When Johnny Cash teamed up with super-producer Rick Rubin, I didn’t bat an eyelash. I don’t begrudge an artist the opportunity to keep recording. Doesn’t mean I have to keep listening to it either.
When the fourth installment of the American series came out – American IV: The Man Comes Around – I did not get caught up in the eerie feeling that we were all listening to a man die in stereo. Cash could’ve lived another 10 years (he was a mere 70 years old upon release … a very long, worn 70 years, mind you) and recorded another two albums of cover songs.
However, once June Carter Cash passed away and the years of physical abuse through drugs, alcohol and general hard living caught up, it was only a matter of time.
The Man Comes Around feels like a real labor of love. I listened to it in its entirety for the first time a few weeks ago and Cash didn’t try too much. He sang like an old man on his last leg (whether this was his decision or not is not known).
This is an album full of pain, loss, embarrassment and regret. Cash made a long, lucrative career in penning and singing songs about packaged behavior deemed detrimental and reckless. Cash probably never shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. He did hurt himself just to feel. He hung his head down low. He probably remembered a lot of friends and lovers.
Cash had the extreme pleasure of hosting his own funeral and saying all the things he’s probably always wanted to say.
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