Her mother, Terri Augello, 54, raised Alicia single-handedly in Manhattan. AliciaÕs father, Craig Cook, who lives in Colorado, is a masseur. Alicia and Terri both still live in New York City.

ALICIA: I think of Mum as having always been this very strong woman. She might've had the world on her shoulders, but she's handled it with courage. She came from quite a strict Catholic family with nine kids. So from an early age she was given a lot of responsibility. She says she was quite naive when she came to New York in the 1970s, but I think she toughened up pretty quickly. What with struggling to make it in the acting world and then trying to raise me by herself, it wasn't easy. I mean, New York City is a monster of place. It's like it's set up to destroy you. So you either sink or swim.

But even when things were at their darkest and Mum was at her weakest, crying and praying, she knew she mustn't crack because she had to take care of me. I sometimes think she never really got the chance to find true love and that it was my fault — she could never put herself first. If I wasn't happy about a guy she was dating, I'd tell her. There was one guy, and from the moment he walked in the door I loathed him. If he came near me I couldn't stand it. When she went out with him it made me feel so uncomfortable. In the end, I found out he really was this crappy guy.

But don't get me wrong — Mum's not the silent, suffering type. Oh no. She's outspoken about everything. If there's something wrong, then you're going to hear about it loud and clear, so you might as well buckle down and listen. And, oh boy, if she's not happy with you, you better have a good explanation. She'd never let me get away with words like "I don't know" or "I can't remember." She'd challenge me: "What do you mean, you don't know? What are you saying?" But it's probably been good for me, and I'm the same now: I expect people to explain themselves.

I think her directness is partly to do with the fact that she'll never lie. She doesn't pretend to be something she isn't. If she's upset, she's upset; if she's disappointed, she's disappointed; if she's frustrated, she's frustrated. She wears her heart on her sleeve. Not in a needy way — she's just not afraid of showing her emotions. I'm the complete opposite: I'm much more internal. You have to really provoke me to get a serious immediate reaction. You might've said something to leave me steaming, but you'll never know it. I'll just never see you in the same light again. That's the way I am.

I bet I'll change, though. There's only so long you can keep things in. I mean, I had this scary experience while I was shooting the video to my last single, If I Ain't Got You. In it I tell a story I've always wanted to tell, about a guy who lives a certain lifestyle and, because of that, his life is going to end the wrong way. But his girlfriend, who's been with him a long time, sees past his flaws. All she wants is for him to leave that lifestyle behind and for them to be together. But hey, that's not what happens. At the end of three days' shooting, I was at the piano and I started crying my eyes out. Just bawling. It was uncontrollable. I didn't even know why. Was it the song? Was it things I'd never got to cry about before? In the end, I just crawled into a room to be by myself. I guess you can't be tough all the time: sometimes you have to break down.

You know, when I was about 13, I started thinking nobody understood me. I was doing everything too early, too fast. I became the most rebellious teenager.

I can only think I must've tortured my mother. I wouldn't call her or come home when I said I would. And when I did, I'd prance in like I owned the place. I was terrible. Of course, we'd then argue for ages, and I'd leave again. Then, after putting her through all that for so long, I left. I was 16. So she had to get over that and still have the heart to love me.

Sometimes I think this whole thing with Mum was one of the reasons why I turned to writing songs. It was a way to express myself without having to over-explain; without being interrupted every five minutes. Often after these terrible fall-outs, we'd end up not speaking and write to each other instead. I'd write to her saying: "How could you...?"and "Can't you just..." She'd write back saying: "Don't you just..." and "Can't you see...?" The letters went back and forth.

But then moving out and having that distance made me see how great she really was and how much I missed her. It was an emotional time. We realised what we were doing was stupid, so we began talking again. We had to get over what we'd done to hurt one another, but at the end of the day, it was about one thing: forgiveness. It can be hard, but when you really love somebody, it's suddenly the most important thing in the world.

People say I'm too serious, but you're shaped by your environment, and I guess I've seen serious things. I know how to have fun like everyone else, but those aren't the things that really move me. The human experience moves me; real-life situations move me. And in that sense, when it comes to my music, I'd honestly have to say that a lot of it is a reflection of Mum. A lot of what I feel about women and myself as a woman is through having watched her.

You know, there's been many people who've come and gone in my life, but none of them have made me understand dedication and loyalty the way she has. She's this shining example of what selflessness really is. She's shown me unconditional love in the truest sense. I always think that if anything ever happened to her, I would lose my mind. I just pray it won't be any time soon.