By David Bauder
The Associated Press

Lucinda Williams

It's morning for Lucinda Williams. Actually, it's 4:30 in the afternoon. But that's early when you were drinking with pals until 6 a.m.

John Coltrane is playing on the hotel room stereo, and the bed is unmade.

Williams, performing at 7:30 p.m. today on the American Financial Stage, P&G Pavilion, is living the rock 'n' roll life, even at age 50. There's a new tattoo, a buff body toned by boxing class. She's arguably at the peak of her musical powers, having just earned an enthusiastic thumbs-up from her toughest critic - her dad.

It's worth lifting a lyric from her new album - "I been tryin' to enjoy all the fruits of my labor" - and ask, "Are you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm trying."

It's not an easy question.

"Sometimes we have a hard time feeling OK about having good things come to us," she said. "You have to feel like you deserve it. You have to get used to it."

Williams is two years removed from being labeled America's best songwriter by Time magazine - the kind of weighty accolade that could either boost confidence or paralyze.

For Williams, it was a confidence-raiser that's evident in the grooves of World Without Tears, her latest disc and most varied, adventurous work.

Williams' music has always been an uncategorizable mix of country, folk, rock and blues. Here, she stretches even those boundaries with some half-spoken, half-sung numbers that are almost blues-rap, some gutbucket blues, a show-stopping rocker and country ballads that could have been written for Patsy Cline.

Glowing reviews, she's used to that. What she hadn't received before was an unqualified thumbs-up from her father, poet Miller Williams. Whenever she completes an album, daughter sends a copy of the lyrics to dad, and always gets a marked-up copy in return.

Not this time.

"He didn't have any criticisms - not one single one, which was a first," she said proudly. "It made me feel great. I said, 'Does that mean I've graduated?' "

Dad's response: "This is the closest thing to poetry that you've done."

Williams admits it's a cliche, but she sometimes feels that success isn't all it's cracked up to be.

"I've achieved everything I have ever dreamed about, basically," she said. "But I'm also going through that transition in my life now. I'm not 25, I'm 50. It didn't start happening for me until I was in my 40s."

Like fellow travelers Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crow, Williams has learned that professional success comes with a personal price. It's tough to maintain relationships, particularly when your pool of available men is filled with other musicians.

"To me, this is a lot harder than it was when I was sleeping on someone's couch and playing for tips in Austin, Texas, in 1974," she said.

Coltrane's over. Now playing is Neil Young, with whom Williams did a lengthy summer tour. Williams has another meeting.

She ushers a visitor to the door, saying not to hesitate to call if anything is unclear.

"I know how important it is to get the details exactly right," she says.