1. 
We all probably have our own Sam Phillips, a musician (or whatever other type of artist you care to name) who fits our sensibilities too perfectly to articulate the way we’d like to. Someone who might speak to us in a language that we understand fully but can’t translate back to English. The more I write about Phillips, the more I feel like I’ll never be able to explain exactly what’s happening in my spine when I hear her. But I’ll keep trying, even if I have to cheat to do it.

—Marc Hirsh on Sam Phillips’ Martinis & Bikinis and the difficulties of writing about music meant just for us

    We all probably have our own Sam Phillips, a musician (or whatever other type of artist you care to name) who fits our sensibilities too perfectly to articulate the way we’d like to. Someone who might speak to us in a language that we understand fully but can’t translate back to English. The more I write about Phillips, the more I feel like I’ll never be able to explain exactly what’s happening in my spine when I hear her. But I’ll keep trying, even if I have to cheat to do it.

    Marc Hirsh on Sam Phillips’ Martinis & Bikinis and the difficulties of writing about music meant just for us