Grammy Award winner Lucinda Williams keeps getting better

Some things get better with age: wine, whiskey and Lucinda Williams. The proof is in the 61-year-old singer-songwriter’s latest album, Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone.

Bone, the first release on Williams’ Highway 20 Records label as well as her first double album, is the embodiment of what longtime fans have come to love about her: sage lyrics, searing guitar and a rough-hewn singing voice that sounds more earth than woman. Ahead of her Friday-night Liberty Hall show, we called Williams at her California home to talk about Bone and the road to it.

The Pitch: You’re 61 and you don’t show any signs of slowing down, and your songs just keep getting better. How can you explain this outpouring of creative energy?

Williams: That’s the million-dollar question. [Laughs.] I’m not sure. I’ve been doing it for a while. I’ve gotten more confident as a writer. The older you get, the more loss you experience in life. And the harder life gets, the better the songs get. I think that helps, having issues that won’t ever be resolved. Losing a parent, my dad having Alzheimer’s, that kind of thing.

But then again, a lot of other artists my age just fizzle out. I’m an exception to the rule, as far as older songwriters. There just aren’t that many who are still doing this. I’ve just got that drive and that compulsion to keep creating. Retirement is not an option. I have to do this for my survival, my mental survival.

Speaking of your father [poet Miller Williams], his poetry plays a role in your music for the first time: You get your title from “Compassion,” the first track on Bone. What drew you to that specific work of his?

I just always loved that line so much: You do not know what wars are going on, down where the spirit meets the bone. It really sums up what a lot of my songs are about, the human condition and compassion and frailty and understanding and empathy and all. And Tom [Overby, Williams’ husband] encouraged me to take a stab at adapting that poem for a song.

You’ve talked about how your late-in-life marriage to Tom Overby is the first satisfying relationship you’ve had. What has that relationship taught you about yourself?

It’s actually been very inspiring. The big test for me, when Tom and I got together, was whether I was going to be able to write and be creative in the relationship — because that’s something I was having a problem with before in relationships. I would get in one and feel like I was losing a part of myself, and this time that didn’t happen. I always knew, deep down inside, it was possible [to have that], and that’s what I wanted: the relationship where two people could work together and be inspired. And lo and behold, I finally found it.

And I really think that’s part of what inspired part of the songwriting. Tom pushes me, and I need that. I’m not real disciplined. [Laughs.] And he’s also a sounding board. I trust him implicitly because if he doesn’t like something, he’ll tell me. He brings a lot to the table because he’s worked in the music industry for so long, and he knows so much — you can mention almost any band, and he’ll know who it is. He’s turned me on to such amazing stuff. You ever heard of Atmosphere? Tom turned me on to him. His new album [Southsiders] is just, oh, it’s so good. And there’s this one song on there called “Flicker,” this song he wrote about one of his musician friends who died, and God, his lyrics are amazing. I find myself really relating to it, and I told Tom I want to cover that song. [Laughs.] He’s a fan of my stuff, too, Tom says.

You should totally cover that song. But you’ve also been in the industry for a long time — your first album came out in 1978. You’ve seen a lot of changes. How do you think you’ve evolved over the years, personally and in your music?

Oh, when I was younger, I wasn’t as surefooted. My stage presence was awful. People used to comment on that. They’d say, “You’re good, but you need to work on that.” A lot of times it was just me and my guitar, and I’d just look down. I had to learn over the years how to be in front of an audience, and my confidence grew as I got older.

But the thing with me was that I was never concerned about the age aspect of things. I know a lot of other women are, and guys are, too, to some extent. I’d hear artists say things like, “I’m already 35. It’s too late for me. I might as well just hang it up if I haven’t made it by now.” And that always just amazed me. I would ask why they’d say, “I’m too old” or “I’m too sad” or too this or whatever and kind of give up, and that never entered my mind. The drive factor was always there for me, even when I was really young, and the other stuff. The confidence, the songwriting and the craft and all that grew the more I did it. I always looked at it as growing things, natural progress. Like, I’m just gonna keep going. It’s just different stages in life.