By Carla Meyer
cmeyer@sacbee.com
Lucinda Williams made it about eight minutes into her set Tuesday night at the Crest Theatre before hitting the brakes.
The song "Can't Let Go" wasn't working, Williams informed her three-piece band and the crowd. It sounded terrible, and the paying audience deserved better, she said.
Never mind that the audience had liked the song. Williams' irritability and perfectionism are part of the alt-country singer's charm, and nearly always part of her show.
"I know everyone thinks I'm crazy," she told the audience. "I don't really care anymore."
It was a sentiment that extended throughout a special night of music at the Crest, to Williams' opening act, JP, Chrissie and the Fairground Boys, featuring Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders.
Now 57 and 58, Williams and Hynde built extraordinary careers on considerable sex appeal and much more considerable songwriting skills, soulfulness and grit. Though they appear to care deeply about their music, they seem unconcerned about their images at this point.
Otherwise, Williams would not have adopted the rock 'n' roll professor look Tuesday night, with her Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt, eyeglasses and metal music stand from which she appeared to be reading lyrics. And Hynde might not have flirted so much with JP Jones, her young Welsh bandmate and subject of several thwarted-love songs on JP, Chrissie and the Fairground Boys' new album "Fidelity!"
Williams and Hynde always have owned their decisions, and their flaws, while still being able to teach the Fonz a thing or two about being cool. Williams, though, eventually became slightly apologetic Tuesday night.
A few songs after the "Can't Let Go" stoppage, Williams acknowledged, with a grin, her "temporary meltdown." The Sacramento heat outside was to blame, she explained.
The Louisiana native would use the heat to her benefit, she announced, since heat makes rock 'n' roll hotter. She then treated the sold-out Crest audience to a a scorching, 2 1/2-hour set of mostly familiar songs about sex ("Essence"), love gone wrong ("Jailhouse Tears") and sex and love gone wrong ("Come On.").
Williams' lyrical themes also run to death, loss and what she had for dinner, her plaintive voice lending universality to sources of ache both profound and everyday. The setting of her songs might be a kitchen in Slidell, La., or a beachfront road in Ventura, Ca., but her voice always pinpoints her emotional location.
Williams' band (Butch Norton on drums, David Sutton on bass, Val McCallum on guitar) finessed the details and brought the songs home. McCallum's big blues guitar figured prominently in Williams' sound Tuesday night, adding new heft to songs such as "Essence." McCallum also did a bang-up job covering Elvis Costello's vocals on the duet "Jailhouse Tears."
It takes a strong woman to yield the floor to a talented man. Hynde gladly shared the spotlight with Jones, an affable 31-year-old she met in a London bar a few years ago.
Joined by Fairground Boy Patrick Murdoch on electric guitar, Hynde and Jones played acoustic guitars during their sit-down set, trading lead vocals and lyrics about why they can't be together.
Rootsy and heartfelt, the songs were catchy even upon first listening, especially the buoyant "If You Let Me," which melds Jones' jagged vocal approach with Hynde's silken one. The lyrics are soul- and otherwise baring, including a lyric, sung by Jones, about a woman who won't bed her soulmate because he's too young.
Are they or aren't they? Have they or haven't they? Something inspired Hynde to embark on a tour of theaters rather than the arenas she's used to. It could have been the musical collaboration alone, but the looks of open adoration from Jones said otherwise.
A quick scan of the crowd, though, revealed that everyone in the Crest was looking at Hynde with open adoration. It was just amazing to see this slender, casually dressed legend in such an intimate setting, singing in that voice - the one from the radio, the one that said "female empowerment" long before the catchphrase hit.
Ranging from huskily seductive to slinky and girlish, Hynde's singing voice sounded uncannily like it did in the 1980s: knowing, cosmopolitan and -- despite her 1970s London punk-rock roots -- perpetually mod.
Her speaking voice could be less inviting. Though Hynde seemed happy to be on stage with Jones, and generally in a great mood, she did not suffer fools, meat eaters (the PETA spokeswoman condemned "slaughterhouses and factory farms") or wiseacre remarks Tuesday night.
Introducing "Perfect Lover," a bittersweet take on the older woman-younger man problem, Hynde remarked that people tend to chuckle at the lyrics, even though the song is sad. But she had yet to mention the song's title, thereby giving a cheeky guy in the audience the opportunity to guess it as "Smelly Cat."
Hynde responded with vigor. One more word, she said, and she would never play music on stage again. "That show is the reason you no longer get a saucer under your cup of coffee," she said.
Hynde's passionate response was not shocking. She's no softy, and she has spent decades in England, where saucers matter. She might even have been kidding.
What was shocking was that she knew so much about "Friends." But it turns out the woman for all seasons is also a guest-star on sitcoms. The guy in the crowd must have seen Hynde's 1995 appearance on "Friends," where she sang "Smelly Cat" with Lisa Kudrow.
Call The Bee's Carla Meyer, (916) 321-1118.