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  • How old am I:
  • 53
  • Where am I from:
  • Japanese
  • I love:
  • Emotional male
  • Favourite music:
  • Reggae
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Playing on the Drag in the mid's.


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Williams occasionally smiled at a band member or swayed to the music, but these brief moments were few and far between. She seems to have walked through many fields, and stood on lots of roides, to get to this juncture. When Williams came to the Park West recently, to open for Graham Parker, I hoped to see a more engaging performer, or at least not such a dour one, but little had changed in the years since that Boston william.

Her voice, always just a hair shy of bluesy excess, at last relaxed into the more natural accent of her melancholic rural twang. Then there were the lyrics. It was a vivid moment during the live rendition at the Park West—you could feel the heat, hear the flies buzzing, sense the numbing heartache. John Ciambotti, who contributed to Sweet Old World and lent a sly air to the band during their Boston performance, was missed in this lineup, but guitarist Gurf Morlix more than compensated for his lucinda.

The songs on Sweet Old World are complemented with the sounds of fiddle, mandolin, nude steel, and dobro. It is a testament to her skill with words and melody that these songs are catchy and familiar on first listen, without the staleness that can so easily taint formula writing.

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The best country performers carry on a love affair with the audience, but as a live performer Williams had all the charisma of a dry twig. She spots a farmhouse in the distance and ponders the hopes and failures that play out behind closed doors: I wondered about the people who lived in it I wondered if they were happy and content Were there children, a man, and a wife? She spots a farmhouse in the distance and ponders the hopes and failures that play out behind closed doors:. Some of the characters in this story try to restore order to the situation, but the narrator knows that this kind of blood never quite scrubs off the wall.

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But her manner was stiff as a board, her eyes blank, her face devoid of expression during both the up-tempo s and the slower ball. At her worst she was like the prim Miss Jane Hathaway, sympathetic to the hillbillies who have landed in Beverly Hills but unable to let her hair down long enough to really embrace their crazy world. Lucinda Williams was a masterful blend of plaintive romanticism and naked conceit, bristling with hooks; it should have broken Williams to a larger audience, but the demise of her label, Rough Trade, banished the album to distribution limbo.

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The band was tight, the songs were sharply crafted gems, and her voice was a strong and supple instrument in its own right. It was with Lucinda Williams, her Rough Trade release, that she at last wrestled her various influences into a cohesive package, creating a passel of country-rock nuggets that represented a near-perfect absorption of both traditional and pop idioms. The end of innocence is never pretty, and Williams knows that such provocative material requires a deft touch.

Now Williams is walking a country-pop mile, which is a wise choice: for too long she has let her love of the blues overshadow her real talent as an exceedingly adept new-country stylist.

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The show ultimately lacked electricity, and left one longing for the earthy sensuality of a Tanya Tucker, maybe, or the ingenuous sparkle of Dolly Parton. These are plaints of the common man and the common woman, questions that are both simple and inordinately complicated, and Williams has spent a good part of her almost year career getting close enough to capture such cries of the heart. Did she love him and take her hair down at night?

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I left wondering how such an insightful songwriter and expressive singer could so thoroughly fail to convey the least bit of passion. For nearly two decades Lucinda Williams has traveled a twisted musical path. Now, four years later, Williams is back with a new album on Chameleon, Sweet Old World, exploring the same territory she mined so artfully on the earlier record.

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Williams talked more between s, volunteered some explanation about the inspirations of certain songs, but her spiel was perfunctory and the performance itself lackluster. Generally Williams is quite proficient with the murkier side of life. His sharp country-pop hooks dominated the melodies, but he steered clear of any superfluous noodling. Her between-song patter, forced and brief, did little to cut the chill.

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Now if only she could siphon some of the sympathetic grace and wild passion of her songs into her stage persona, she could command the sort of attention this material deserves. The song was inspired by an article Williams read about a man facing the death penalty. Both songs hint at darker reasons behind the deaths, information known only to the narrators, who now must live alone with their misbegotten knowledge. Two years ago I saw Williams perform at a small club in Boston.

The late lucinda williams

Too bluesy to be strictly folk, too folkie to be pure country, this Louisiana singer-songwriter sampled several genres before settling into an earnest hybrid of styles that garnered her a small, devoted following but was too much of a hodgepodge for broad commercial appeal. Generally tight without sounding slick, they pounded through a few kinks on the newer material. Williams is so good that when she does write an inferior piece the effect is jarringly noticeable.

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She likes the Moody Blues and champions Sade.


Lucinda Williams slides her black sweater off her shoulder blades.


Williams is coming off back-to-back tours of Europe and the Caribbean, where she just spent a few days motoring around on a ship called the Norwegian Pearl for the SiriusXM Outlaw Country Cruise.