I’ve heard Johnny Cash referred to as “the original punk rocker.” And while I find this tag to be quite entertaining and certainly “cool,” I’m not sure quite how accurate it is. If asked to define Cash in terms of musical genres, I might call him “alt-country,” or something silly like that, but if I really gave it some thought, the only word I can think of that really captures Cash’s music in an accurate way, is “authentic.”
Lyrically, Cash’s music reaches out to something in all of us in a way that is extremely hard for any singer-songwriter (and I speak from experience). Cash speaks to our hearts, to our emotions, our desires, our sickest thoughts. When he talks about how he “shot a man in Reno,” we all know he’s telling a story, but there’s something there that we can all latch on to, whether it’s the fact that everyone’s thought about killing someone before or just the fantasy of becoming an outlaw. When Cash sings Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” there’s something in his voice that gives the song its meaning—something so weary and broken that we can all relate to it.
Cash always brings this genuine style to his music, whether he’s telling a story or telling the truth, he makes it seem real. So as I sit this morning and listen to the “Live at Folsom Prison” recordings, I can’t help but feel like a cocaine-crazed thirty-something who’s just killed his wife; like a somber young man who shot a man just to watch him die; or like a boy named Sue.
Suggested Listening: "Boy Named Sue," "Sunday Morning Coming Down," "Cocaine Blues," & "I Got Stripes"
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