Lucinda Williams’s new album, “West,” (Lost Highway) is a collection of moody, melancholic songs about loss. The subject isn’t new for her, but the handling certainly is. Written in the wake of her mother’s death and a relationship that ended in tears, Ms. Williams registers the changes of her life and emerges with a strong collection of sounds and lyrics, but an imperfect album as a whole.

Over the course of “West,” the expression of loss becomes repetitive. Ms. Williams tries to color every note with her sadness, including louder rock songs such as “Unsuffer Me” and “Come On,” both of which recall the fire of some of her earlier efforts, when anger and inadequateness made for lucid, powerful songs. Her country and blues influences, so crucial to her best albums, from folksy beginnings on 1979’s “Ramblin'” to the successes of such latter albums as 1992’s “Sweet Old World” and 1998’s “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” are mostly absent here. “West” might be a country album, but with a little more polish and less grit than what we’ve come to expect.

On “Everything Has Changed,” Ms. Williams sings in a plaintive, resigned voice, “I can’t feel my love anymore / the mystery and splendor don’t thrill me like before. All the words that used to work have melted in the sun/ And I don’t want to talk to anyone.” Her honeyed rasp trades in sultriness for somberness. The desperation of the lyrics and the austere delivery are at odds with the prettiness of the quiet backing music — cello, guitars, piano. A younger Lucinda would likely have been content to sing such stark words with her own guitar accompaniment and nothing more. One wonders if contemporary influences, such as a new crop of folk songstresses that includes Joanna Newsom and Neko Case, haven’t distracted her too much with the lure of a pretty veneer.

The lachrymose prettiness that pervades most of “West” does work excellently on two songs — “Where is My Love?” and “Rescue” — and these, along with the title track, which is full of the spirit of a younger Lucinda, are solid efforts, worth the price of the album. “Learning How To Live” is an ode to returning to normal life after the loss of a loved one, on which she sings, “They say the best is still yet to come / But the taste of you is still on my tongue.” It is a song whose emotional simplicity we want to accept despite the varied success of the delivery.

As a muse, pain can be deceptive. Ms. Williams has publicly stated that this last year was the most productive writing spell of her life. What used to be a long wait for fans between albums has shrunk here, though her last album, 2003’s “World Without Tears,” was forgettable by her standards. When she wants to whine, her fans want to listen. But it’s somewhat lamentable that Ms. Williams, who always took cues from old-time musicians like Hank Williams and Charley Patton, loses herself in the clouds just when she gets to what they know best — the blunt suffering that is life.

Ms. Williams will perform at Radio City Music Hall on March 23.