11.50am Sheryl Crow gives an early insight into the graft that goes into primping a high-profile image as she emerges from her bedroom wearing curlers. "I spent all day yesterday sleeping and then was awake half the night. I'm a little behind," she explains as a pierced punk stands by to finish her make-up. Scout, her 13-year-old Labrador who was rescued by Crow from the pound months before she hit the big time with her debut album, 1993's Tuesday Night Music Club, pads around her feet. "I tell him, you must be the luckiest dog alive," laughs Crow, ruffling his fur. Scout looks confused.

11.56am The housekeeper, who has been trying to remove a stain from a rug in Crow's spacious Spanish-themed living room, is scowling. Even Q's suggestion of a generous use of salt, followed by some vigourous hoovering has been greeted with snarls. This is the room in which Crow began recording her new album, C'mon, C'mon, before abandoning the sessions and deciding Kid Rock's house would provide a more inspiring environment. "He knows how to enjoy himself: beer, friends, loud music. You have to make the process fun," she says, but refuses to be drawn on rumours of romance. A generously stocked drinks trolley stands witness to the fact that Rock hasn't been by for a couple of days and brandy and whisky bottles stand unopened (although someone's been troubling the Bacardi). Crow has needed cheering up. After splitting with her boyfriend, actor Owen Wilson of The Royal Tenenboums fame, during the making of her album, she succumbed to clinical depression. As suggested by new album track Weather Channel, she required medical intervention to bring on a recovery.

"I treat depression as a medical problem," she says. "I need help to keep me from hitting those lows. I have taken anti-depressants and seen a therapist. It's taboo to talk about these things, but I think it's helpful to fight that. Depression is about repressing your anger and in my life I've always done that. And it blocks you creatively. Going to Bob's place (that's Bob "Kid Rock" Ritchie) helped that. Chrissie Hynde came to see me when I was at rock bottom in New York and told me that music isn't my life, it's just something I do. That gave me space to breathe."

A book on Steve McQueen lies open on the coffee table (the opening track of the new album bears his name as a title) and through the windows the view of the Hollywood Hills is breathtaking. It is here that Crow goes hiking. "It's the only exercise I do," she claims later. "I eat s*** and drink too much but I'm healthier than LA people who go macro-biotic."

12.03pm Crow emerges from her bedroom sans curlers. She scrubs up well. Thousands of dollers' worth of pearly dentition gleam (before she moved to LA, Crow's front teeth were wrecked by a clumsy waitress who flung a tray into her face). Her eyes seem back-lit. She turned 40 two weeks ago. "I was down about it for a couple of weeks but when it came it felt no different to turning 30. I had a party for 600 people. I played and Bonnie Raitt dropped by. And Dwight Yoakam and Don Henley got up onstage too."

12.15pm Before heading into LA to shop for a costume for the Grammy awards - in 48 hours' time - Crow needs a coffee. we head off in the car through the electronic gates to a Starbucks. In town, Crow draws stares in her bod-hugging Mexican trews and leather waistcoat, but who is she? Just another punter, according to the waiter who serves her. "Miss, I need to write your name on the cup so you claim the correct beverage at the counter," he explains.

"I'm Sheryl," smiles Crow sweetly. Other beavering staff look up and smile in recognition.

"Stand aside please, Sheryl, " he says.

When she finally receives her coffe she has Britrock on her mind. She's gone off Coldplay, thinks David Gray is OK and asks, "What's Damon Albarn's group again? They did diddly squat in the US. So did the Manic Street Preachers." She remarks that Kylie is finally making headway in the US, as evidenced by Minogue's 30-feet wide butt cheeks glowering from a billboard across the street. Q remarks that the Minogue gusset is now more recognisable than her face. "Gusset?" says Crow, intrigued. "I like that word. I wonder if I could work that into my Grammy speech."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 12.57pm Palace Costume, Fairfax Avenue Crow leads Q into Palace Costume, a huge trove of contemporary and period clothing for hire to the film and TV industry. Crow is meeting her designer here. She plans to choose an outfit, hire it and have him make a replica for the Grammys. Deep in the bowels of Palace works a duo straight out of Austin Powers. Designer Henry Duarte is as camp as the vicar's knickers ("Look at the tooling on those boots!") and sports what looks like a recently malleted beaver on his head. His assistant, Michael, is the spit of Nick Cave. He introduces himself as Michael Hilfiger. "Like Tommy," laughs Crow's manager.

"Yeah, he's my brother," he responds to general astonishment. The fitting is a riot of camp fannying. Crow squeezes into a flimsy pair of hot pants and squats to test their strength. "It's good in the gusset!" she attests. With the addition of blue suede knee-length cowboy boots the look is complete. "These boots are sick!" she says. Her sister's son taught her the expression. It means they're good. But why doesn't she just hire the boots and hot pants rather than put Henry and Michael to the trouble of sewing and stitching into the night? "Because they stink!" says Crow. More teen argot? "No, they really stink."

1.25pm Body Double, Melrose Avenue Crow's Grammy clobber is sorted. Now she wants to mosey for impulse buys among the groovy hipster outlets of Melrose Avenue. She enters a shop with a pounding house soundtrack. The jeans are in a sale, which quaintly, is still an attraction for the downhome Midwestern girl who has sold over 13 million albums. "The key is to have jeans which are good in the gusset," she says, now familiar with the word. "You're moving around a lot and you don't want a disaster onstage."

1.41pm Aardvark, Melrose Avenue Crow enters Aardvark, a second-hand clothing store with a good range of wigs and hats thrown in. She tries on a black leather cap with a silver chain on it. "Too S&M," she decides before opting for a skirt with a Mexican print. "I'm not a real fashion expert," says Crow "But I went to see a collection with Gwyneth Paltrow and Madonna and it was amazing how serious and committed they are." A guy plucks up the courage and approaches to say, "Hi." The shop owner assesses Crow's behaviour and is impressed. "We had an actress from a s***ty little soap opera in here yesterday and she's wearing shades and pretending everyone's hassling her and fame is such a burden," he says afterwards. "But Sheryl was cool."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2.23pm Wilshire Boulevard Crow takes a call. The hot pants are developing nicely, but she bemoans the fact that the Grammys have become boring. "You know, once you would have had Pearl Jam, Madonna and Michael Jackson and there would be a spark, some controversy," she says, "I think things have got real tame in the last few years." With dark irony, Q's car passes under a huge billboard wihch proclaims: "Welcome Home Suge, from All At Tha Row!" "It's all rappers now," sighs Crow. Couldn't she stir up some controversy? "People don't really look to me for that," she says. "I'm pretty unexceptional as far as lifestyle goes. But when I toured with Michael Jackson you couldn't escape the aura of that wierdness. There's no one to take up that mantle of being such a... fruitcake anymore. I think music kinda needs that."

2.40pm Kings Road Crow suggests the King's Road Cafe for lunch. Over a toasted banana muffin she enthuses about the video to the album's second single, Steve McQueen. Crow is going to ride a motorcycle for the performance in which McQueen's Great Escape cross-country run will be re-created. "I can ride a dirt bike already, but this will be different," she says. "To me, McQueen embodies freedom and rebellion and being a star who retains integrity, some mystery. That's so rare now." Crow has lost none of her grounded self-possession either. A beggar enters the cafe and approaches her. She wants money for her kids. "You're sure it's for the kids?" demands Crow, at once caring and searching. She hands over a note from her bag. "In the end I want what most people want," she says, "I want the right man, to get married and have kids. I'm under no illusions. Fame might pose a problem with that. And I can't cook, either. But I can do other things. I've got other qualities."

3.12pm A news-stand, King's Road Crow studies herself on the cover of Stuff magazine. She recently criticised Britney Spears and her ilk for exploiting their bodies to sell records on the sardonic You're An Original in which young pop clones are lambasted. It's a surprise to find her posing with fruity intent for a lad mag. She ponders her computer-enhanced right breast on the cover. "I knew I'd get s*** for doing this," she sighs. "But I've never beein ashamed of my body."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 9.20pm Black Entertainment Television Sound Stage, Burbank In the past, Crow has campaigned for anti-landmine charities, Artist Rights (an organisation which helps new music artists get a better deal from record companies) and tonight she'll play for a battered children's charity run by ex-Prince collaborator and childhood rape victim, Sheila E. Yet Crow has a singular business mind. She takes a call from American Express, who have funded the video for new single SUTS. The deal lets them use a portion of the video as a TV ad, hence she bags a free promo video and extra free exposure. But the corporation has final approval on the end product. They are quibbling over a "clumped eyelash" in one close-up. "That's the way the business is going," sighs Crow. In a small TV studio, a black tie dinner is in progress. "An Evening With Angels" is the inaugural fund-raiser for Sheila E's new foundation. Crow will perform a short set on a bill wihch includes Coolio and a "special guest". Lots of children - sensing tonight of all nights there is little chance of a bollocking or a "thick ear" - run around saying "Do you want my autograph?"

First there is an auction of pop memorabilia. A signed portrait of Madonna with a reserve price of $25 goes for $575 and assorted Britney Spears gear attracts a crowd of men who stare intently with their hands in their pockets. Some Emerson, Lake & Palmer album artwork attracts no bids at all, apart from the enquiry from a rich blonde woman: "Is that a firm of attorneys?"

9.34pm A frantic events organiser pleads with dinner guests to buy some unsold booty. Another rich white woman shows interest in Jennifer Lopez's dress. "You ain't gonna fill it lady," comments a drunk man. "J.Lo's got a lot behind!" The bid founders. From the side of the stage someone anonymously bids $1000 for the use of a posh car for a weekend. Even though there is no competitive bid, the money offered suddenly rises to $1500. "Sold!" announces the auctioneer gleefully. It turns out the bidder is Crow. "I was bidding against myself," she explains later. "I like to make sure I win."

9.53pm Coolio, who looks like he's dressed in his gran's curtains, is competing against himself in a Martini-drinking contest. Once comprehensively drunk, he wanders over to say hello to Crow. They exchange telephone numbers.

10.07pm Crow goes to change. In the auditorium drinks are handed out which turn out to be 90 percent vodka. The effects are devestating. Looking for drinking company, Q turns to a hulking fellow in a suit and shades who has also been quaffing merrily and is now swaying extravagantly from side to side in his seat. Before conversation can begin, another man approaches him first and offers something from a silver flight case. It's a harmonica. The swaying man is Stevie Wonder. A member of his entourage waves Q away.

10.20pm Crow throws a guitar strap emblazoned with a diamante USA over her head and plays her new single SUTS, backed by a huge band. It's an infectious return to the Cali slacker values of AIWD. Then she performs EDIAWR, which is extended into a funk jam session with Sheila E's dad on percussion. Stevie Wonder is led onstage. He is looking skyward and doing that head-swaying thing. He takes the EDIAWR riff and jams away. After that, with a little coaxing from the organisers, he sings Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing. It's an unrehearsed and unforgettable performance. Crow backs him up on tambourine wandering the stage smiling to herself.

10.53pm Backstage there is a scrum for souvenir photos. Crow's slight frame is grabbed by several big, drunken diners asking for a picture. "Could you move, buddy?" asks one when a guy blunders into frame. Someone really should get Stevie Wonder a guide dog.

"Let's get the hell out of here," says Crow, laughing at the mayhem. "I've got to try on my Grammy hot pants in the morning."