If the stubborn spirit of John Lennon has whispered in anyone's ear this year, it's probably Sam Phillips'. Unlike pretenders who copy rather than create, Phillips doesn't so much mimic Lennon as filter his influence – lovingly and angrily – into her own style. Martinis and Bikinis (produced by Phillips' husband, T-Bone Burnett) is her most vibrant release in a string of already remarkable records, notably Cruel Inventions (1991) and The Indescribable Wow (1988).

Exploring not only the poetry of words but the poetry inherent in stunning production techniques, Martinis and Bikinis makes the most of Phillips' wry delivery. From the twisted invitation of "Love and Kisses," the album gallops headlong through songs of breathless imagery, dry passion and fevered doubt.

"Signposts" is a controlled shriek of longing over a distorted reggae stomp. On the aggravated psychedelia of "Same Rain," Phillips' take is wise and weary ("I knew a man, a refugee, survival was his art/All that he held valuable he carried in his heart"). "Baby I Can't Please You" is a gem, a mean little love song ricocheting among the pretty finery of strings, a sitar vibe and a percussive mantra.

As a writer, Phillips employs dreamy metaphors to mask more horrible truths. "The hunger behind our memories/We've buried it in code," she sings on the Beatles homage "Strawberry Road." The issue seems to be the strength to tell the truth – and to face the disaster that such revelation might bring. Phillips' words derive from self-observation, bending rage into vulnerability. "Control is letting go," she confesses in "When I Fall," "and I'm the last to know."

It is instantly karmic that Phillips covers Lennon's "Gimme Some Truth" to close this album. Her fierce, half-sobbed interpretation suits both the song and the bitter conviction of its singer. Sam Phillips is a rarity – an artist who seduces and disturbs. And Martinis and Bikinis is equally rare, a rude and lovely awakening for this compelling talent. (RS 678)

KARA MANNING