Johnny Cash and the deeply turned tilth of personal experience

Just listened again to a Johnny Cash album, the definitive collection. Some of these songs are masterpieces of their genre; and one or two of them transcend genre in their significance and power. I remember the first time I heard the album Man in Black. Along with The San Quentin and Folsom Prison Concerts, and Bitter Tears (a stunning apologia and lament for the way of life of the native American peoples), these albums confirmed Johnny Cash as one of the artists whose music is for me indispensable. I know the often noted weaknesses - sentimentalism, sensationalism, banal lines, thematic repetition, and sheer deluge of recordings some of them little more than ordinary. But Johnny Cash is one of the truly great artists whose greatness grew out of the deeply turned tilth of personal failure, emotional suffering and his own acknowledged brokenness. Few Country singers give voice to the highs and lows of human experience with such searing honesty, and with that knowing tone of voice that articulates lostness, longing, love, laughter and lament. 

The title song, Man in Black, became Cash's theme song, and black his chosen fashion statement. Bernard Levin, in his book A Walk Up Fifth Avenue, tells of going into the top tailor's store and being measured for a suit that cost a year's salary. The justification?

"Clothes aren't only for wearing Mr Levin. When you wear this suit you are making a statement."

Cash knew that - "there's a reason for the things that I have on", he . Man in Black is one of those pieces that takes its place in the premier league of protest songs, the songs of the discontented, the poetry of the dissenter, the lyrics of those fed up with the status quo, the music that combines compassion and outrage, ballads that tell a human story to elicit human understanding and responsiveness.  

The poignancy and dignity of his last few years when suffering from Parkinson's disease pushed Johnny Cash deeper into his search for inner and outer peace, for healing mercy and a way of leaving life that would finally satisfy his yearning for a life that had been worth living. His courage in performing till his hands wouldn't do what was needed on his instruments, that unique gargling-with-gravel voice weakened but still able to orchestrate the pathos and passion of human emotion with the range and intensity of a full orchestra. And the closing scene of Hurt, when he closes and caresses the piano lid - these are unforgettable moments of great art, and human tragedy transcended by brave dignity.

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Comments

[Simon Woodman]

A wonderful link to "Hurt" - thank you. We watched 'Walk the Line' again over Christmas...
Have you come across Cash's book 'Man in White' - his biography of Paul? It's an interesting read, which possibly tells more about Cash than it does Paul.