With 'West,' Lucinda Williams heads in a brilliant direction

By Richard Skanse
SPECIAL TO THE AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Monday, February 12, 2007

In the summer of 2001, a mere three years after releasing one of the most celebrated albums of its decade, "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," Lucinda Williams returned with an even better one: "Essence." Granted, there's room for debate there, but at this point it is irrelevant, because the best album Williams has ever made is now her new one: "West."

The fact that "Essence" wasn't unanimously hailed as highly as its predecessor was inevitable. "Car Wheels" was to the Americana/"No Depression" boom of the mid-'90s what "Blonde on Blonde" was to rock music in the '60s: a watershed album for both the artist and the genre that, as far as many self-professed "diehard" Lucinda fans are concerned, could only ever be equaled or surpassed by more of the same.

And "Essence," like Dylan's "Blonde"-chaser, "John Wesley Harding," was anything but a rote sequel. Gone were the meticulously detailed narratives eulogizing dead lovers and love affairs, bolstered by a Southern Gothic flair, assertive hooks and a swaggering Steve Earle production that made Williams sound like, well, a sexier Steve Earle. "Essence," co-produced by Williams and Austin's own Charlie Sexton, was an altogether moodier and more introspective affair, its essence defined by the telltale titles of songs such as "Lonely Girls," "Blue" and "Reason to Cry."

Not surprisingly, although the reviews were still predominantly kind (bar a few "what happened?" rants from disgruntled Amazon customers), the overall response felt like a muted round of polite applause rather than the resounding hosannas that greeted "Car Wheels." Clearly, if Williams were ever going to escape the formidable shadow cast by her breakthrough album, merely changing direction wasn't going to be enough. To find her way to "Blood on the Tracks," she'd first have to cleanse the critical palate with a genuine dud — her very own "Self-Portrait."

Take all of that with a grain of salt. Because in all fairness, Williams' last studio outing, 2003's "World Without Tears," really wasn't that bad. In hindsight, thanks to the gems "Those Three Days" and "Words Fell," it was almost half good — if you could endure Williams' at times self-parodying screeching ("Atonement"), that awful verse about stirring up a bowl of soup "reeeal goood" ("Ventura") and the fact that, no matter how many times KGSR played it, "Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings" made even second-rate Williams pretenders like Kathleen Edwards sound inspired. Pretty much anything Williams, already named "America's best songwriter" by Time magazine, did after that would have to be an improvement. Hopefully, a big one.

Mind that for Williams' best single collection of outstanding songs there's still no topping her third record: 1988's flawless "Lucinda Williams." And if you can't let go of "Car Wheels," that's still your best pick for a cross-country road trip. But if you ever embraced the underrated "Essence" for the exquisite, fearless beauty that it was, you're going to recognize "West" as nothing less than the true realization of Williams' full artistic promise.

Credit for much of this goes to co-producer Hal Willner (Marianne Faithful, Lou Reed), whose avant-garde sensibilities — strings, subtle samples, an impeccably utilized guitarist Bill Frisell — enhance, rather than obscure, the raw, organic ache of Williams' voice and songs. There's nothing about "West" that sounds even remotely country or even Southern, but even when she surrenders herself to the serpentine, hypnotic groove of the nine-minute "Wrap My Head Around That," Williams has never sounded more in her own element.

Maybe it's because she's flirted with this kind of stuff before, most notably on "Are You Down?" She's also covered similar thematic ground lyrically, with nearly every song here — like nearly every other song she's ever written — wrestling over the end of a torrid love affair, lost love and the loss of a loved one (this time, her mother).

But while her admission that "I can't find my joy anywhere" in "Everything Has Changed" might not seem much of a revelation coming from an artist whose entire oeuvre seems shrouded in sorrow, the fact is she's never conveyed it with such devastating bluntness. That might sound like a soundtrack for suicide, but the effect — as orchestrated here by Williams, at the top of her game as both songwriter and singer — is nothing shy of redemptive and ultimately empowering. From the opening, desperate plea of "Are You Alright?" straight through to the art- and life-affirming end notes of "Words" and "West," the whole album plays out like one long, cathartic sigh of relief.

Missteps? Only a very slight one: Williams named the album after the wrong song — "Unsuffer Me" would have been a better fit. Just don't call it Williams' "Blood on the Tracks" . . . at least not until America's other greatest living songwriter catches up to "West."