There is probably no more proper requiem for Johnny Cash than “Like the 309,” the last song the singer wrote before he died in September 2003. The track, an allusion to Cash’s signature freight train sound of the ’50s and ’60s, is the life of Cash’s second-to-last title in his “America” series, “American V: A Hundred Highways.” Listening to “309,” you can’t help but think that it’s the original Johnny Cash.
The rest of the album is no less astonishing. Like the other volumes in the series, Rick Rubin produced “V,” but no one with any familiarity with Rubin’s usual work – Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jay-Z – will recognize his influence on the album. Cash’s voice takes over right from the start; what follows is a haunting, painful and beautiful series of covers (with the exception of “309” and “I Came to Believe,” a re-recording). Cash once said he was “an artist who is a Christian” rather than a Christian artist. Never is this idea more present than on “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” Cash’s dirge for himself.
“(God) called my name and my heart stood still/ When He said, ‘John, go do my will,'” Cash sings while a rhythmic combination of hand claps and bass drum echo in the background. Cash might not be a gospel singer, but “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” is full of the soul of American blues. Johnny always did it his own way. And that’s why the album doesn’t feel hokey or unoriginal, for calling “V” a cover album would be a terrible oversight. Cash makes every song his own with a booming voice that can whimper without sounding whiny.
“With a humble heart on bended knee/ I’m asking you please for help,” Cash bellows on “Help,” his rendition of the Larry Gatlin track. Only two artists have the ability deliver such a line without giving it a hint of pretention: Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash. And Johnny delivers it with the raw honesty that made tracks such as “Walk the Line,” “Ring of Fire” and “Boy Named Sue” American classics.
The songs on “V” are the work of a man living on borrowed time that he never asked anyone to lend him. Cash sings as though he owes something to everyone, whether it be the memory of his wife, June Carter Cash, who died just four months before Johnny, to music or to his God.
But “V” shows one thing: Johnny Cash doesn’t owe anything to anyone. For harrowingly-beautiful music like this, it is we who should all be grateful.
– Steve Aquino
