BARRY'S_NOTES_-_DEC_

BARRY'S NOTES - Dec. 1, 2003

Lucinda's tour continued through September, October & November. Here is a fan's review of her gig in Washington, D.C.:

Lucinda's 9:30 Club Performance / September 29th Washington D.C.

Where do I start? There is so much to say. Ok, I will start with two words to describe the show, “Wow”, “Unbelievable.” For a little over two and a half hours Lucinda and band hammered away, strummed and played their hearts out as songs of sadness, regret, betrayal and hope came pouring out on the audience. Yes they played their hearts out, Doug Pettibone on guitar and everything else that we couldn't play as Lucinda admitted. Jim Christie keeping a solid powerful beat. Then
front and center stood Lucinda, slim body, golden hair, clad in western style clothes and smiling often throughout the performance.

While the band played well, it was Lucinda's interaction with the crowd that seems to take the spotlight. If at times Lucinda seems aloof during past performances, then the 9:30 performance the other night was the exception. Lucinda took much joy in communicating with the audience as one would feel to meet an old close friend who has
not been seen in years. Telling stories about writing her songs, letting the attendees know what a wonderful audience she was performing before and even taking a request, Lucinda kept up a warm smile that could not be faked.

After an hour performance by the Jayhawks and a forty-five minute stage change, Lucinda and band started playing at 9:40 p.m.First song of the night was a solo acoustic version of Passionate Kisses. Then all guitars were strapped on for Change the Locks. From here I can't tell you the order of the songs, a hefty dose from WWT, going back to the Lucinda Williams self title release -- there were Big Red Sun Blues which was a request from the audience, Side of the Road, and on the spur of the moment The Night's Too Long which Lucinda admitted she has not played in years. Something About
What Happen When We Talk came next along with Pineola. Then the songs from Car Wheels -- Right In Time, 2 Kool, Drunken Angel, Lake Charles, I Lost It, Still I Long For Your Kiss, and Joy. It was an extraordinary performance from an extraordinary artist with an incredible band to match.

After Washington, the next stop was New York City. Here is a review of the Beacon Theatre gig:

Woe is Lucinda, wonderfully so
New York Daily News - Saturday, October 4th, 2003

Love never takes place in the present tense in the songs of Lucinda Williams.

As the queen of alterna-country music stood onstage Thursday at a soldout Beacon Theatre, she crooned, shouted and moaned about loves lost or dreamed, but never possessed.

Kisses could be longed for or remembered, but never could they last.

When Williams wanted to lighten things up, she sang about drug addiction ("Bleeding Fingers"). No wonder this roots rocker with the unconventional voice isn't to everyone's taste.

With her wavering quaver, strangulated tone and hard accents, Williams' singing speaks of crushed hopes and humbling realizations. Seldom has it sounded as beautifully dejected as it did here.

While at Williams' most recent New York show - in June, opening for Neil Young - her three-man band rocked with Crazy Horse-like fervor, the band at the Beacon slowed the pace and withered the arrangements. That put more focus on Williams' defiantly sad singing.

In "People Talking," Williams crooned about a life of "misery and pain" over a rickety country tune. In "Those Three Days," she ruminated on a romance exhausted in just that time, backed by a gorgeous folk melody.

The show's languorous style proved spellbinding. But in the final third of the 90-minute performance, Williams' band broke things up by hitting hard.

In "Still I Long for Your Kiss," Williams shouted with the unfettered rage of Janis Joplin. In "Joy" (about the lack of it), her group kicked with bitter spunk.

Every vocal and instrument sounded torn and frayed. But the honesty it took to make such hurt plain-spoken spoke of a strength that can't be shaken.

Lucinda & her band played the Orpheum in Boston on October 7. My wife & I were in attendence & we had a wonderful evening. Lu did a 2-hour show and it was one of the best we've ever seen. The sold out audience loved her and she responded in kind. She was happy & beaming the whole night. We had a very nice visit on her bus afterwards. We met her boyfriend, Matthew, and he is a warm & friendly guy & he obviously is making Lu a very happy gal. We partied on the bus with both of them & some other friends and it was a memorable night. Here is the newspaper review of the show:

Lucinda sheds her shell for Orpheum audience
By Nate Dow
Thursday, October 9, 2003 – Boston Herald

There was a time in Lucinda Williams' career when success simply outpaced her. The stage-shy singer-songwriter managed her fears almost apologetically, hiding behind a Texas-sized cowboy hat.

Judging from Tuesday night's show at the Orpheum, those days are long gone.

Williams displayed an ease rarely seen in her local shows, offering a perfectly crafted two-hour concert that delighted a near-capacity crowd. Williams delved deep into her songbook for an increasingly rare foray into the country-folk favorites that prompted Rolling Stone to ordain her ``America's greatest songwriter.''

Williams was so happy and comfortable Tuesday night, she even spilled a secret: She and her band were dusting off the oldies for a live recording later this fall.

Williams started solo with ``Passionate Kisses'' and then, joined by her three-man band (Doug Pettibone, guitar; Taras Prodaniuk, bass; and Jim Christie, drums), built through a beautifully paced set that showcased her soul-piercing voice and lyrics. She was perfectly at ease up front, switching from acoustic to electric guitar, wearing a black tank top, hip-hugging jeans and an easy smile.

Williams engaged in frequent repartee with the audience, chuckling when a leather-lunged fan shouted, ``Cowboy Up!'' - a reference to the Red Sox rallying cry. ``Yeah, I like that,'' said Williams. ``It's kind of cool. Who would have thought, in Boston?''

This is an artist, who, after 15-plus years of touring, is finally comfortable enough with herself and her material to stop worrying about the imperfections and let it all hang out.

A five-song encore found her and the band huddling leisurely between songs and literally thumbing through the songbook to settle on the next tune. When those confabs led to rarely heard pearls such as ``Side of the Road,'' ``The Night's Too Long'' and ``Something About What Happens When We Talk,'' the crowd could do nothing but stand in admiration, buzzing about the prospects of a live album and an artist who has finally found the groove to record one.

The Jayhawks opened with a tight 60-minute set that put concertgoers in their seats from the outset and kept them there, giving credence to the belief that they could have filled the theater themselves.

( Lucinda Williams, with the Jayhawks, at the Orpheum, Tuesday night. )

A few days later, Lu played in Providence, R.I. & a fan sent me the following review:

Subject: Two Lucindas

Lucinda Williams' October jaunt through New England wrapped up Friday night in Providence…..the stark contrast between the LW I saw Friday and the one I had seen 4 nights earlier at Boston's Orpheum Theater is yet another reminder of what keeps us die-hards coming back to see her again and again – it's all a crapshoot, and part of the fun is guessing which Lucinda is going to show up…….Whereas Tuesday's Orpheum show was a tight, immaculate 2 hour set showcasing both Lu's sweet side and her rock and roll heart, the show at Lupo's saw our gal showing traces of her erstwhile hero Paul Westerberg's self- destructive brilliance that's chronicled in "Real Live Bleeding Fingers"……from the moment Lu hit the stage on Friday, one had a sense that this was going to be a different kind of night…..coming onstage at about 10:45, she skipped over the planned opening solo version of "Passionate Kisses" (which, I confirmed later, actually DID appear on the setlist), and jumped right in with the band to open with "Drunken Angel", only to have a coughing attack halfway through and skip over the last verse……after dispensing with the mishap by joking about the "smoky rock and roll club" and coating her throat with the first of many swigs from her mysterious blue cup (more on that later), she dove into a set that followed the basic format we've been seeing on this tour – essentially the same setlist as Tuesday's, substituting "Lake Charles" for "Reason to Cry", sans "American Dream", and with the addition of "Changed the Locks"…..while the absence of seats and Lu's proximity to the audience made for a much more intimate show, and while some songs – most notably "Still I Long for Your Kiss" -- fit in beautifully with the club atmosphere, and far transcended what we saw earlier in the week, the main sets for the two nights were somewhat comparable…..but that's where the similarities end.

In the encores, after leading off with old favorites "Side of the Road" and "The Night's Too Long" ("Big Red Sun" was on the setlist as an alternate, but alas it never happened), Lu begins to reveal her other side….where the Orpheum show affirmed Lu's place among the world's greatest singer-songwriters as she crooned through heartfelt renditions of "Something About What Happens" and "Over Time," at Lupo's she jettisoned the planned "I Envy the Wind" and detoured into a trio of drawn out, semi-coherent diatribes -- the first one a disjointed rumination on suicide and the ills of the world leading into an emotionally wrenching "Sweet Old World", the second a rap on the religious right before evoking the spirit of Muddy Waters in a ripping version of "Atonement", and the third a (somewhat confusing) political call to arms against the nation's moneyed elite, setting up Skip James' "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues"…..by the third monologue, it was clear that the effects of Lu's little blue cup were in full swing – a fact affirmed by the loose and chaotic version of "Get Right With God" that followed, with Lu hugging and kissing every male on the stage (save for Jim, who was safe behind his drumset), including her doting boyfriend Matthew and a somewhat bewildered Jayhawks leader Gary Louris, who was dragged to the mike, shown the lyrics to the song, joined in with Lu in a final chorus that alternated between awkwardness and spontaneous brilliance, and ultimately served as a prop of sorts -- the only thing standing between an increasingly unsteady Lucinda and the stage floor……this raucous ending to the show was in sharp contrast to the tightly performed, celebratory version of the same song we had seen just a few nights before……about 20 minutes after the show's end, Lu was whisked out of the club, and stumbled into her tour bus, looking somewhat spent for the night. She apparently never made it to the after party…..

Lucinda played in Toronto a few days later:

Toronto Star - October 15, 2003
No holiday cheer till Lucinda lightens up
by Vit Wagner, Pop Music Critic

The newfound mystique surrounding Canadian coolness is getting a little out of hand. Lucinda Williams, performing to a three-quarters-full Massey Hall on Monday night, expressed disbelief that so many people would turn out on the supposedly solemn occasion of Thanksgiving.

"I'm impressed at the way that you people party on Thanksgiving," the Louisiana-bred singer/songwriter announced from the stage. "Thanksgiving is a lot more reverential in our country. But you all are at a rock show."

Never mind that many Americans spend their day of gratitude hunkered in front of a TV set watching football, the Toronto audience had reason to be grateful that Williams was finally opening up and having fun.

During the earlier portion of the set, the most Williams uttered was the title to the song she and her three accompanists were about to play. After opening up with a solo rendition of "Passionate Kisses" from her eponymous release of 1988, the singer was joined by her band for "Drunken Angel" from 1998's career-making Car Wheels On A Gravel Road.

The yearning "Ventura" began a steady descent into the valley of heartache, which was followed by two more tracks from this year's World Without Tears, "Those Three Days," a song about the bitter residue left by a short romance, and "Fruits Of My Labor."

The evocation of despair was almost too palpable, partly because the mix made Williams' emotionally rent singing sounded particularly naked. Between songs, she filled the silence by turning her back to the audience or flipping pages in a binder.

Even a lone, piercing cry of "We love you Lucinda" from the upper balcony didn't invade her distraction, prompting only a quiet "Thank you." It wasn't until the obligatory band introduction that Williams began to let her guard down.

After naming the accompanists, including the stellar Doug Pettibone on guitars and mandolin, the singer began thanking everyone from the technicians to a merchandising guy who hadn't been able to cross the border. "We had to leave him in Buffalo, due to some past activities," she said.

Everyone loosened up noticeably as the band proceeded with "2 Kool 2 Be 4-gotten" and "Righteously." By the time Jayhawks frontman Gary Louris came out to sing harmony on "Essence," Williams was uninhibited enough to surrender her guitar to the guest.

Earlier, the Jayhawks had made fine work of opening up — or, in Louris' words, serving as the appetizer — with an 11-song set that leaned heavily on the Minneapolis alt.country band's current disc, Rainy Day Music. The quartet delivered nicely detailed renditions of "Stumblin' Through The Dark" and "All The Right Reasons," while digging into its back catalogue for "Clouds" and "Blue."

Conscious of being in Neil Young's former home, the quartet also offered up a cover of Buffalo Springfield's "Expecting To Fly" and its own "Better Days," a song Louris said was inspired by his fondness for Toronto. Maybe we are cool, after all.

Here's a pre-gig article from Cincinnati:

The Cincinnati Enquirer - October 15, 2003
Lucinda Williams has made it
Used to rave reviews, she finally got Dad's OK
By David Bauder - The Associated Press

It's morning for Lucinda Williams. Actually, it's 4:30 in the afternoon. But that's early when you were drinking with pals until 6 a.m.

John Coltrane is playing on the hotel room stereo, and the bed is unmade.

Williams, performing at 7:30 p.m. today on the American Financial Stage, P&G Pavilion, is living the rock 'n' roll life, even at age 50. There's a new tattoo, a buff body toned by boxing class. She's arguably at the peak of her musical powers, having just earned an enthusiastic thumbs-up from her toughest critic - her dad.

It's worth lifting a lyric from her new album - "I been tryin' to enjoy all the fruits of my labor" - and ask, "Are you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm trying."

It's not an easy question.

"Sometimes we have a hard time feeling OK about having good things come to us," she said. "You have to feel like you deserve it. You have to get used to it."

Williams is two years removed from being labeled America's best songwriter by Time magazine - the kind of weighty accolade that could either boost confidence or paralyze.

For Williams, it was a confidence-raiser that's evident in the grooves of World Without Tears, her latest disc and most varied, adventurous work.

Williams' music has always been an uncategorizable mix of country, folk, rock and blues. Here, she stretches even those boundaries with some half-spoken, half-sung numbers that are almost blues-rap, some gutbucket blues, a show-stopping rocker and country ballads that could have been written for Patsy Cline.

Glowing reviews, she's used to that. What she hadn't received before was an unqualified thumbs-up from her father, poet Miller Williams. Whenever she completes an album, daughter sends a copy of the lyrics to dad, and always gets a marked-up copy in return.

Not this time.

"He didn't have any criticisms - not one single one, which was a first," she said proudly. "It made me feel great. I said, 'Does that mean I've graduated?' "

Dad's response: "This is the closest thing to poetry that you've done."

Williams admits it's a cliche, but she sometimes feels that success isn't all it's cracked up to be.

"I've achieved everything I have ever dreamed about, basically," she said. "But I'm also going through that transition in my life now. I'm not 25, I'm 50. It didn't start happening for me until I was in my 40s."

Like fellow travelers Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crow, Williams has learned that professional success comes with a personal price. It's tough to maintain relationships, particularly when your pool of available men is filled with other musicians.

"To me, this is a lot harder than it was when I was sleeping on someone's couch and playing for tips in Austin, Texas, in 1974," she said.

Coltrane's over. Now playing is Neil Young, with whom Williams did a lengthy summer tour. Williams has another meeting.

She ushers a visitor to the door, saying not to hesitate to call if anything is unclear.

"I know how important it is to get the details exactly right," she says.

Chicago was the next stop on the tour:

CHICAGO SUN-TIMES
Williams brings bliss to fans with shining band, emotional vocals
October 20, 2003 by BOBBY REED

The following thought crosses the minds of seasoned rock fans each time they buy a concert ticket: "Maybe this will be an extraordinary, truly memorable show.''

The odds are not in the fans' favor. Veteran concertgoers continue to support live music even though they've repeatedly been let down by lackadaisical artists, muddy sound systems, obnoxious fans, overzealous security guards and excessively pricey tickets.

So why do fans keep suffering through such indignities? Because they hope to see a concert like the one Lucinda Williams gave Friday night at the Riviera.

Williams and her backing trio delivered an intoxicating mixture of finely crafted ballads interspersed with loose, raucous rock songs that were built around snarling guitar riffs. The generous, 20-song performance was 2 hours and 15 minutes of country-rock bliss.

The Grammy-winning tunesmith was backed by one of the best bands she has assembled in her entire career. It is the same group she used to record her latest album, the terrific "World Without Tears.'' After extended periods of touring together, the four musicians are consistently playing as an organic, cohesive unit, much like their heroes Neil Young & Crazy Horse, whom they opened for at the United Center in June.

Drummer Jim Christie accented the melody of "Drunken Angel'' with colorful splashes on his ride cymbal. Taras Prodaniuk anchored the funky groove of "Righteously'' with a slippery bass line. Doug Pettibone's lead guitar playing on "Out of Touch'' was a virtual clinic on the melodic use of space. Throughout the evening, Pettibone's solos always had a sense of purpose -- he never meandered or grandstanded with clusters of pointless notes.

Williams played acoustic guitar most of the evening, but she set her instrument aside for a bluesy, cathartic rendition of "Still I Long for Your Kiss,'' which she dedicated to blues singers who had influenced her, including Muddy Waters and Etta James.

With both hands clutching the microphone stand and her knees buckling together, Williams, 50, made it clear that she has embraced not only the chord progressions of her forebears, but also their commitment to emotional vocal delivery.

During the encore, Williams was joined onstage by two members of the Jayhawks, who opened the concert with an hourlong set of jangly pop. Lead singer Gary Louris reprised the vocal harmony part that he contributed to the title cut of Williams' 2001 album, "Essence.''

The gorgeous melody of "Something About What Happens When We Talk'' was enhanced by the cascading notes of Pettibone's electric guitar and Stephen McCarthy's chiming pedal steel runs.

Williams, who resides in California, spiced up her encore with a rant about voter apathy and the recent recall election, which made Arnold Schwarzenegger the state's governor elect. In a disgusted tone, she said, "See what happens? When you don't vote, you end up with ----!''

The other Chicago paper had a different slant:

Lucinda Williams reaches summit, then slides down
By Joshua Klein
Special to the Chicago Tribune

October 20, 2003

Lucinda Williams made just four records between 1979 and 1998, one of which was a collection of country and blues interpretations. Since 1998, however, Williams has released three excellent albums of new material, and while no one would call her pace prolific, there's no question the songwriter has of late been more productive than usual.

This year's "World Without Tears" is also Williams' most diverse record to date, and the mix of atmospheric ballads and crunchy rock suits her restless spirit. She recorded the album with her touring band, and their solid studio-pro expertise helped keep the mercurial Williams anchored over the course of a particularly rocky (in every sense) set at the Riviera Friday
night.

She opened the show alone, playing a brisk rendition of "Passionate Kisses" on acoustic guitar both to get the crowd's attention and, no doubt, to get the popular song out of the way. The gambit resulted in a hail of applause by the close to capacity crowd, and Williams -- sporting a New York Dolls
T-shirt and vivid blue eye shadow -- seemed genuinely touched by the affection. Still, she immediately switched gears to some of her moodiest material, heartbreak ballads such as "Ventura" and the soulful "Fruits of My Labor."

The latter revealed Williams' voice to be in particularly fine, even powerful form, despite the trademark cracks and rasps that give the perpetual impression she's been out all night cavorting with friends. Maybe sensing the venue and mood was right for it, Williams shifted gears once again, this time leading the band through a loose and wonderfully ragged batch of rock songs, with "Changed The Locks" and "Righteously" stretched
out to show off the talents of her versatile backing trio. Williams topped the burst of energy off by inviting Gary Louris of openers the Jayhawks to add harmonies and guitar to "Essence," her bittersweet song about addiction -- romantic and otherwise.

And then things fell apart. Encouraged to ramble while a few technical matters were ironed out, Williams delivered an incoherent rant about voting and California politics that would have thrown off the feel of the night even if the Golden State transplant had made any sense. Things were thrown further out of whack by an unrehearsed rendition of "Big Red Sun Blues," apparently chosen by random from her big flip book of lyrics, and "American Dream," one of Williams' strangest, weakest songs. It was part Patti Smith, part Grandmaster Flash, and all wrong, though Williams -- who at least crashes and burns with style -- knew well enough to close with the thundering "Get Right With God."

The Jayhawks' stellar opening set once again highlighted how criminally underrated the Minneapolis band is.

Tackling country rock by way of Bob Dylan, the Byrds, and the Band, the four-piece filled its songs with countless melodic flourishes that recalled four decades of classy classic rock compressed like diamonds down to similarly brilliant four-minute gems.

Copyright © 2003, Chicago Tribune

The following article appeared in a newspaper in Eugene, Oregon prior to Lucinda's concert:

November 1, 2003

Williams: Rock's latest poet
By Lewis Taylor
The Register-Guard

Lucinda Williams has long walked the line between rock and country. On her most heart-wrenching songs, she sings, as one critic put it, "like a woman with the blues rather than an angry young girl."

On her latest release, "World Without Tears," Williams steers closer to her rock side - with several uptempo tunes - while exploring other avenues, including spoken word.

"Next, I might do a traditional country record," Williams said in a July interview with Maclean's magazine. "The roots of what I do are basically country and blues. But then I like to take that little root and branch off from it.

POP NOTES

"Some of my earliest influences as a kid - my dad listened to John Coltrane, Ray Charles and Chet Baker, then also Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette. And I got into all the '60s rock."

Williams' father is the Miller Williams, the poet who read at President Bill Clinton's second inauguration. She says she has the sensibilities of a poet when it comes to songwriting.

When Williams gave her father a copy of her latest CD, he apparently agreed, saying that it was the closest thing to poetry she had ever done.

"I said, 'Well, do you have any comments to make about anything, any suggestions?' " Williams said in an interview with National Public Radio. "He said, 'No, can't think of a thing.'

I said, 'Wow. Does that mean I've graduated?' "

Lucinda Williams plays the McDonald Theatre, 1010 Willamette St., on Tuesday. The Los Angeles roots duo eastmountainsouth opens the show at 8 p.m.

Tickets are $25 in advance or $27 day of show.

Lucinda played two nights in Vancouver & two papers had pre-gig articles:

THE PROVINCE, Vancouver, Canada
Lucinda mixes sweet with sour
by John P. McLaughlin

Thursday, November 06, 2003

LUCINDA WILLIAMS Commodore Ballroom, Friday and Saturday, shows at 9 p.m. (Tickets: $51.75 at Ticketmaster, 604-280-4444)

One early afternoon this week I tracked Lucinda Williams down on her tour bus, enjoying a day off, rolling up the I-5 towards Eugene, Ore., and taking in the gorgeous, sunny view of the Coast Range mountains, newly dusted with the season's first snow.

"I'm just drifting along here," said the woman Time magazine voted America's best songwriter. "I was just thinking, it's hard to imagine driving through this, it looks like a postcard it's so picturesque and perfect, and there are people being gunned down in the streets in another part of the world. The contrast is just startling."

She was talking about Iraq. If anybody in this world could be inspired by the grandeur of glinting, snow-capped peaks to think of exploding muzzles and dead combatants it's Lucinda Williams.

Not that she's especially morbid or an obsessive glass-half-empty type but, as any fan of her writing knows, whatever sweetness makes it into her verses is tempered with the sour. And as a good boomer raised in the socially conscious '60s and '70s, she possesses a refined sense of social justice, especially as it regards to war.

Early in the 10th grade she and a couple of friends were busted one morning before class for distributing anti-Vietnam War pamphlets. As they sat waiting in the vice-principal's office the pre-recorded pledge of allegiance came over the intercom and the three agreed by way of protest not to put their hands to their hearts and repeat it.

They were expelled.

"Yeah, but I got back in, though, because we got an ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) lawyer," says Williams. "It was considered unconstitutional so I was able to get back in and then I got kicked out again about six months later for similar political unrest sorta stuff. We were getting ready to move to Mexico City anyway where my dad was going to start teaching in 1970."

Because of a mix-up in school district regulations Williams would spend her Mexico City year at home, reading widely, playing guitar and learning and writing songs. Other than a couple of stabs at college, that was it for her formal education. She did, however, have what she calls a built-in creative writing class in her father.

Prof. Miller Williams is a widely respected and much decorated poet and short-story writer with some 30 volumes to his name. He's been selected one of the 500 most important poets of all languages in the 20th century and was official poet at Bill Clinton's second inauguration. If daughter Lucinda occasionally knocks off a decent line or two there's a natural, hard-wired predilection for it.

Indeed, she characterizes her relationship with her father as more like that of a student and teacher, an apprenticeship. From an early age she brought him whatever she was working on and he would offer constructive criticism and make suggestions. She says it's how she learned.

With this year's World Without Tears album it seems Lucinda Williams crossed a threshold.

"I showed him all the songs before I went in to record the last record," says Williams, "just for his, you know, nod of approval. I said, 'so, do you have any comments to make about anything, a line or a word?' Usually there'd be something but he didn't have any suggestions to make. He said 'this is the closest thing to poetry I think you've ever done.'

"It was like graduating, like I'd worked myself up to a certain point and he acknowledged that. It's kinda been like that, as I've grown I've learned, just like any kind of apprenticeship. You have to have someone to show your work to

Williams too real to be captured in anyone's imagination
Alt-country artist too busy for image
By Kerry Gold, Vancouver Sun
Friday, November 07, 2003

They don't come more real than Lucinda Williams. She's the hot-blooded, sometimes misguided, sharp, true-living character that every romantic-minded actor and writer has craved to capture. She's Leonard Cohen's Suzanne, Julia Roberts' Erin Brockovich, and the female equivalent of Jack Kerouac's Neal Cassady.

Bruce Springsteen and Bryan Adams may cultivate a working-class image, but Williams couldn't be bothered. She's too busy hanging out at bars and gigs, falling in love, getting annoyed with neighbours who don't appreciate her loud music, and getting her jollies performing on stage. Williams may be the crowning jewel of the alternative country scene and considered one of America's most important songwriters, but she's oblivious to such heady proclamations. At 50, Williams just wants to take the pressure off her love life and career.

"I want a friend, a companion. I want someone I can have great sex with, I can get along with. Is that so hard to find?" asks Williams, on a cellphone from somewhere outside Eugene, Ore. Her voice has an amiable southern lilt, the result of being raised in Louisiana, Miss., and later playing folk clubs around Texas.

"When you are younger, you're just bouncing around. You think, 'I might meet the man of my dreams when I go to this bar.' After a while, for me, as I have gotten older, you get wiser about it, and realize it is hard to find the right person. Before when I was younger I would have jumped in. 'Let's try this one.' Then you think, 'What a waste of time and energy. What's the point? I won't even bother going home with this person because I can tell how it is going to go.'

"Now I am a mature wiser older woman," she says, then adds: "My boyfriend and manager Daniel are grinning at me."

If Williams was happily married with kids and the Volvo station wagon in the driveway, we might have missed such heart-slaying gems such as Fruits of My Labor and Those Three Days. Williams has a gift for capturing the torment and joy of relationships, and with her sandpaper vocals, she doesn't shy away from baring her wounds through her music. With her new release, World Without Tears, Williams has let fly with another emotion: anger. On songs such as Those Three Days, her voice is so quivering with rage she's almost ranting.
"See, I have [become] a little braver as far as my ability to really be obviously pissed off," says Williams. "If you look at the history of my legacy, like on the [1988] self-titled album, I was doing that in a more innocent viewpoint compared with what I am doing now, which is more of a bitterness. I have just branched out a bit. I am experimenting as far as writing goes. Constructive anger can be a productive emotion at times."

She learned early to express herself. Williams is the daughter of literature professor and professional poet Miller Williams, and she is a product of a progressive '60s rearing that included discussions about current events and the occasional peace march. Her stepmother was only eight years older than her, and was influential in teaching Williams to be an independent, career minded feminist thinker.

"I was always a free thinker and I never allowed myself to be led down one path," says Williams. "I was never being influenced by feminist stuff which was pretty radical at that time, as far as whether it was okay to sing blues songs and be into that kind of music because it was considered sexist, blah blah blah.

"I was always really broad minded and into Robert Johnson, listening to that kind of thing. I appreciated both worlds."

When it comes to her writing, Williams says she's now looser, become more accustomed to the process. It's a battle that goes back to 1979, when she released Ramblin' On My Mind on Folkways, followed by Happy Woman Blues a year later. She released a stellar rock 'n' roll tinged self-titled album on Rough Trade in 1988, then re-emerged with the dark Sweet Old World on Chameleon in 1992. Williams appeared on tribute albums to Merle Haggard and Victoria Williams and helped Mary Chapin Carpenter score a hit with her Passionate Kisses.

Then Williams disappeared again and when she released the superb Car Wheels on a Gravel Road (as perfect as an album can get) in 1998, she was roundly criticized for being almost clinically uncompromising. Steve Earle, who produced the Nashville tracks with Williams, groused that Williams "should have finished the f------ record and released it. If stuff sits around long enough, she second-guesses herself."

"Some of it probably is true, but I don't feel it is a derogatory, damaging characteristic to have," Williams responds. "I have always said, 'Look at the end result. How can you criticize the process if you like the result?' Besides, at the time, there were a lot of problems at the different record companies. See, all that stuff started happening at the time I started recording.

"The other part is sexist, ridiculous criticism. This is a male-dominated business. John Fogerty came out with a record and he hadn't made one in 12 years and he was never criticized for it.

"I had a lot of time to work on those songs. Those are difficult songs. Some of those songs I worked on for years. Broken Angel, that was written over a period of two years, same thing with Lake Charles. I labored over those songs. That whole time everyone criticized me for taking so long to put out a record but that is what I was doing.

"I can't win for losing."

With World Without Tears, Williams wrote the songs in about a year and took three to four months to record them in Los Angeles, with producer Mark Howard. A slow, sad song called Overtime is classic Williams, and in a scant four minutes she captures everything there is to say about the useless cravings of unrequited love. The song is as good as any of the gems on Car Wheels, and it didn't take two years to write.

"That's because I am trying to grow and get better," says Williams. "I continue to push myself, you know, as an artist. I push myself, I push the boundaries and I'm not worrying about if I am writing every single day because I am always taking things in, and observing. I will hear a line, someone will say something and I will write it down and that could end up in a song later. I know it is going to come at some point. It used to freak me out that it wouldn't, but not any more."

She may have found new grounding in her career, but her personal life is still a bit of a high-wire act. Williams recently moved out of her rental house in Burbank when the neighbour complained about her loud car stereo, so all her things are in storage in Nashville.

"Because of my rock 'n' roll lifestyle and because I keep such late hours and it was on an Ozzie and Harriet type street, neighbourhood. The houses were old and close together, so insulation wasn't very good. We were doing normal stuff and disturbing the neighbours."

She describes herself as itinerant for a year and a half since she moved back to Los Angeles, and she's been on the road since April, so she's not likely to settle down soon.

"I like to go out and stay up late and go crazy and see bands, but I like to get in touch with my inner housewife part of me also," says Williams, who admits she's not averse to nesting. The success of Car Wheels on a Gravel Road -- which sold more than a million records (huge for an alternative country record) -- has meant Williams can build an even better nest.

"It was quite a change, financially," she says. "I could afford to think about buying a house, buying a new car, that kind of thing, put a little money away, help some other people I wanted to help."

As for the fame thing, Williams makes the suggestion of it sound almost appalling. Because she does not make videos and infrequently appears on magazine covers, she's hardly a recognizable face, so she is seldom recognized.

"I don't consider myself famous, I don't. It surprises me.

"I am not on MTV or VH1. I could be a lot more famous, if I were to cross over that line, which is a terrifying thought because I relish my privacy a lot. I don't want to go there."

It's a safe bet Hollywood will never get its hooks into Williams. She'll always be that gal hanging with her band at the other end of the bar.

"My personal life isn't any different than any other woman's. People always say, 'You must have been with a lot of losers in your time. You've had your heart broken a lot. Well, who hasn't?"

Lucinda Williams plays Friday and Saturday night at the Commodore Ballroom.

Seattle ran two articles - one before & one after the concert:

Friday, November 07, 2003
Concert Preview
Lucinda Williams sings it her way
By Patrick MacDonald
Seattle Times music critic

You almost don't have to know English to understand Lucinda Williams' songs. Her voice tells so much that you can get the gist of her message through the drawls, cracks, rumblings, yelps and whispers. Not since Bob Dylan has a singer-songwriter conveyed as much through the act of singing as through the words.

Like Dylan, Williams doesn't have a good singing voice, in the conventional sense. But it's the right voice, the perfect voice, for the songs. She doesn't even attempt to prettify it. In a take-or-leave-it fashion, she does it her way, deliberately overdoing her drawl to underscore her Southern roots, contrasting lines in a lyric to bring out the light and the dark, mealy-mouthing some words to convey their unpleasantness and carefully pronouncing others to show that she loves them — particularly the names of places. Her edgy, knowing voice adds drama and mystery to her songs, and compels you to listen. Hers is never background music.

Because of that voice, and the gritty honesty and frankness of her songs, it's unlikely Williams will ever enjoy a huge following. She may never headline arenas — although she's played them, opening for big stars who admire her, including Dylan and Neil Young — she will always have a big core of fans because of her stylish, gritty, eloquent, passionate, challenging songs.

On her latest album, "World Without Tears," she emphasizes her singing more than ever. Perhaps influenced by rap, she even talks-sings some songs. She shows in the CD that the way she sings is as important as her words.

Although she released her first album 25 years ago, was long admired by other singer-songwriters, and had her songs covered by major artists (Mary Chapin Carpenter had a big hit with her "Passionate Kisses" in 1992), Williams didn't hit her stride until 1998 when she released her masterpiece, "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road." An album of songs based on places in the South that left an impression on her, good or bad (such as "Lake Charles" and "Greenville"), it was a critical and commercial success. The hard-won wisdom and truthfulness of her songs — along with her intriguing singing voice and fine guitar-picking — made her an alternative-country star.

The albums she has released since then — last year's "Essence" and this year's "World Without Tears" — are worthy companion pieces to "Car Wheels." The former was mostly dark, because much of it had to do with the breakup of a long relationship and the cancer death of one of her bandmembers. The latter is more eclectic, with songs of longing, regret, love and survival.

Williams comes from a literate, academic background. Her father is the acclaimed poet, Miller Williams, who read a poem at President Clinton's second inaugural. The family moved frequently, as he took teaching jobs at colleges throughout the South, and even in Mexico and Chile. The young Lucinda absorbed music wherever she went, although she favored the blues. (Her first album was all covers, mostly of old blues songs.) When she began writing songs as a teenager, they were influenced by blues, country, jazz and Mexican music.

She first performed at coffeehouses around the colleges where her father was teaching. She set out on her own while quite young, taking daytime waitress jobs in order to sing at night. She settled at various times in Nashville, New York, Austin, Houston, San Francisco and Los Angeles (where she now lives).

Williams turned 50 earlier this year but still projects a youthful appearance, with her bleached-blond hair, form-fitting pants, skin-revealing tops and stark makeup. She's petite but packs a wallop.

Opening her concert is eastmountainsouth, a country band that emphasizes the harmonies of Kat Maslich and Peter Adams.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Lucinda Williams rewards fans with rollicking show
By Patrick MacDonald
Seattle Times music critic

"Set us free, Lucinda!" somebody yelled. And dang if she didn't.

The loud voice in the audience was responding to a security guard who forcefully pushed away three women who dared to dance in the aisles of the Moore Theatre on Sunday night. Lucinda Williams, whose irresistible country rhythms inspired the dancers, said from the stage that she would try do something about it, because she liked to see her fans having fun.

A few minutes later, the heavy security retreated and waves of people came rushing down the aisles to the front of the stage.

"Now we've turned this place into a rock club," Williams exulted, and the majority of the audience stayed standing and dancing throughout the rest of the show.

Williams' music sets you free whether you can dance in the aisles or not. She's one of those rare, brilliant songwriters who crafts gritty, frank tales of lost love or haunted memories or sacred places, and does it in a kind of earthy poetry that resonates with the honesty and drama of Southern literary traditions.

There's a good bit of honky-tonk in her, too, and it was in full bloom at the Moore. It was the best show she's ever done here, and not just because the audience was so wildly responsive. She discovered a fellow musician with whom she has worked and much admires was in the house, and persuaded him to join her three-piece band.

It was guitarist Greg Leisz, a prominent Los Angeles studio musician and a member of k.d. lang's band. Once he came on board, at about the middle of the set, the show became even livelier. He contributed great guitar and pedal-steel solos and interacted with the other musicians. Williams' smile never left her face while he was onstage.

The slight singer, her blonde hair askew and playing an acoustic guitar that dwarfed her, opened her generous set with a solo of "Passionate Kisses," probably her most famous song, because it was a big hit for Mary Chapin Carpenter. Williams followed with another of her better-known songs, the moving ballad "Drunken Angel," whose drawling vocal and uneven rhythms said as much about the troubled subject as the lyric.

Songs from her new "World Without Tears" CD were featured, beginning with the moving, beautiful song of longing, "Ventura," whose ocean theme was mesmerizing.

Other highlights from the new disc included the sexy heartbreaker "Those Three Days," the rollicking love song "Righteously," which also emphasized her drawling delivery, and "Fruits of My Labor," the first of several long jams that featured the band.

Leisz joined for "Changed the Locks," in a rocking version similar to Tom Petty's cover of it. Leisz continued through such songs as the angry "Joy," the bittersweet saga of addiction, "Essence," and a sweet remembrance of her grandmother's house, "Bus to Baton Rouge."

A five-piece pop band, eastmountainsouth, featuring the sublime harmonies of Kat Maslich and Peter Adams, opened with a pleasant 45-minute set.

Next was Denver & after that: Tucson, Arizona:

Tucson, Arizona Friday, 14 November 2003
Singer Lucinda Williams bent on doing it her way
by Rob Bailey, Arizona Daily Star

Lucinda Williams is living proof that you don't have to sell out.

For more than 20 years, the Louisiana native has triumphed over record-label attempts to mold her gorgeous grit into what they deem fit for mass consumption.

The woman Time magazine crowned America's Best Songwriter plumbs emotional depths with a few deceptively simple, well-chosen words. Her specialty is the telling, everyday details that catch you by surprise, with a twisted gut and a lonely teardrop on your cheek.

That stock in trade has earned the 50-year-old maverick universal critical acclaim, four Grammys, gold and platinum records and sold-out concerts - without ever making a music video.

During a late-night Caliente interview last year, Williams said she had no regrets about taking the road-to-success less traveled.

"If I played the game more, maybe things would be different, but there are no guarantees," drawled the woman who controls every aspect of her music, from recording a song to choosing CD cover artwork. "It's never a good idea to bend or shape yourself into what you think people want to hear. You're just destined to fail. It's best to go about doing it the way I want. That way, whatever comes of it is great, but I'm still doing what I would have done anyway."

Williams' perfectionist bent is infamous - she has released only six albums in a 30-year career that she began on a street corner, playing for quarters.

She recorded her first original songs for 1980's "Happy Woman's Blues," but didn't follow it up until eight years later with an eponymous release on the Rough Trade indie punk label. She broke her first major label contract with MCA Records two years later when it tried to release what she called substandard material.

Williams recorded 1992's "Sweet Old World" twice before she was satisfied with it, and she took her sweet time laboring over 1998's landmark "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road."

By comparison, 2001's "Essence," and this year's "World Without Tears" are quickies.

Sparse lyrics about heavy blankets covering lonely girls and pretty hairdos are tenderly evocative in her expert literary hands. Her life experiences - an uprooted childhood that took her from the Baton Rouge bus station to Santiago, Chile, a lover's suicide and drug addiction - are ruthlessly bared in the raw tunes.

As a result, Williams is often painted by the press as the queen of broken hearts, self-destructing for her art. To hear her tell it, though, even cowgirls get over the blues.

"Well, I tell you, I can write better when I'm not feeling tortured at the moment," said Williams, who headlines the Rialto Theatre at 8 tonight. "I've already been tortured. You can draw on those times and experiences, but you don't have to continue to be tortured. You can also write about other people's pain. Nobody is free from pain. That's pretty much life on Earth. It's just a matter of opening up and listening. This world is full of torture and pain."

Her heroes - Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Dusty Springfield and even a little early Loretta Lynn - mined the same love, sex, death and God territory. Now she accompanies them in the pantheon of untouchable - by commercial-sales standards, anyway - artists who have become legends in their own lifetimes.

"Yeah, a legend in my own mind maybe," Williams said, giggling. "Uh, that was just a little joke there."

Sunday, 16 November 2003
Williams, fans have high time at Rialto
By Rob Bailey
ARIZONA DAILY STAR

Lucinda Williams got high Friday night at the Rialto Theatre.

"It's hard out here on the road sometimes - this is how I get my fix," Williams told her crowd of more than 1,000, which included a sold-out balcony. "This is what I do instead of shooting heroin in my veins. Some people do both."

The multi-Grammy winner treated a spellbound audience to an intoxicating night of new material, B-sides, rarities and well-chosen covers.

Williams seemed to feed off the crowd's buzz as she conferred with her band back at the drums, rifling through a stack of papers looking for fresh, long-neglected tunes from one of America's most stellar catalogs.

"We have a set list, but set lists were meant to be broken," Williams said, excitedly, midway through the two hour-plus concert. "This is the most mixed up, different show we've done on the tour. It feels like y'all know a lot of the old songs. I wish every audience could be like this."

After a short sound check to perfect the mix (Williams and company are recording a live CD of her West Coast tour) at the show's outset, Williams said, "This is a beautiful sounding room."

Such praise is rarely uttered in relation to the Rialto Theatre, but it was well-deserved Friday night. Each instrument was miked to perfection, as was Williams' intoxicating voice - every rasp, scratch and drawl was crystal clear. The 50-year-old also looked great in lowrider jeans and a black, belly-bearing tank emblazoned with the Dickie's logo.

Material from her latest CD, "World Without Tears," was prominently featured. Standouts: "Ventura," with its hypnotic, druggy oceanic imagery, and the affecting struggle for self-satisfaction in "Fruits of My Labor."

And then came the really good stuff.

For the torchy show-stopper "Still I Long For Your Kiss," Williams went sans guitar to belt in full chanteuse mode. She dedicated the song to "all of the greats" she was exposed to early in her career at Antoine's, the legendary blues joint in Austin, Texas. It was just plain hot.

Intermittent jams by guitarist/mandolinist/harmonica and lap steel player Doug Pettibone, drummer Jim Christie and bassist Taras Prodaniuk were just right - never obtrusive or ego-stroking.

The show's oldest tune was "I Lost It," a dittie she first recorded in 1979 for the Folkways label, then reworked for 1998's seminal "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road."

"The Dixie Chicks almost recorded this song, and I wish to hell they would," Williams quipped. "Because it'd be a big fat hit and I could buy my house in the desert."

The crowd howled in approval at the thought of Williams staking a claim on Tucson.

A raucous cover of Randy Weeks' "Can't Let Go" injected the requisite rave-up in between introspective selections such as "The Night's Too Long." The latter Williams song, covered by country singer Patty Loveless in 1990, resonated with lyrics about "small-town boys in leather jackets who like their lovin' rough."

But a special moment came courtesy of Tucson legend Howe Gelb, of Giant Sand fame, who is putting together a tribute to Tucsonan Rainer Ptácek, an internationally renowned singer-songwriter-guitarist who died of cancer in 1997.

After Williams briefly explained Gelb's success at recruiting her for his tribute CD, one lousy crowd member hollered, "Shut up and play your guitar."

The timing could not have been worse, and some concertgoers (and security guards) became so incensed it seemed for a moment that a lynching was not out of the question.

But overall, it was great to see an iconoclast like Williams inspire such love and devotion from an audience that was obviously willing to follow her anywhere she wanted to go musically.

After decades spent in the shadows, Williams is certified music industry royalty, with the awards and critical laurels to prove it.

But she remains an artist of naked simplicity, capable of painting vivid pictures with plain language that cuts to the quick of raw emotion. Her tales can break your heart, boil your honky-tonk and crank your libido - often simultaneously.

This continued lack of artifice has earned her a die-hard following that is gloriously apart from the mainstream world of MTV, soft-drink endorsements and soft-porn spreads.

The tour winds down in California. The San Francisco Chronicle raved about Lucinda:

A heroine of country at her peak
Joel Selvin, Chronicle Senior Pop Music Critic
Saturday, November 22, 2003

The long, graceful arc of Lucinda Williams' slow-simmering career is reaching a new peak over three nights this week at the Fillmore Auditorium. In a two-hour performance captured by a live recording, the short, shaggy-haired bottle blonde in cowboy hat, tank top and faded jeans showed why she is one of the most deeply personal stylists in music today.

For a long time better known by other musicians than the public, Williams on her past couple of releases has been moving toward this sort of -- for lack of a better word -- torchabilly, a near seamless blend of country, blues and roots rock with its heart painfully on its sleeve. Fluidly backed by a three-piece band that carefully shaped and colored her stark and moody songs into sonic tone poems at the Fillmore on Thursday, Williams has bloomed.

Her talent has long been known. Since her rough-hewn 1978 debut, where she covered Robert Johnson blues with crusty authenticity, the Louisiana girl has attracted the attention of people like Emmylou Harris, Mary Chapin Carpenter and Tom Petty, who have all recorded Williams songs. With her three- night run at the Fillmore practically sold out, the public appears to be catching up.

Without benefit of radio airplay, music videos and other marketing tools standard in the music business, Williams has found a growing audience since her 1998 breakthrough, "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road,'' her first gold album. She sold a respectable 400,000 copies of her latest album, "World Without Tears,'' which provided the bulk of the songs for her Fillmore set.

She opened by herself, strumming acoustic guitar and digging hard and gnarly into "Passionate Kisses,'' an early high-water mark from her 1988 "Lucinda Williams'' album. Guitarist Doug Pettibone brought out the Rickenbacker electric for a jangly "Drunken Angel,'' her Byrdsian elegy to songwriter Townes Van Zandt.

But with the next number, the monochromatic, downbeat "Reason to Cry,'' Pettibone shifted to a Pops Staples vibrato-laden tone that could have come off a '60s R&B record by Solomon Burke, shooting an eerie, mournful wash through the sound. Drummer Jim Christie etched the atmosphere deeper with spare, one-handed drumming, his other hand holding a sand-filled shaker.

Into this flowing swirl, Williams laid her powerful, thickly Southern voice, making a rich stew of simple ingredients scrupulously assembled.

And can she sing. She can overpower lyrics with a raspy, raucous growl or drop into a little-girl whisper that only gently prods the songs. Guitarist Pettibone sculpted the contours, while Williams plumbed the lyrics for their emotional weight.

Her songs are concerned with connections between people, their intensity and fragility. She can also be frankly erotic, and imbued her performance with an almost unconscious sensuality, twisting her body to one side and then the other of the microphone, that brought lusty cheers from the enthusiastic crowd at key lines.

It doesn't hurt either that, at age 50, she is a lithe, attractive woman with the confidence of someone who knows it.

But the essence of what makes Williams unique is her pungent, literate songwriting and the hopeful heart beating at the core of all her songs. She compared one of her songs to a Flannery O'Connor short story, certainly an unusual enough parallel for a rock singer to draw, but she was also quick to credit Chicago blues musicians like Elmore James and Muddy Waters in helping her develop her vision, which is also not so obvious.

She let her lyrics breathe in the clear, uncluttered arrangements and delivered a detailed, nuanced vocal performance that gave the songs a vivid emotional veracity -- the kind of authority that can only come from an overnight success 20 years in the making.

Lucinda Williams: Appears at 8 tonight with the Sheets (with Tim Bloom of Mother Hips) at the Fillmore Auditorium, 1805 Geary St. Tickets: $30.

Here is an e-mail I got from a devoted Lucinda fan:

THOSE THREE NIGHTS! LUCINDA AT THE FILLMORE IN SAN FRANCISCO

After attending all 3 Lucinda shows at The Fillmore in San Francisco I can only say I've been to heaven! I won't try to give a complete account of each show except to say there was a special feel and color each night. I would describe Thursday night's show as "bluesy" with one of the highlights being "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues" by Skip James, which she sang on the PBS special "The Blues." Friday night was more "rockin" with powerful performances of "Essence", “Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings "still ringing in our ears. And Saturday night was a "smoldering" show with three of the highlights being "Greenville," "Atonement" and her rousing closer "Get Right With God." Hallelujah Lucinda!

Saturday night was extra special because we were invited backstage by Lucinda. (I guess the roses worked!) My wife (Nancy) was ill that night so I took my 19 year-old son Jared. Let me say this: In person, Lucinda is one of the most charming, genuinely sweet and real people you’d ever want to meet. She signed a The Fillmore Poster (see photo above) and Friday night’s play list for us.

After a little small talk, we hugged and kissed her goodbye and walked out her dressing room on Cloud 9. Jared got to thank Doug Pettibone for his amazing guitar playing.

P.S. We drove to Santa Cruz to catch the last show of the World Without Tears Tour. We just had to see her soooooo bad!

It was another great show and a great end to a great tour! I will say this: No one and I mean no one can sing like LUCIIIINDA! When she is on, I hear Chrissy Hinde, Patsy Cline, Loretta and Janis all in one absolutely fucking incredible voice.

Now all that's left to do is wait for the LIVE CD to come out. Backstage, Doug Pettibone mumbled something about a May release date. I can't wait.

John “True Lu Blue” Griffin

Last summer the Canadian magazine MacLean's published a wonderful interview with Lucinda. Here it is:

July 14, 2003 MacLean’s Magazine
GOOD MORNING, HEARTACHE

LUCINDA WILLIAMS: The singer-songwriter talks to Brian D. Johnson about the exquisite pain of her art

IT'S HARD TO THINK OF a woman who sings so explicitly about sex and love and pain as Lucinda Williams. She's been called the best American songwriter of her generation. She's also been called the Keith Richards of country music, perhaps because of the seductive sound she gives to the lyrics "dirty words and heroin," or the way her music steers a narcotic line between raw commitment and lazy insouciance. But heartbreak, not heroin, has been her drug of choice. Unlike the wrinkled Rolling Stone, Williams is a road veteran who wears her scars under her skin -- at 50, she looks younger than her age. And because she's forged her career so resolutely outside the mainstream, charting a unique course between country and blues, rock and folk, comparisons seem pointless.

Williams's music is a landscape of love lost to suicide, misadventure and betrayal. But she goes beyond the pain -- with surgical words and a sultry voice that transcends melancholy to find an unlikely salvation.

Born in Louisiana, Williams grew up in a Southern Gothic delta of music, poetry and melodrama. Her father is Arkansas poet Miller Williams, who read at Bill Clinton's second inauguration. One of her first great loves was Mississippi legend Frank Stanford, a charismatic poet and philanderer who ended his life with a pistol in 1978 -- shortly after sending Lucinda flowers, then coming home to find his estranged wife comparing notes with his live-in mistress. Lucinda wrote two aching ballads about Stanford's death, Pineola and Sweet Old World, both of which wouldn't be released for 13 years.

For much of her career, as she resisted producers trying to package her, Williams enjoyed an obscure cult status among musicians and a loyal coterie of fans. But she scored a breakthrough in 1998 with her Grammy-winning CD Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. She won another Grammy for Essence in 2001, when she was named songwriter of the year by Time magazine. Now, with her seventh album, World Without Tears, she's again turned critical heads, with songs that range from dirty rock to country dirge to spoken word. A couple of uptempo rockers -- Righteously and Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings -- have even begun to get commercial radio play.

Williams is currently touring as the opening act for Neil Young. After a show in Toronto we meet in her dressing room for an exclusive Canadian interview. Looking more rock 'n' roll than country, she wears tight, low-rider pants in maroon velvet brocade, a shimmery off-the-shoulder top, bubble-gum-pink sneakers and matching lipstick. Her hair is an artful tangle of blond and dark roots, the eyeshadow heavy behind lightly tinted glasses. A tattoo of a two-headed snake, acquired last summer, encircles one of her arms, which are slim and strong from playing guitar.

You've always split the difference between genres. With Real Live Bleeding Fingers, are you moving more toward rock?

I've always been into that, in my head, but I just hadn't been able to figure out how to write a song like that.

It sounds like classic Stones, but you said it was inspired by the Replacements.

That's who I was thinking of when I wrote the song. Of course I've been influenced by the Stones. I mean, who hasn't? But I was influenced by the Doors, the Band, Buffalo Springfield, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Donovan, the Lovin' Spoonful. The list goes on.

Why did you start out singing country?

I never really bothered to define anything in terms of, "I'm going to be this or I'm going to be that." I just gravitated toward whatever I felt comfortable with. The roots of what I do are basically country and blues. But then I like to take that little root and branch off from it. Some of my early influences as a kid -- my dad listened to John Coltrane, Ray Charles and Chet Baker. Then also Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette. And I got into all the sixties rock. I learned to play guitar in 1965. That was the height of the whole folk movement. There was this huge flood of music coming in. Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne. I was in the thick of it, absorbing it all. And I've always looked ahead. I don't want to stay stuck in one mode.

Do you feel pressure to do that?

There's no pressure whatsoever. I just got lucky with this record. It just so happened that I wrote some rock-type songs. Obviously, for whatever reason, uptempo material ends up being more commercially viable. Next I might do a traditional country record.

There's a lot of pain in your songs. One might assume you're really unhappy.

Well, no. I get that a lot, but it surprises me because I don't really see the difference between the themes of my songs and the themes of Leonard Cohen's songs or Bob Dylan's songs or Neil Young songs. I don't know why that gets brought up with me.

Maybe because you make it so personal, so raw and intimate.

Yeah, maybe that's what it is. But you kind of have to do that. What's the point of it otherwise? I'm an artist, and I'm about the art. Art is about self-expression.

So are you happy these days?

Well, I try to be. It's the same old . . . [sigh] it's the human condition, you know. We're living in a really troubled time right now. I don't think I'm really that different from most other people. I just talk about it more. I'm really into self-exploration and therapy and all that kind of stuff. I think it's crucial.

What kind of therapy?

I just mean in general. I don't have a therapist right now -- I haven't found the right one. But I grew up in that kind of environment, surrounded by poets, and by analytical minds. I was writing poems and stories and things from the time I was six. My dad was a writer, my mother was a musician. I grew up listening to poets. And they would write poems about everything. A cat sleeping in the window. Or a wreck on the highway. Or making love with their wife. Or the death of someone. As soon as I started writing songs, I just figured that's the way to write. I want to be an artist. I kind of fight with success, the whole star thing. I've being doing it for so long, I don't know what it is. I just take it all with a grain of salt.

When you get to a certain age, does it get tougher or easier to perform as a woman onstage -- to feel, well, sexy?

You can always be sexy. Sexy. What is sexy? It's not a perfect face. It's a vibe, an aura. An attitude. Vogue has done a spotlight on cool, hip older women rock artists, or whatever. They're supposed to feature Chrissie Hynde, Patti Smith, Annie Lennox and me. I thought it was pretty cool to be in that company. I never really thought of myself that way, 'cause age has never been an issue for me. And all of a sudden people are looking at me, like, "Oooh, she still looks good." It's kinda bittersweet. It shouldn't be a big deal to be 50 and still looking good and playing good music. If you're a jazz artist, who cares? It doesn't matter if you weigh 200 lb. and have wrinkles if you can sing your ass off.

Let's talk about addiction. It's a theme that runs through your work like the Mississippi.

That's because I'm a writer. Just because I'm singing about heroin doesn't mean I've been strung out. I've never done heroin -- because I'm too chickenshit, probably. But I understand what makes people want to do it. It's not the drug in and of itself. It's the pain. I've done my share of drugs. But I was more into psychedelics and all that. I was more into finding God. I didn't want to be all downed out. I know what it's like to be so depressed you can't see straight. I've known people who have been strung out. I've been around that culture. The other part of it, as a writer, it's such a seductive metaphor. We live in a drug-infatuated society, and you can be strung out on anything. You can be strung out on a guy. That Essence song, that's more what it's about.

Do you have a boyfriend these days?

Well, I don't know. There's a guy, yeah. But I'm not involved in a serious relationship right now, let's put it that way. It's hard being in this business and finding a guy who's not threatened by powerful women.

Is it easier to be single?

You'd think it would be. But it's really difficult these days. It used to be easier. I don't know if it was because I was younger or we were in a different time. Now everybody's so serious. There's so much fear. I don't really date. I just like to find one person and hang out for however long it is. I'm not trying to tie anybody down. All I ask for is a modicum of respect. It's so damn hard to find. It's like, what is the big damn deal? I'm totally financially independent. I have no children. And guys are just like, "Oooooh. I don't know."

Tell me about your tattoo.

It's a two-headed serpent, and it's from this book called Beyond Fear: A Toltec Guide to Freedom and Joy.