Johnny Cash: One More Time
The daily article at “On the Square” over at First Things today is by Yours Truly, and it’s on the new Johnny Cash album, titled Ain’t No Grave
Even by itself, “I Corinthians 15:55” will make most listeners grateful for the album’s existence. With months left to live, and in the shadow of the death of his wife, June, this sweetly melodic composition, played like a chamber-piece from the hills, is simultaneously his faithful testament and urgent prayer, and so asserts a spirit that was never very far from his work during his half-century in show business.
Show business? Yes, it was that. We may forget, because of his tremendous presence, both on stage and in the arena of memory, that he was a man practicing a profession. If anyone ever seemed like the proverbial force of nature, it was Johnny Cash. Yet his thunderous sound with voice and guitar, his imposing manner and profile, and all the elements of what you could fairly call his shtick were in the end tools to a purpose beyond the mere acquisition of attention. While lesser performers employ their shtick only to that end, Cash directed his gifts towards expressing the sentiments of the song which he was singing at any given time. Whether performing his own classic tune like “I Walk The Line” or “I Still Miss Someone,” or a gospel number like “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” Cash would put it across with a clarity and an honesty that left a listener no room for doubt. Cash’s delivery was always unmistakable; the song, in his hands, was unmissable.
(Warning: Contains spoilers for those who still believe in Santa Claus) 
struck me both strongly and delightfully upon the very first listen, and it continues to strike me that way after many further spins. However, rather than try to make a grand case here as to why others ought to like the album (I know that some people love it and some people feel quite otherwise) I’m just going to explore why it seems to work better for me personally than most Christmas albums. I do suspect that how I have inwardly responded to it is true for quite a few others as well, whether or not they have analyzed it for themselves in the same way I do here. 
At the outset, I should say that I am no extreme hi-fi buff, in my own estimation; perhaps not even a moderate hi-fi buff. It’s well that I remember being a teenager and how intensely I enjoyed music, some of which I still listen to today, on some of the worst equipment imaginable: a monophonic compact cassette player that would eat up my precious tapes; an old portable mono phonograph with a buzzing speaker and a tendency of the arm to skip right down a perfect brand new album. Ah, my poor deprived childhood! It was a hellish effort just 
I have a piece today on Bob Dylan’s new album, 
, and thoughts generated out of listening to it and through reading recent interviews with him. It’s in The New Ledger: 
I purchased the RCA RP5435 AM/FM Clock Radio with an extra-large 1.4-inch display yesterday. And yes, I did it because (without my glasses on) I am virtually blind, at least when it comes to objects at a distance. I did not buy this clock radio for the various sexy selling points described on the box, such as the automatic time-set (which just means it’s preset at the factory, by the way), or the audio input for an mp3 player (I like waking up to the news headlines; I guess getting angry and disgusted helps me get out of bed), or the “programmable snooze & sleep” (I can’t imagine a single circumstance where I’d want to use that). I bought it because I wanted a clock radio with big numbers that I could easily see when I wake up in the middle of the night. 
It’s a dog’s life. That expression was originally coined and used to characterize a life of misery (where you might be treated like a dog, get sick as a dog, and die like a dog). In more contemporary times it’s often heard and used in exactly the opposite sense, that of a dog’s life as one of carefree laziness, with every want fulfilled. Since dogs have, in many societies, gone from working beasts thrown scraps to pampered pets who shop at canine boutiques, it’s not hard to understand how the expression has garnered its new meaning. 
A few years ago, at the age of eighty, Samuel Menashe became the first recipient of the “Neglected Masters Award” from 
(This was originally published May 14th, 2008. )
