Tales of regret, tales of grief, talk of wounds too deep to see, talk of connections worn and frayed at the edges, thoughts on the possibilities and peculiarities of love in the post-modern world, not so simple declarations and investigations into the human soul (if you will) — all of that and more can be found on Lucinda Williams’ latest album, West [2007, Lost Highway Records]. It’s another mostly stellar attempt at getting into the “something that kinda happens when we talk” knowledge of ourselves, or as her father Miller Williams writes in his The Ways We Touch: Poems:

”You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone.”


The broader sense of the album is the West as a path to reinvention — these songs are of interior frontiers — as characters seek to deal with reinvention and resolution of the self, whether through grief, substance abuse, or pleasure. The west is still, after all, a symbol, a metaphor for the American experience; the place where one could always go to lose oneself, reinvent, resubmerge, reincarnate, reanimate, then return as an “other person.” A newer, refreshed version of yourself, one unburdened of the baggage of your past.

And, so it is with Williams’ broader themes at work on West, a somewhat messy album of conflicting extremes, but again, a very human portrait of our times and experiences. It has been praised by some, assailed by others, and will probably continue to be discussed as her other works, all of whom are measured against Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, her 1998 masterwork. Though many critics seem stuck on that album, Williams’ herself has moved on from it. West is another album down the dusty emotional trail from there; as she goes further along, the images of that album recede, her past glories are remembered, but the car is facing another direction down another road.

West needs to be embraced without the chains of the past attached. As such, it has it flaws, but also its glories and its moments of artistic triumph and over-reach. Williams’ visual eye and emotional narrative is so far beyond other artists in our American Idol world that it’s scary to think what she might do with a novel, or an unfettered mind, free of the constraints of the studio time clock. The only female artist that comes close to her narrative form and inquiry currently is Shawn Colvin; another singer-songwriter outside the mainstream acceptance of radio and video, north of the 50-mark, and free from the image consultants and media shapers. It is a lesson that perhaps, all artists should seek a niche label sooner and stay there, as long as the situation presents itself freely and fairly.

Musically, the album is something to marvel at. The core tracks (vocals) were recorded with her band as way to make demos for later. Then, Willner became involved and made the decision to keep her vocals untouched with the stellar guitar work of Doug Pettibone. He then brought in the other players to shape and add foundation to her words. Bill Frisell functions as a colorist or highlighter to Pettibone’s meaty guitar lines. The two of them add tension and sharply focused blasts of tone and shadings to Williams’ song narrative. Jenny Scheinman adds an assertive and contrasting contra-voice to the songs and the use of strings adds another layer of intimacy to Williams’ performance. Jim Keltner’s foundation is as impeccable as ever, but the true sonic wonder on the album involves Rob Burger and his keyboard work throughout. He is a master at both foreshadowing and underlining Williams’ vocal, spacing his effects and lingering where needed. Also, both Gary Louris and Gia Ciambotti (the daughter of Dr. John Ciambotti, Williams’ early bassist) add a shadowing effect throughout. Their vocals hang in the background, functioning as a knowing whisper of acknowledgment or affirmation.


Highlights

Three tracks, in particular, deal with death and aging (Williams’ mother died recently) with the narrator voicing concern, sweet reminisces and some bitterness at what the end entails (funerals and goodbyes for the living that don’t match or honor the life of the deceased).

Other songs are connected within the confines of the male-female push and pull, ying and yang, emotional and individual attachments and detachments: ”unsuffer me…everything has changed…my joy is dead….unlock my joy …I can’t feel my love anymore …I can’t find my joy anywhere …everything has changed.”

One track sure to arouse passions is Come On, an acidic and bitter riposte to a lover who comes up short where it counts (in the boudoir). And, that’s the least of his problems. It is searingly effective; you don’t mess with Lucinda.

”You weren’t even worth it
I’m sorry I ever flirted
The effort wasn’t even concerted
You didn’t even make me, come on!”

Words is strong note of Williams’ ability and plays with the notion of her writer’s craft as a metaphor for her life (relationships).

”My words enjoy the feel of the paper
Better than mingling with your consonants
Once they get going, they never waver
And they slip in between your ifs, ands, and buts”

The title track West is also one that courses with acknowledgment of our human frailties and search for connections that may smooth out our rough edges. It deals with the bittersweet knowledge that the offered possibility might fail, but that the offer is worth making simply because it may succeed as well.

Williams’ subjects on West are the universally personal; these are tales of living and life experience, the kind of songs that often resonate without too much fanfare. Williams, however, does not go for the syrupy delivery that some of her words and images would coexist nicely with (think of conventional country arrangements and pleasant blouses). Instead, she uses music as a necessary conduit to tension that lies beneath the imagery, the necessary friction to ignite the words beyond the page and get under the skin, where the existential meets the marrow of reality; your brain, your emotional synapses, your life experience. Her songs empower and engage, sometimes enrage. They humor and laugh with you, sometimes tongue-in-cheek, sometimes bitter and twisted. They comfort and soothe the rough edges of life, but do so with honesty and conviction. Lucinda Williams makes art. Music and words are her canvas. We should all hang some on our emotional walls (four stars).


Tracks
1. Are You Alright?
2. Mama You Sweet
3. Learning How To Live
4. Fancy Funeral
5. Unsuffer Me
6. Everything Has Changed
7. Come On
8. Where Is My Love?
9. Rescue
10. What If
11. Wrap My Head Around That
12. Words
13. West
Total Time: 68:38
All songs by Lucinda Williams. Produced by Hal Willner and Lucinda Williams {Basic tracks recorded with Michael Dumas. Album engineered and mixed by Eric Liljestrand.]

Musicians Lucinda Williams (vocals, acoustic guitar); Rob Burger (piano. prepared piano, Hammond, Vox & Field Organs, Wurlitzer Electric Piano, string arrangement, and accordion); Doug Pettibone (acoustic, electric and baritone guitars); Bill Frisell (acoustic and electric guitar); Tony Garnier (electric bass and double bass); Jim Keltner (drums and percussion); Jenny Scheinman (violins, string arrangements); Robert Brophy (viola); Timothy Loo (cello); with Hal Willner (turntable and samples); and Gary Louris and Gia Ciambotti (background vocals).

Sources
www.lucindawilliams.com, www.allmusic.com
See also http://www.pastemagazine.com/action/article?article_id=3840 (Bud Scopa, “The Late Bloomer,” issue 28)

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Listening