Ride This Train
In October 1967 Johnny Cash was huddled deep inside
the cold dark Nickajack Cave waiting to die. The Man
in Black had spent 10 years in a hellish cycle of
addiction and self-mortification, and he wanted to
formalize his separation from God by crawling as far
into the cave as he could, waiting for death to
overtake him without God as witness. His wanted the
thick, sinister intestine of his country to digest him
finally, to dissolve him away. It didn't work. His
arrogance was rebuked by his faith, and he started
scraping and crawling, crablike, until he staggered
out of the cave hours later exhausted and confused.
Soon after that he had his own hit television show.
From the moment he took his first Benzedrine tablet in
1957 until his attempted suicide in Nickajack Cave 10
years later, Johnny Cash's musical output was more
fertile and prolific than at any other period in his
career. The artistic liberation given by Don Law (who
lured him to Columbia Records with promises of freedom
and money), as well as his new friendships with the
Carter Family, Ray Charles, Bob Dylan, and others seem
to have sparked something in him that continued to
crackle and flash even despite his new wealth and new
addictions. So, in honor of Cash's 70th birthday
this year, Columbia Records is continuing with its
excellent series of Cash reissues, and the latest
batch chronicles this period, from his Columbia debut
in 1958 until his classic duets with June Carter nine
years later. All five albums are excellent, and the newly
remastered discs are generously dosed with bonus
tracks and incisive liner notes. I suspect most
other labels would have served us a septuagenarian
stew, a hodgepodge of compilations or tributes, so
Columbia should be commended for favoring tidy
authenticity over jumbled carpetbagging in celebrating
the man's eighth decade among us.
The Fabulous Johnny Cash
After Don Law stole Johnny Cash from Sun Records, a
world of possibility began to open up in Cash's
recording career. Rather than remaining the indentured
servant to Sam Phillips' marketing schemes, Cash could
now explore new vistas of honky-tonk, folk, and
gospel. After his first Columbia single ("All Over
Again" / "What Do I Care") went top 10, Law
presumably allowed his new boy a bit of freedom in
constructing a full album of renegade tunes. Thus,
Fabulous remains one of Cash's finest grab-bag
non-concept albums, a satisfying haul of tunes, all
dominated by Cash's cavernous voice and the signature
chunka-guitar of Luther Perkins.
The album's two hits
-- "Frankie's Man, Johnny" and "Don't Take Your Guns
to Town" -- are well-known tragedies which continue to
inspire new generations of fans. But the real goodies
include the talking gospel "Suppertime" (about the
"greatest suppertime of all -- with our Lord in
Heaven"), the Cash-penned dirt-folk "Pickin' Time"
(cotton, not guitars), and the speedy Sons of the
Pioneers classic "One More Ride" (in which a
train-riding man rages against the dying of the light,
and you still can't tell if the singer is hobo or
conductor). And hey, listen to it twice and you'll
fall in love with the uncharacteristically weepy
ballad "I Still Miss Someone" (later a highlight of
At Folsom Prison) and the unusually schlocky
Jordanaire-inflected "Run Softly, Blue River".
The
bonus tracks are also wonderful. "Oh What a Dream
(Take 1)" may be a record-collector's fantasy (the
first take of Cash's first Columbia recording
session), but it's filled with Jordanaires and Luther
Perkins, and fits in quite easily with the rest of the
disc. And it's theme -- a reverie with angels and
kisses and weddings -- might be one of Cash's only
lyrics that's directly aimed at the ladies in his vast
audience. "Fool's Hall of Fame" is a majestically
tuneless cover that predates Cash's induction into
both the Country and Rock and Roll Halls of Fame, but
on its face offers no evidence that he should be
inducted into any of the three. And there's so much
more on the disc. Don Law obviously made a wise
investment, and the reissue satisfyingly rocks the
box.
Hymns by Johnny Cash
Johnny Cash says that he didn't quit Sun because he
wanted more money. He quit because he wanted to record
gospel music. Well, probably he's telling half-truths
on both counts. But Columbia did grant him his very
own gospel album in 1959, and it certainly comes
across as a happy fulfillment of Don Law's promise of
artistic freedom.
On most of his non-gospel
recordings, Cash's striking baritone often sounds
possessed by the gods, especially when he's singing
about murder and prison and struggle. But on this
album something weird happens: he doesn't use his
voice to conjure the wrath or grace of God. Instead,
he sounds alternately jocular and cautious, as if to
stave off the possession of the awkward Spirit that
gave him "Folsom Prison Blues" and "I Walk the Line".
For example, the opening track -- a Cash-penned
call-and-response ditty called "It Was Jesus" -- is a
lot of fun, and maybe inspirational in its airy homely
way. But to a modern audience it is definitely more
Ned Flanders than Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Same goes for
"He'll Be a Friend", which turns Noah and Samson into
comic-book characters.
On the other hand, "Are All
the Children In" is a striking evocation of holiness
that hinges on the vision of a poor farmer's wife
wondering if all her children are back in the house at
the end of the night. And Cash does shine brightly --
both in voice and lyrics -- in his own new prayer
"Lead Me Father", a worker's submission to God but not
the boss. Two other highlights -- an excellent
arrangement of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and the
wondrous stoic anthem "These Things Shall Pass" (which
he didn't play at the prisons, don't ask me why) --
make the album a worthwhile investment for Cash fans.
The usual spare arrangements -- Luther Perkins working
his repetitive guitar magic over a subtle male chorus
and Cash's seismic voice -- make all the songs
endlessly programmable on your local jukebox. Gospel
fans, on the other hand, might find it tough going.
Ride this Train
Inspired by his friend Merle Travis (whose Down
Home is often regarded the first country concept
album), Cash recorded the image-defining Ride This
Train in 1960 and hasn't stopped making his own
great concept albums since. Contrary to what you'd
expect, the album is not about trains. Instead it uses
the train as transport -- complete with sound effects
-- to take the listener on a tour of America, through
space and time. His narration between songs, never
drowned out by the loud trains behind him, is often as
absorbing as the songs themselves.
Beginning with an
amazing recitation of Native American tribe names, he
then launches into the Merle Travis shovel-rhythm
"Loading Coal" (written especially for the album),
which creaks and groans with Cash's authority. He
takes on the voice of John Wesley Hardin in his own
"Slow Rider", then takes a tough turn through the
Oregon timber in "Lumberjack" (the punch line: "Boy,
ask a whistle pump. / I don't know"). Other highlights
include Tex Ritter's "Boss Jack" (in which Cash takes
on the voice of both slave and master in his hometown
of Dyess, Arkansas), the naked tragedy "Dorraine of
Ponchartrain", and the nostalgic "When Papa Played the
Dobro".
The standout track, however, is "Going to
Memphis" ("arranged and adapted by A. Lomax"), which
gets real funky with chain-gang rhythm and one of the
coolest vocal performances in Cash's career ("Like a
bitter weed, I'm a bad seed . . ."). Bonus tracks include
Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Ballad of the Harpweaver",
the uncharacteristic sob story "Second Honeymoon"
("I'm alone on a second honeymoon"), and the minor
novelty hit "Smiling Bill McCall" (a droll Nashville
in-joke about hair loss). It's a wonderful trip, and
even if you're riding blind between the baggage car
and the mail car, even if you're sprinting away from
the railroad Pinkertons on your tail, these songs and
narrations will stick to your ribs. Hell, Cash later
even included a "Ride This Train" segment on his
late '60s variety show which also detailed the
struggles, tragedies, and comedies of working men and
women in America.
Orange Blossom Special
By 1965, America's musical landscape had utterly
changed. Three years earlier, Ray Charles had
recorded an album, Modern Sounds in Country and
Western Music, which not only popularized country
music to a citified northern audience, but taught
Nashville the value of adding strings and horns to its
studio arrangements. (Hell, Cash himself taught
Nashville a trick or two by adding latin horns to his
seminal hit "Ring of Fire".) Meanwhile this Jewish
kid from the Iron Range was generating a national buzz
by singing nasal protest anthems and breakup songs
like "Blowin' in the Wind" and "Don't Think Twice,
It's Alright" in imitation of that red Woody Guthrie.
In July 1964, Cash played the Newport Folk Festival in
Rhode Island, a move that announced his refusal to
obey the political and musical dictates of Nashville.
Needless to say, it was this last event that altered
Johnny Cash irrevocably, and the 1965 release
Orange Blossom Special is Cash's first
self-consciously "folk" album. It remains one of the
outstanding LPs in his oeuvre, a fascinating batch of
tunes that announces enthusiastically the two new
loves of his life: June Carter and the music of Bob
Dylan.
The title track is a seminal cover that jumps
Ervin Rouse's train and rides it down the Atlantic
coast without looking back. Cash's enthusiastic train
noises ("whoo! whoo!") and the funky sand-in-his-shoes
vocal interplay toward the end ("I don't care if I do
'f I do 'f I do 'f I do") continue to shake the
national cerebellum with evocations of the joy in
burning bridges.
Next comes "Long Black Veil", and oh
mercy does Cash conquer it. Seems that every
generation has an artist who takes possession of "Long
Black Veil" (the darkest cheating song ever written)
and remakes it in his image. Lefty Frizzell made it
swoop down on the comfy '50s and juiced it for
every tearjerking vocal nuance he could muster. Cash,
on the other hand, sees the stoicism and honor in it,
and his near-Biblical interpretation often became the
highlight of his '60s prison concerts. The studio
version here is definitive, and wouldn't be topped
until Sally Timms wrapped her gorgeous British voice
around it a couple decades later.
Then we get
three-count-'em-three Bob Dylan songs ("It Ain't Me
Babe", "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright", and "Mama,
You've Been on My Mind"), all of which sound just fine
when retooled to fit Cash's stately pace and sonorous
pipes. "It Ain't Me, Babe" became a top 10 country
hit right around the same time the Turtles were
pitching it to the pop audience, evidence that Cash
could work miracles of commerce using just his voice
and an eye for talent. (Also, the country audience was
probably stimulated by the wonderful interplay of
Cash's voice and that of June Carter, who sings a very
prominent "backup" here.)
Cash himself penned a couple
new ones for the album, including the wonderful
Dylanesque protest tune "All of God's Children Ain't
Free" and a lusty evocative ode to a river, "You Wild
Colorado" ("like a woman's lips, you lure me"). Round
this time Cash was smitten with June Carter, who pairs
with him on several other tunes here. Indeed her
throaty enthusiasm suffuses the entire album, whether
rising like a distant mist in "Mama, You've Been On My
Mind" or singing as an equal in "When It's Springtime
in Alaska (It's Forty Below)".
Cash's dynastic union
with the Carter family was just beginning, and his
cover of their classic "Wildwood Flower" here is an
obvious tribute to the new love of his life. His
version is open-ended and spirited, but as with most
of his covers, he tends to evoke the melody rather
than sing it outright. And since "Wildwood Flower" is
all about melody, he doesn't steal the song from
Mother Maybelle after all.
After an odd cover of
"Danny Boy" (Jackie Wilson coulda told him the tune is
more fun to sing than to hear) he closes the album
with an astounding version of the Lilies of the
Field gospel singalong "Amen", which features a
chorus of Carter angels, some trick piano, and a newly
possessed Cash taking on the spirit. The song cuts
everything on the Hymns by Johnny Cash album,
and you won't be able to stop yourself from singing
along. The reissue adds three extra tracks, a folk
train song ("Engine 143"), a good Charlie-Rich style
love song ("(I'm Proud) The Baby is Mine"), and an
early version of "Mama, You've Been on My Mind"
featuring some ring-of-fire Mexicali horns.
Fascinating and varied from beginning to end,
Orange Blossom Special is one of the most
exciting reissues of the year.
Carryin' On with Johnny Cash and June Carter
Johnny Cash rarely sang about drinking or cheating,
and when he did he cast his stories as mythopoetic
allegories rather than personal tales of woe. He knew
his resonant baritone was made for the biblical
declamation rather than the confidential sob story. It
took the big-mouthed woman June Carter to draw him
out, and Carryin' On is one of the most
detailed, grounded, fun, straight-up country albums in
his catalog.
For the first time, Cash openly declares
himself a cheat, liar, and lovin' ball of fire, and at
last we're back in the honky-tonks with the Man in
Black. June, who by this time had discarded her "Aunt
Polly" and "Little Junie" characters, was now a
strong, throaty, persistent woman bent on taming an
out-of-control pill-popping Cash. She was in love with
him, and he was smitten by her even when he was strung
out, shivering, and sweating on his hotel bed. Despite
the pastoral photo on the cover (look how skinny Cash
is!), their blossoming romance was shot through with
grime, chaos, and anger. On top of that, both of them
were enduring failed marriages on the side.
Yet the
album is nonstop fun, a joyous ride on the love train
that even makes their spats and conflicts droll and
resonant. The album consists entirely of Johnny and
June trading loud and enthusiastic lines as speedy
honky-tonk prods them on. They fight, they kiss, they
yell, they make out, all with an undeniable chemistry
that lifts the spirits at the same time it churns the
butter.The album's two big hits ("Long-Legged Guitar
Man" and "Jackson") have lost none of their edge over
the past 35 years, and you can even dance to
'em!
The two lovebirds cowrote a beautiful
class-warfare love song, "Shantytown", which tackles
the same love-across-the-tracks themes that Johnny
Rivers gave us a year earlier in "Poor Side of Town".
Then they rewrite it again (even using the same
shantytown melody!) in "No, No, No" -- another
classic.
The Carter Family's "Fast Boat to Syndey"
and Richard Farina's tragicomic "Pack Up Your Sorrows"
are wonderful arguments for cheating and grief. Two
Ray Charles tunes ("I Got a Woman" and "What'd I Say")
transcend the honky tonks and head into pure rock and
roll territory, and your eyes will light up when you
hear them. And there's a bunch more great tunes (check
out "Oh What a Good Thing We Had" and "You'll Be
Alright").
This is one of the best love-chaos duet
albums ever recorded, deserving a place alongside
Richard and Linda Thompson's Shoot Out the
Lights and X's Wild Gift. The reissue is a
revelation, and the fact that Johnny and June are
still married says more about their mutual stoicism
and spirituality than anything else.
When Cash stumbled out of Nickajack Cave a couple
months after recording this album, June was waiting
for him, along with his mother. He went on to record
two prison albums the next year (At Folsom
Prison and At San Quentin, both currently
available on Columbia Records) and host his own
Nashville-based television variety show, which became
enormously popular. He married June in 1968, and a
year later he crossed over into the pop charts with
the bleeped Shel Silverstein goof "A Boy Named Sue".
He went from darkness to the top of the world within a
few months. Sure, he didn't stay there -- nobody does
-- but he secured his permanent position as one of
America's holy geniuses, and nobody's gonna deny him
that today.
— 16 June 2002
