• Venue: Crocodile Lounge
• Place: Seattle, Washington
• Date: 02 October 1994

After attending a Sarah McLachlan concert, the following evening found me at the Crocodile Lounge, which is also on Second Avenue, a few blocks past the Moore Theater, but while the Moore seats 1,500 the Croc accommodates 184. It is the premier Seattle venue for local talent and noteworthy traveling attractions. The performer that night was Sam Phillips (formerly Leslie Phillips and NOT to be confused with the Sam Phillips who founded Sun Records in Memphis), who along with T. Bone Burnett on bass and Mike La Belle on percussions would crank out one fantastic 80 minute set, with songs that Sam had written from her new album Martinis and Bikinis, and past albums as well. She is really beautiful, blond straight short hair, black pullover, long black skirt and boots, with a droll, sarcastic demeanor ("Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Sam Phillips", she said), who loved to banter with the audience, put on reading glasses and recite famous quotes that she liked; for example, Walter Winchell said, "she had been on more laps than a napkin"; Salvadore Dali said, "Don't worry about perfection; you'll never achieve it." She invited two members of the audience (a man and a women who doesn't know each other, because it is more interesting) to come up on the stage and sit at a table behind her! I could have kicked myself for not jumping at the opportunity. Of course, no one wanted to do it. Then a young man volunteered, and a brave lady joined him a little later. T. Bone took their drink orders, which he relayed over the microphone to one of the hostesses. I think they must have had the best seats in the house, and were not only comped with drinks, but with free CDs, posters and T-shirts after the show. I was seated right on the left of the stage, next to all the empty instrument cases.


Sam's music is filled with ironies, simple lyrics about time, treasures, and love. They are deceptively simple, repetitive, and just when you know what to expect, the rug is pulled out from under you. The percussion beat was very strong and complex, using tom-toms, drum set, cymbels and other instruments. I quickly became thrilled by the music, the dark cave-like surroundings with crocodiles and other strange critters suspending from the ceiling, the shapes of people sitting, standing, leaning, in every square inch of space. Surprisingly, the room was smoke-free and well ventilated. Everyone really seemed to be enjoying themselves. Sam said that she would not do any encores, thought the were phony and very theatrical, and instead announced when her set would normally end, and continued with several more numbers. Then she just ended, left the stage, stood next to me in the darkened theater for about a minute, while I and everyone else was wildly cheering and clapping, and then walked out of the room and was gone. Finally the lights came on. Outside, I looked for Sam, was told she was in the V.I.P. lounge, and sat down at a table with the guy who had been up on stage. We talked about Sam's music; he gave me a complete discography, including her videos and gospel Christian stuff, and recommended that I should try to get her new release, Martinis and Bikinis and an earlier one called Cruel Inventions. The next day I found these at Tower Records. On the way out I bought a T-shirt, sucked in the cold night air, and walked back to my hotel, a little sorry that I didn't have a chance to tell Sam that I loved her.