Homer--the ancient Greek scribe, not the cartoon character--once opined that it is man's lot in life "to suffer and die." But Sam Phillips--the Los Angeles singer-songwriter, not the Sun Records founder--takes a slightly different stance: Man was created to suffer... and learn from his experience. That theme has recurred throughout her two decades as a recording artist, from her 1988 jangle-pop almost-hit "I Don't Know How to Say Goodbye to You," up through "One Day Late" (as in, "help is coming one day late"), the closer on her 2004 release A Boot and a Shoe. Pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and start all over again--what else could one expect from an artist who slapped a cheery subtitle like It's Only a Flesh Wound Lambchop on one of her albums (1996's Omnipop)?

"There's something to be learned from pain, something on the other side of it," says Phillips. "I don't want to get too optimistic, but there are reasons we go through it."

"Of course, it's easier for me to talk about my own pain than the pain this administration is going to bring," says the woman who puts the "torch" in "tortured," laughing. "But we'll get through these four years somehow."

Phillips describes A Boot and a Shoe as the "evil twin" of 2001's Fan Dance, her first CD for Nonesuch (Wilco, the Magnetic Fields). In contrast to the three studio albums and one gussied-up Greatest Hits collection she delivered to her prior label, Virgin Records, her past two efforts are markedly stripped-down. Framing her stark confessionals and sultry voice with a string quartet, pump organ, and thrumming drums, her recent material downplays the traits that once prompted critics to reach for terms like "acid-pop" and "Beatles-esque" when describing her oeuvre, particularly 1994's Grammy-nominated Martinis and Bikinis.

"Like a mule, I was hell-bent on going in this direction," says Phillips, 42, of the more Spartan sound. "And, of course, everything is so scary in the music business and the world of radio that most radio stations-- who probably didn't even play Martinis & Bikinis at the time--listened to this record and said, 'Well this doesn't sound like Martinis & Bikinis, so we can't play it.'" She lets loose another laugh. "I can never figure this business out."

Yet like her husband and longtime producer, T Bone Burnett (O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Elvis Costello), Phillips has built a dedicated fan base precisely because she refuses to adhere to the strictures of the mainstream entertainment monolith. "There's so much fear out there, and we have to fly in the face of that. It's probably ludicrous bringing a string quartet on the road"--as she will for her Century Ballroom gig this Friday, December 3--"so expensive, and maybe even over-the-top, for the small places where I'm playing. But this is a time to be generous and fearless. Technology and business will catch up, but we can't let the arts suffer because of [fear]."

kurt@thestranger.com