Rolling in Cash

I have vague memories of Johnny Cash performing on TV when I was growing up. "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash," he would always say, as if no one knew who he was. In the early 1980s he and his wife June Carter Cash appeared on their own Christmas special in Scotland--June in a granny gown and Johnny in his trademark black suit. There were some gospel numbers and the only song of his I ever really knew, "A Boy Named Sue," which I hated. I also knew Cash had performed in a prison for some reason, but I was too young to understand why. By the early 1970s, Cash was starting to look a bit like the fat, bloated Elvis, at a time when neither of them had yet turned 40.

So it was with a mixture of indifference and curiosity that I went with Andrea to see the Cash biopic "Walk the Line," starring Joaquin Phoenix as Cash and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter. Andrea's late husband was a huge Johnny Cash fan, and she had become one too. Until I saw the film, I didn't share their attraction.

Elvis was the one who stole Cash's thunder, in both looks and popularity, when both got their start in Memphis. But damn, Johnny Cash should only have looked half as hot as Phoenix was in this movie. I've seen pictures of a young Cash, and he was OK looking, but Phoenix really made him sexy, booze and all. Part of Phoenix's sexiness was most definitely his singing voice. I didn't realize until halfway through the movie that Phoenix and Witherspoon sang all the songs on the soundtrack. I thought the actors were amazing singers. The songs were not faithful renditions, but that didn't bother me. They were faithful interpretations. I've been listening to a lot of Cash's recordings since I saw the movie and in some instances I prefer Phoenix's versions. He lends a certain earnestness and soulfulness that differ from Cash's and give the songs a fresh sound.

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to appreciate his music, but I hardly come from a musically aware family. When I was growing up, my parents never listened to anything other than easy listening music: The Ray Coniff Singers, Andre Kostelanetz, Bert Kaempfert, Perry Como, Doris Day, The Singing Nun (ooh, French!)--anything that could be used as a soporific. Oh, yeah, my father liked German drink songs and Bob Newhart records. We may have had a Mahalia Jackson or Harry Belafonte record, but there was no R&B, no rock, no jazz, no classical, no country to speak of. Interestingly, the first 45 rpm I ever bought, at the age of 11, was a country song: Marie Osmond's "Paper Roses."

When I was 12 my parents bought me an RCA transistor AM radio with a single earphone. FM was still not widely available. It became my gateway to music. I listened mainly to Top 40 stations WABC and WNBC, but one day I turned the dial all the way to the end, 1600 AM, and listened to the most funky, soulful music I had ever heard. No one ever played these songs on Top 40 radio. WWRL played only R&B, and every night I would sneak my radio into bed with me and fall asleep listening to Bobby Womack, Archie Bell and the Drells, Miami, Fatback Band, and other artists I'd never heard before. Whenever I'd go to the local record store/head shop, I'd peruse the R&B lists for new releases. Esther Phillips' incredible "What A Difference Day Makes" and Brass Construction's "Movin'" were just a few of the records I soaked up. My music awareness kept blossoming and growing. I loved it all: jazz, rock, zydeco, blues--and, of course, pop. Today my music collection is large (900 LPs, 1000 cassettes, and 1000 CDs), and there is a never-ending supply of new (or at least new to me) sounds to discover and enjoy.

A few years ago I started listening to rockabilly. Until then, the closest I had come to rockabilly was probably "You're The One That I Want" from Grease. I started with Elvis, of course, and worked my way through artists like Carl Perkins, Gene Vincent, Bobby Vee, and the Queen of Rockabilly, Miss Wanda Jackson. Somehow, though, Johnny Cash, who I realize now was instrumental in rockabilly, escaped my notice. I had always thought of him as purely a country artist or a Christian artist. And he looked old and haggard at 35, which didn't help.

Thanks to "Walk the Line," I got a new perspective on Cash and his music. Incidentally, the last album he released before his death in 2003, "The Man Comes Around," has become one of my new favorite albums. It's a reflective album, mainly covers of songs that Cash has a personal connection with.

I guess we find things we like when we're ready to embrace them.