Not many musicians can claim to have had a hand in developing a genre of their own. Lucinda Williams can. She rode a string of stunningly earthy albums to the forefront of the Americana movement in the 1990s, and has continued to produce first-rate work. She has twisted all of the singer-songwriter conventions, crafting her own artistic style out of her disparate roots in blues, folk and bayou soul.
Williams, a Louisiana native, was born on Jan. 26, 1953. Her father was a published poet and college literature professor who instilled a love for language in his daughter when she was young. Williams’ mother exposed her to the budding folk artists of the 1960s. In her formative years, nestled in a collegiate setting due to her father’s career, Williams came face-to-face with the hippie movement, the emergence of immensely talented singer-songwriters and the protests against war in Vietnam.
While her familial environment ensured that Williams was culturally aware, New Orleans proved to be the catalyst for Williams as a musician. She began performing in high school, before she was expelled for refusing to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. She continued to perform for years, and even recorded for minor record labels, before releasing her critical breakthrough, Lucinda Williams, on Rough Trade in 1988. (Williams has bounced through several labels in the years since, finally landing on her current label, Lost Highway.)
Lucinda Williams established Williams’ majestic artistry, but it wasn’t until 1993, when alt-country songbird Mary Chapin Carpenter covered Williams’ “Passionate Kisses”-an anthem for women who refuse to settle into sadness-that she met with mainstream success. Williams won a Grammy for writing the song, and went on to co-write others with Carpenter, helping to craft some of country’s most infectious hits in the 1990s, including “Shut Up and Kiss Me.”
After contributing her artistic voice to other musicians, Williams returned as a solo artist in 1998 with the Grammy-winning epic Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. The album received universal praise from critics and has become the anchor for the most recent act of Williams’ distinguished career. She continued releasing masterful music into the 21st century, and was crowned “America’s Best Songwriter” by Time magazine.
As a songwriter, Williams sounds like a world-weary Dolly Parton, weaving simple poetry together with jaunty melodies and jaded apprehension. Her vocal style matches her writing to a T. With one haggard note, she splits a lyric open, exposing its emotional underpinnings.
Her raspy voice is singed with bitter experience. As it soars through the melancholy melodies on her latest album, West, it is reminiscent of Emmylou Harris’ sweet purring. But, while Harris’ reedy vocals suggest an angelic fragility, Williams’ irrepressibly raw energy assures the listener that Williams is anything but fragile. Her vocals are ragged and rough, a far cry from the synthetic records today’s pop elite have to offer. There’s nothing synthetic about Williams’ sound. Every crack in her voice and every hook in all of her songs are wrestled from her private pain. On West, she writes and sings out of this pain, creating her own catharsis for the entire world to hear.
West was born out of a period of emotional turmoil. “The songs deal with a chapter in my life,” she said. “I’d been through so many changes-my mother’s death and a very tumultuous relationship that ended badly-so obviously there’s a lot of pain and struggling.” That pain and struggling are evident on all of the atmospheric album’s 13 tracks, along with a whispering hope that bubbles beneath the surface.
The song “Fancy Funeral” is a perfect example of Williams’ merit. It cautions those who believe money is the only way to memorialize the life of a loved one, doling out homespun wisdom in straightforward lyrics that cut with their honesty, along with earnest vocals that are unflinchingly tragic. “There’s money better spent,” she sings. “Better spent on groceries / and covering the bills / instead of little luxuries / and unnecessary frills.”
Williams said that West is a journey through painful experiences, but it is not meant to be a depressing piece: “I get tired of people looking at my songs and feeling that they’re all sad and dark … There’s a philosophical aspect, even a comical aspect to it as well … It’s a full circle, like I’ve come through a metamorphosis.”
West is a fitting title for this album, which continues her journey down a provocative path that few others have traveled. She continues to explore music on the frontier, free from easy description or limiting labels. In its own way, West is an ode to a career that has continued to mine the deepest human emotions in order to create meaningful works of art.
Williams’ voice, both as a singer and a songwriter, is indicative of her life experiences, but the emotional core of each song connects with humanity at a universal level. This is what makes Williams an essential artist, and what makes West such a masterful recording.
