We can say this about Roseanne Cash: She knows a thing or two about loss.

In the past three years, the singer-songwriter has weathered the deaths of her aunt, her stepsister, her godmother, her mother, her stepmother and her father.

The final two on that list, as you are probably aware, were none other than June Carter and Johnny Cash. So we can also say this about Roseanne Cash: She knows a thing or two about songwriting. Therefore, it's only natural that in the wake of such monumental personal tragedy, she did exactly what her dad and stepmom would have done: She wrote about it with unflinching honesty and heartrending grace. And in the process of channeling her grief and mourning into song, she has crafted Black Cadillac, which may be the most personal, poignant and powerful work of her career.

It's certainly the first great disc of 2006. The 46-minute set opens with the unmistakable well-deep tones of Johnny Cash playfully drawling, "Roseanne ... C'mon." It sounds like he's asking her to go for a ride, and maybe he is -- seconds later, we're all riding shotgun in the man in black's limo.

As the song rumbles along to a bass-heavy, piano-tinkled groove that recalls Riders on the Storm, Roseanne recalls the Caddys her father owned in his life -- and the one that took him on his final ride. "Now one of us gets to go to heaven (and) one has to stay here in hell," she laments, as the track slowly gains steam and the toreador horns from Ring of Fire swirl like ghosts in the mix. It's not a tribute to a larger-than-life country icon; it's a daughter's tearful farewell to her father.

It's just one of many in this cathartically moving 13-song elegy. And one of many tracks that find her speaking to her father as if he were still in the room as well as in her heart and memory. Over the deceptively bouncy honkytonk twang of Radio Operator, Roseanne talks of hearing messages "from my future, from your memory ... it never has to end." On the quiet piano ballad I Was Watching You, her father's spirit looks down on her "from above ... 'cause long after life, there is love." God is in the Roses chronicles a beautiful graveside epiphany.

On the woozy, bluesy World Without Sound, she questions faith, asking, "Who do I believe once they put you in the ground?" On the haunting, bluegrassy country of House on the Lake, she revisits the family home, strolling through empty rooms that still hold echoes of her father's voice and shadows of her stepmother's presence. "I blink and while my eyes are closed, both have gone away," she sings. And so it goes, until the disc closes with 71 seconds of silence -- one for each year of Johnny's life.

If we're making it sound maudlin, we're sorry. It's not. Sure, Black Cadillac was inspired by a daughter's deepest sadness. And admittedly, often it's the musical equivalent of a punch in the guts. But ultimately, its message is one of hope: The belief even when our loved ones have left this world, we keep them alive in our words, our thoughts, our deeds, our lives. That ability to create beauty and promise out of so much grief and tragedy is what makes Black Cadillac a monumental triumph. And more importantly, a disc that would make her father proud.

If you miss it, it's your loss.

Track Listing:

1. Black Cadillac
2. Radio Operator
3. I Was Watching You
4. Burn Down This Town
5. God Is In The Roses
6. House On The Lake
7. The World Unseen
8. Like Fugitives
9. Dreams Are Not My Home
10. Like A Wave
11. World Without Sound
12. Good Intent
13. 0:71