Feb. 26, 2010

Today would have been Johnny Cash’s 78th birthday, and, even though he died in 2003, it still seems strange to refer to him in the past tense. If ever a person seemed like he could live forever, it was Johnny Cash. He might not have managed it in pristine condition, and he had already created enough pointless turmoil in his time to sidestep having to do it gracefully. But his bearing was such that it seemed as if you could walk up and carve your initials in him and he would just keep on strumming on that acoustic guitar, oblivious to both the blade and the pain.

Even if he had his fallow periods as a creative artist, I’ve never heard a live Cash recording that didn’t sound like he had every bit of his heart and muscle in the music. He often sang about lost souls who yearned to hop a train, both literally and figuratively. But after enough years of standing up for the downtrodden, he had pretty much become the train itself, and the listener could either get onboard or wave as it steamed by. Either way, he was bound to keep on going.

Cash’s final album, “American VI: Ain’t No Grave” was released this past Tuesday, and it’s a fitting farewell to one of the more powerful figures in 20th century music. This, as the title suggests, is the sixth entry in the series of “American Recordings” helmed by producer Rick Rubin, who deserves to be applauded for recognizing just how much Cash had left to offer in the latter part of his career. Unfortunately, although Cash was a venerable self-mythologizer, I've always felt the “American” albums were uncomfortably on-the-nose in their conception.

Each release contained startling individual performances, and it’s a great gift that Cash was given songs that he could sink his teeth into when most of his peers were either retired or had surrendered to the oldies circuit. But Rubin, who made his name as the founder of the legendary hip-hop label, Def Jam Records, seemed far too intent on casting Cash as the Original Badass, and the “dry wind blowing through the cornstalks” routine starts to sink virtually every title in the series.

Not so with “American VI: Ain’t No Grave.” Cash recorded the album in fits and starts when he knew full-well he was dying, and there’s little time for shtick when the light is truly fading. In turns touching, heartbreaking, and inspiring, “Ain’t No Grave” reveals a man who’s come to terms with his own mortality, and is pushing deep and hard to leave a final testament. It’s a brave, if not monumental, piece of work. Cash is feeling no self-pity. He simply wants to say goodbye, and does so with tremendous grit and dignity.

All the tracks have their strengths, with special mention going to readings of Kris Kristofferson’s “For the Good Times,” Tom Paxton’s “Can’t Help But Wonder Where I’m Bound,” and the old Sons of the Pioneers chestnut, “Cool, Cool Water.” But the kicker, without a doubt, is “Brother” Claude Ely’s title track, which Cash delivers with the stark determination of a man who will be living, not dying, until the final breath passes his lips. Buckle down for this one.

"Ain't No Grave"

Surely, St. Peter knew he was in for a tussle if he hesitated at that gate. And, just as surely, the gate was opened quickly.

Paul Tatara