Her body language telegraphs wariness. Her facial gestures and paranoid stare suggest a combination of sarcasm and fear.
The lack of movement is oddly riveting, forcing you to look and listen more carefully. It's intentional, too, a pointed reference to the fast-paced, all-too disposable world of rock in the MTV age.
"At this point, you might be reflecting that there was very little choreography on stage," she said at the beginning of the show's encore. "I had a traumatic experience six or seven years ago. I saw a Paula Abdul video and I haven't been able to dance ever since."
A good laugh line. But in the end, the joke was on Phillips. An artist who charges $12 for a total of 45 minutes shouldn't be making cracks about other performers.