I knew it was coming. You knew it was coming. Hell, he knew it was coming.
And still, it seems like he can't possibly be gone.
Why? I'm not sure. He had a timelessness about him, I guess. He always seemed old. He always seemed young. Part of another world. He didn't fit, and yet he fit perfectly.
If somebody told me that archaeologists had found cave paintings that included the words to Fulsom Prison Blues, I would not be surprised.
Makes you want to believe in reincarnation. Makes me happy that it is indeed raining here.
His voice has accompanied so many important moments in my life, and many more mundane. Driving down a dirt road with a friend, getting ready for a night out at the bar, the high point of a karaoke evening will always be hearing Fulsom Prison Blues sung with a scottish accent. He was good for a sunny day or a rainy one. Many lazy sunday afternoons have been passed quietly with Johnny on the stereo and a mug of hot coffee by my side. Many shots of tequila have been downed in smokey, sleezy bars thankfully playing I Walk the Line over the stereo.
He gave me hope in many things.
Hope that there was something more after all this. If the Man in Black was sure that somebody was looking out for him, then surely there is that for me too. Whatever it may be.
Hope that country musicians might look upon him and get it. Because whenever somebody derided that form of music, I would smile and think that they didn't really mean it. Because of Johnny Cash. And maybe there is hope for that particular genre. Time for the young ones to learn still.
A long time gone...
His music meant hope. The themes he explored in his songs were about redemption, rebirth, restoration, and the sweeping, cleansing, all-consuming, burning power of love.
He was an outlaw who had found God and found him as a friend, not a looming deity to be feared and obeyed.
When June Carter-Cash died earlier this year, I thought to myself: "He won't stay long after her."
Was he a country musician? Was he a folkie? Was he a punk? He was all of those things. He was both apart from the crowd and down there with the common folk. Truly there was something about every song he ever sang that others could relate to. He was one of us, just going through life, living and learning and trying not to make the same mistakes twice. But it was also like he was looking out for us, ahead of the pack as he usually was. He was an outlaw. A rebel. A hero. A guy you don't mess with. The boy in your class who was so cool that he'd sometimes beat up the bully and get your lunch money back for you. The word for it, for what he was, is legend.
The problem with being a legend is that you have to die.
I don't think I've ever felt so much sorrow at the death of a celebrity. It hurts, physically hurts that he is gone. Johnny Cash has always been a constant force in my life. Playing when I was a baby, playing when I was in high school, playing now. Playing still, somewhere.
We shall drink a toast to the music makers. Play Live at Fulsom Prison and smile upon our good fortune to have known such a fine musician, such a fine, powerful force in our time.
Play on.
Tunes: Johnny Cash.
