|
I'm going by the rest of the crowd on this one, but it would seem that the pleasure to be had in being "taken back to hill country" could well depend on one having been there in the first place.
Not Muswell Hill, but the Virginia Hills — Carter country, where Maybelle and Ezra raised Anita, Helen and June to pick "Wildwood Flower" and "Wabash Cannonball" on the six string. Myself, I go for that hillbilly shite in a big way — the travelling minstrel ethic (save the sinners of this town, move on, do it all over again), such a refreshing change from the rock 'n' roll one (screw their women, do their drugs etc).
June Carter, wife of Johnny, mother of Carlene, in particular embodies the spirit of the Southern Woman — all nervous tics, twitches, hair and sequins, counting her blessings (and ours) and coronaries (Waylon and Johnny's) with equal reverence for Him and His fuckups. "Praise God," shrieks a convert who came for Cash's "Jackson" but got religion instead. Actually, he got "Jackson" too, though the fact that he requested it even after it was played was disturbing.
Carter's alarming ability to generate inappropriate bursts of applause becomes unsettling only after "We lost our close friend Roy Orbison this year" sends various members of the audience into strange spasms of appreciation.
Finally, she brings out her better half, who brings out "kinfolk" Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello for "Will The Circle Be Unbroken" — the ArnazinsoddinGrace of C&W — and tonight's version is the Gospel according to Rockpile.
Costello comes back for a duet on "The Big Light" and Lowe returns for "Without Love" — the only song he can remember the words to. So where's Nick Cave for "Long Black Veil," or Stan Ridgway for "Ring Of Fire" or John bloody Langford for "Folsom Prison Blues"? The point being that for all the outward flash of the Johnny Cash roadshow, the paternal comfort of Cash's "bin there, done that" baritone captures that back porch jam spirit, and all you gotta do to join in is yelp in recognition when the next bassline rolls around.
When he waxes philosophical prior to "the prison set" ("Some of the prisons out here are worse than the prisons behind bars"), it brings to mind that marvellous Kershawsian logic, inspired by a spin of "San Quentin": "Ay! It wouldba been wuth wile to a dun a stretch to see that gig."
Energetic versions of "Get Rhythm" and "Ghost Riders In The Sky" speak volumes for Cash's own stretch at the Betty Ford, his strong post-pep pill presence clinic shining example of how to age gracefully.
By virtue of his Good Man In Black endurance, his unshakeably sane approach to Christianity, his rubbishing of country's so-called redneck tradition and his millions of brilliant songs, Cash remains the undisputed King of Country and it was a major major privilege to see him perform.
| 
