Here, following U2's patronage the previous year, Johnny Cash's great rehabilitation really built up its head of steam. I wasn't paying attention, of course. I mean, [scoff], I bought Cash records in 1985 when it was a marginal, less than fashionable activity. But from 1994 onwards, the Great Cash Legacy was recognised by the mainstream. And Johnny took it with gratitude and good grace. What else would you expect of him?
Andy Kershaw has a good story about introducing Johnny Cash at Glastonbury '94 (perhaps you were there?). Cash was on in the afternoon slot that had previously been filled by the likes of Tom Jones. Kershaw worried that the audience might treat him like they might treat Jones, as a novelty act, a bit kitsch, to be appreciated ironically with tongue in cheek. But when he took the microphone to introduce Johnny Cash, the affection coming back from the audience was unmistakable, and unmistakably sincere. As he finished his introduction, Andy said he had a real lump in his throat. Then he saw Cash's face, and realised that the great man was overwhelmed by the reception, with tears streaming down both cheeks. He couldn't believe that this young audience still cared.
So I didn't get this album until seven years later, in the wake of getting one of the subsequent American Recordings series. It's not the best in the series I think (though its cover may be). At this stage, of course, probably nobody realised it was going to become a series: the long autobiographical sleeve notes from Cash sound more like an ending than a beginning. We should all be glad that he had nine more years and four more albums left in him. The version of Nick Lowe's Beast in Me seems well-chosen, but the same cannot be said for the relatively unremarkable covers of Leonard Cohen and Kristofferson (which is kind of surprising, because Cash and Kristofferson had been touring together around this time — I saw them with Willie and Waylon as the Highwaymen at Sheffield Arena in '92).
I've mentioned Sean Willentz's essay on Delia in The Rose and the Briar before. Willentz is gently critical of this version (compared with Dylan's a year earlier, and Cash's own 1962 rendition) for its reference to a submachine gun, which, Willentz points out, played well with the gangsta rap audience of the time. But the old murder ballads don't need a Tarantino update to be powerful (Nick Cave, please note). Often they're more sinister when it takes two or three listens to realise that someone has been, or is being, sinisterly offed.
MusicBrainz entry for this album |
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