"My name is Sue, how do you do? And now you're gonna die..."
That song used to crack me up as a preschooler. At the zenith of the Sixties pop revolution, my hit parade consisted of these three songs: "Love Is Blue," a syrupy, direct-to-Muzak instrumental by Paul Mauriat; "Pictures of Matchstick Men," a trippily phase-cancelled tune by the Status Quo; and that live-at-Folsom-prison, bad-word-bleeped-out Johnny Cash song. The torture I put my family through when I loudly demanded those songs be played, often back to back to back, remains a legend. I think I influenced the owners of a certain pizza parlor on Milwaukee Ave in Chicago to get rid of their jukebox.

While I eventually let go of my unhealthy Paul Mauriat and Status Quo obsessions, I stayed with Johnny Cash. That one-of-a-kind baritone with clean, crisp diction was my entree to country, folk, blues and gospel music. If not for him, I might never have found out about or listened to Woody Guthrie, Loudon Wainwright, Shel Silverstein, Hank Williams Sr., Pete Seeger, The Limelighters, Lucinda Williams, John Hiatt, John Prine, Steve Earle, Eliott Smith, Levon Helm, Tracy Chapman, Ryan Adams, Phil Ochs, Dave Alvin, Nick Lowe... if you think I'm just showing off now, I am. That's off the top of my head. My tastes in music are wonderfully eclectic (admittedly more so now than in 1968), and if you were to draw one of those Pete Frame family trees for me, Johnny Cash would be the damn trunk. About halfway up, it would split into John Lennon and B.B. King.

I hope that, as the eulogies and biographies flow in the next couple of days, more people develop an awareness of how indebted they are to Johnny, even if they never listened to him. Eminem innovative? Breaking barriers? Whatever you say, Mr. Mathers. Every Brit heavy metal group at the turn of the 80's deliberately ripped Johnny's swagger off. People who thought it was funny when he covered Depeche Mode, Soundgarden and Nine Inch Nails may not realize what a tremendous honor was done, and I hope they think about that now. When you watch Metallica's Saint Anger video, think "Live at San Quentin," circa 1969.

For a time after my mother died, I listened to the corroborative "Highwayman" a lot, and that's playing as I write. Sing it, Johnny...

I fly a starship across the Universe divide/ And when I reach the other side/ I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can/ Perhaps I may become a highwayman again/ Or I may simply be a single drop of rain/ But I will remain/ And I'll be back again, and again and again and again and again....  11:19:37 AM    comment []trackback []