Crow offers heartbreak, survivor’s spirit

This time around, the
singer’s not holding back.

By MARK KENNEDY

ASSOCIATED PRESS WRITER

NEW YORK — Not much scares Sheryl Crow these days.

Not breast cancer, which she’s battled into remission. Not public heartbreak, which is less raw now. Not writing bolder lyrics, which means less radio play.

“The last three years were a real awakening for me,” Crow says, during a stop to promote her first album since 2005. “I’ve felt a fearlessness I’ve never felt before.”

That bravery is the product of a one-two punch — the diagnosis of a life-threatening illness only days after the collapse of her engagement to bike champion Lance Armstrong.

Last spring, she poured out her feelings in a studio built at her new Tennessee farm. With newly adopted baby Wyatt keeping her company, she knocked out 24 songs in 40 days. The result is “Detours,” a CD that veers from the intensely personal to the unabashedly political, from cancer and love lost to Hurricane Katrina and the Iraq war.

“A lot of defining moments brought me to a place where by the time I sat down to write, I felt not only inspired but urgent about what I was writing about,” she says.

A key feature of the new disc is a more strident political stance taken by a songwriter more known for such good-time hits as “Soak Up the Sun,” “All I Wanna Do” and “If It Makes You Happy.” And while she’s been outspoken before about social issues — attacking genocide on “Redemption Day” and guns on “Love Is a Good Thing” — Crow says her new fearlessness can be heard in the evolution of one lyric in particular.

Six years ago, her song “Steve McQueen” originally contained the lines, “We’ve got liars in the White House/And all our pop stars look like porn.” She reluctantly scrapped it, afraid to offend Bill Clinton fans. In the final version of that song, “liars” became “rock stars.”

No more.

On the new disc, Crow goes right after the current commander in chief. On “God Bless This Mess,” she sings that President Bush after 9/11 “spoke words of comfort with tears in his eyes/Then he led us as a nation into a war all based on lies.”

“It was almost like, ’OK, the gauntlet’s been thrown. I’m going in,”’ Crow says. “I’m not the only one that feels the way I feel. And I don’t feel afraid to say the way I feel.”

Steve Berman, president of sales and marketing at Interscope Geffen A&M, says the album’s content seems perfectly suited to its recent release date — Super Tuesday.

“She’s not afraid ... of running from what’s happening in the world today,” he says. “Sheryl, as an artist, has the ability to do what few artists can do.”

Crow, who turned 46 on Feb. 11, looks easily two decades younger than her age. She wears formfitting jeans and a clingy top, highlighting her petite, athletic shape. Her hair is a sun-kissed collection of loose curls.

A product of Kennett, Mo., she lived for years in Los Angeles as a backup singer and then star, and later in Texas, with Armstrong. Now she’s made a home in a 154-acre farm outside Nashville, Tenn.

The intense media interest in her life following the very public breakup with Armstrong and subsequent cancer diagnosis is not something she misses. Her current distance from the tabloids — and, of course, the new baby — have helped clear her head. Wyatt is 9 months old and almost walking.

“I’m really, really happy with where I am in my life,” she says. “And certainly, after having gone through breast cancer, I feel like I have a clear overview. I feel that whole experience really brought me back to remembering who it is I’ve always wanted to be.”

On the 14-song CD, Crow deals with cancer (“Make It Go Away”), heartache (“Now That You’re Gone,” “Detours”), cultural understanding (“Shine Over Babylon,” “Peace Be Upon Us”), worldwide rioting over gas shortages by 2017 (“Gasoline”) and flooded New Orleans (“Love Is Free”).

The new CD sees Crow reconnecting with Bill Bottrell, who produced her 1993 debut album, “Tuesday Night Music Club.” Despite its success, the pair fell out over the proper apportioning of credit.

She called him up out of the blue last year, said a record was welling up inside her like a geyser and wanted to know if they still had a creative “juju.”

“He said, ‘I’ve been waiting for this call for years.’ That made me feel like, ‘OK, we’re on the right course,”’ she recalls. “I think it’s the most frank record, definitely. And the least crafted record perhaps.”