Sam Phillips, a nuanced singer-songwriter who has spent the past 20 years under the mainstream radar, is sipping tea with milk in the midtown Manhattan offices of her new record label, Nonesuch. She's discussing her eye-catching T-shirt, an ice-breaker and, as it turns out, an unexpected segue into the "accident" that is her new album, the spare and affecting Fan Dance.
The album, a stripped-down, rootsy take on her usual brand of Beatlesque pop, follows a five-year hiatus from recording for the critically acclaimed, commercially challenged songwriter, 39, whose previous affiliation included four sophisticated albums of grown-up pop for Virgin Records. "All Virgin really knew how to do was throw the music at radio," she says, in hoped-for contrast to Nonesuch, a Warner Brothers label with an indie flair for grassroots marketing. Fan Dance, a decidedly adult album full of gently tugging hooks and subtle instrumentation, makes good sense for the label, whose roster includes Laurie Anderson, the Buena Vista Social Club, and Senegal's Youssou N'Dour.
"T Bone [Burnett, Phillips' husband and long-time producer] and I, separately and together, were just tired of over-production, tired of hearing it," Phillips says with a shrug. "I think he was tired of finding new sounds. So much has been done in the studio, but there aren't a lot of genuine performances out there."
Phillips pauses to sip her tea, and when she does, her straight, not-quite-shoulder-length blond hair slides forward to frame her face. She's a striking woman, with a long, aquiline nose, a mischievous curling mouth, and high, tapering cheekbones that culminate in a sharp, leading chin. It's her levelling gaze, though, her searching, somewhat haunted eyes, that demand attention.
"The fact is, it's taken me 20 years to get brave enough to do this album," she says of the stripped-back recording, one that puts Phillips -- her singing and guitar playing -- out front in a way she never has been before.
She began her career as Leslie (her real name) Phillips, a Christian music artist signed to Word Records. "Sam was a nickname," she says, "but the reason for the name change [which came when she signed with Virgin in 1988] was that I was unhappy with most of the records I made at Word. I was just learning to play and write when I signed that deal. To me, those records are kind of like pictures in junior high school, not very attractive. I wanted to start over and earn the trust of an audience; I wanted to grow as an artist."
The beginning of that growth came with 1987's The Turning, her last album on Word and her first with Burnett as producer. "Before The Turning, I had quit, but Tom Will, my A&R [artist and repertoire] person, convinced me to do one more record. He introduced me to T Bone as the 'perfect person to make an honest record with.' Needless to say, we love Tom in our house. He took the heat for the album, too. The label didn't like it. Not only did they think I was a heretic, but they weren't ready for that kind of music."
"That kind of music" was of a career-defining, secular bent, which more or less launched the career of "Sam" Phillips. Burnett, 53, has worked with Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello, among many others, and is an accomplished songwriter and guitarist in his own right, with a solo catalogue of rock-country-blues befitting his Texas roots. He has produced every note of music Phillips has recorded since, as well as fathering her three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. "There's no separating the business and personal with us," Phillips says. "Sometimes that's really a pain, and sometimes that's really great, but I love T Bone's aesthetic sense. He's always trying to learn new things and to grow and change. I think that's probably why we've lasted so long as producer and artist. It's not like working with the same producer every time."
Her four Virgin albums, dating from 1988's The Indescribable Wow to 1996's Omnipop, offer an impressive catalogue of highly produced pop music, characterized by a kind of trippy melodicism reminiscent of John Lennon (an acknowledged influence). As on Fan Dance, the lyrics mostly deal with love's dark side.
"Bruce Cockburn [a close friend of Phillips and Burnett] dared me after Omnipop and said, 'No more miserable songs. You've got to write something positive.' I just thought, 'I don't know if I can.' So, I tried to make Love Is Everywhere I Go on the new album completely positive, and I think 95% of the lyric is. But then the melody and arrangement is so ... " She pauses. "I think it might be one of the saddest songs I've ever written."
On Fan Dance, Phillips has managed to balance that dire outlook with a renewed sensuality. The title track, for example, boasts a sinewy, winding melody perfectly in keeping with its title. "There were certain men I was writing to on this one," Phillips says, "some that I knew very well and had experiences with, some that I didn't know well at all and sort of idealized for the purpose of writing the song."
With its fanfare-free release last Tuesday, Fan Dance ushered in Act III of Phillips' quietly accomplished career. "I'm on the ground," she says, taking stock. "I've sort of fallen off the truck, and there's nothing to lose. There's only wide open space and possibility. Fan Dance is about this person who is trying to get beyond life, trying to find meaning, trying to transcend. That's mostly what I write about, trying to get beyond the ordinary and find perspective."
Not so different, then, from what Leslie Phillips was trying to accomplish, albeit with less sophistication, 15 years ago.
As she rises to leave the pristine Nonesuch boardroom, Leslie-Sam Phillips-Burnett pulls on a shiny black overcoat. It hangs open, allowing her strangely stitched, colourful mistake of a T-shirt to draw the eye.