Four large letters were printed across the top of a black-and-white photo on the cover of American V: A Hundred Highways: CASH. A picture finds Johnny Cash sitting quietly, microphone hanging before him, head bowed and eyes closed, listening to the music track over headphones.
Waiting for his cue to sing, it is hard to tell if the expression on his face is one of humility, impatience, reverence or disappointment. But was it ever really possible to tell with Johnny Cash?
The covers of the American Records’ Cash series all looked much the same, and were likely intended to play into the common perception of Johnny Cash as an artist. Yet in truth, they say just as much about how Rick Rubin chose to present the music of an undeniable American music legend: Simplicity. It is hard to believe no one ever really thought of using it again, regarding the art of J.R. Cash.
Rubin picked Cash up off the trash heap in 1993, where he’d been mostly ignored if not forgotten by the Nashville money-making machine. What happened next seems like common sense now, but then seemed like a complete waste of time and energy to many. Rubin let Cash do what he does best: honesty.
Thankfully, the public was interested enough that Johnny Cash recovered a little of what he was due, and we the public recovered Cash – although almost a little too late. From his early days as a pioneer of rockabilly and rock ‘n’ roll in the 1950s to his country and gospel work, there was always more than just a pinch of the dangerous and contentious with Cash.
Anyone paying attention when American V: A Hundred Highways arrived in 2006 was already aware that this frailer, older and at-peril man often now carried more emotional punch in his songs than the younger, more pissed-off version – for the simple reason that Cash had become endangered himself. This would become the first album issued after he passed away.
But Cash had grown into a person who was capable of accepting the concept of a world without him in it. A Hundred Highways showed that he was willing to put it down for the record how a life lived, and soon-to-be lost, made him feel.
There was nothing quite as bleak as his cover of “Hurt” on this fifth American release of Cash music – and maybe that’s a good thing. Still, plenty of moments were capable of shaking you up, such as the first track: “Help Me,” a plea to God for the strength to take just a few more steps, or at least a little understanding of why things have to be the way they are.
Then there was “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” a bluesy reminder of the inevitable and obvious. “Like the 309,” appropriately enough, was the last song Johnny Cash ever wrote. It is about a train, a coffin and taking that last ride we all have to eventually take.
A Hundred Highways ultimately followed the blueprint of the previous Rick Rubin albums, including remakes of Cash’s own earlier-released material as well as songs made notable by others, including Bruce Springsteen, Hank Williams and Gordon Lightfoot. These covers frequently made it apparent just how capable Cash was of making a song his own, and the scope of his ability to tell a story or conjure up emotion long faded away.
The bedrock of faith and hope Cash possessed even in the face of uncertainty showed up in the middle portion of the recording. “I Came to Believe” can almost certainly be taken as an explanation of the duel state of faithful and fallen where Johnny Cash often seemed to exist. Cash also reminded us of the trials, tribulations and simple joys of relationships on “Love’s Been Good to Me” and “A Legend In My Time.” Finally, the last two tracks returned to the themes of moving on and finally becoming free – meant, perhaps, to speak to us of acceptance and redemption.
The result was a simple, dignified and beautiful yet challenging album. American V: A Hundred Highways dealt with harsh truths, all the while not forgetting the simple pleasures. The body and voice at that point may have become ruined instruments, but no attempt was made to pass Cash off as anything but what he still was. At the same time, these recordings should have given the music industry plenty of reasons to reconsider some of the “artists” they artificially produce on the mixing board. (We all know how that’s turned out.)
Cash’s legacy was, of course, already established, but the music with Rick Rubin provided a remarkable capstone. Something miraculous happened with Johnny Cash at the end of his life – and that was a very good thing. Like the rest of his best work, this one stuck.
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