Album of the Week
Ain't No Grave is a funeral for fans of Johnny Cash. It's not the kind of service in which a minister prays for salvation, mentioning the high points of a life along the way. This is the funeral Cash delivered on his own mortality: stark pictures of a mean old world, memories too sweet to forget and the universal search for a freedom that can only be defined by the searcher. The Man in Black -- a title given him by a Nashville scene dressed in glitter and one that the hippy-com-beatnik generation reveled in - was too plain-spoken and humble to have contrived the 10-song set as a self-reflection, but the title song says it for him. There is no grave large enough to capture Cash's simple upbringing and complex inner struggles, his self-image and the one created by the cult of personality or the talent that it takes to remain relevant and respected while recording hymns, traditional folk songs and the tunes of Nine Inch Nails, Depeche Mode and Bob Dylan.
Ain't No Grave is the sixth in a series of sets produced by Rick Rubin, who was best known as a hip hop and hard rock producer until he began to work with Cash in 1992. The time was right for Johnny Cash to move from dusty old record store bins to the Starbucks sound system. Just the year before Elektra had juiced up the careers of Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Bozo Chavis, Charlie Feathers, Vernard Johnson and Johnnie Johnson with the American Explorer Series. The artists were recorded with state of the art recording equipment but in the tradition of roots sessions; no overdubs, no strings, no electric drums. Suddenly these guys (some old, some not so old) were on commercial radio. The Americana format ate them up because they added depth and credibility to the neo-folk and pleasant pop on its playlist.
Those American Explorer CDs are some of the finest the artists ever recorded and among the most honest of the recording industry's efforts to make something old new again. It is with this as a backdrop, and possibly an incentive, that Rubin began his work with Cash by feeding him standards, rockers and traditional songs. Johnny Cash chose what he wanted to record with Rubin coaxing him into some of his far-out suggestions. The first release, Cash, was a man and his guitar taking on traditional country songs, some originals and making the tunes of Nick Lowe, Leonard Cohen, Loudon Wainright and Tom Waits his own. It's a stunning set because of its musical purity and the many revelations of Johnny Cash the man and artist. It was also a critical success, won a Grammy and opened the ears of a new, younger audience. The ensuing releases brought further insight into Cash, while Rubin slowly began to add musicians into the mix, always tastefully. These albums too were popular, though the constant presence of dark material began to turn Cash into an introspective, almost bitter, has-been. There was no hint of the wildly sexy "Ring of Fire," nary a nod to Cash's children's recordings and nothing as strong as Live at Folsom Prison. But then Rubin never promised us the life of Johnny Cash but rather the man in the moment. That said, there is still the question of how much Rubin directed Cash's musical persona of the past fifteen or so years.
This final work of Cash and Rubin is a break in that pattern of pain. It's a coda to the series, neither bleak nor gruelingly introspective. There are no shocking covers and no opportunities to free associate the life of Cash with that of Trent Rezor or Tom Waits. Rather it is the Balm of Gilead, soothing the past and thereby allowing an unknown future to be considered, even welcomed. On the traditional title cut, Cash is ready to meet his maker, rejoicing at the sight of Gabriel. Scott Avett's banjo is as bright as the archangel's trumpet. One of the most potent songs in the set is Cash's cover of Sheryl Crow's "Redemption Road." There is a hint of a sneer in his voice as Cash describes the meanness and greed of the ruling class. Then he softens as he sings about the masses travelling toward heaven, which is their only chance of freedom. In the same vein is "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream," Ed McCurdy's anti-war classic which also looks for hope outside the worldly realm. And again looking to a better future, Cash sings Tom Paxton's "Where I'm Bound" with all the rousing vitality of the original.
There are two love songs present, "For the Good Times" and "I Don't Hurt Anymore." Both can be imagined as Cash tributes to his late wife, June Carter Cash. Their lives together were rocky but committed, and the sweetness of the first is balanced by the pain in the second. The only Cash original is "I Corinthians 15:15." Using the Biblical verse that contains "Oh death where is thy sting," Cash relishes his hold on life while admitting a fear of the unknown.
The final tune on Ain't No Grave is "Aloha Oe," written by the Hawaiian Queen Lili'uokalani as a farewell love song. But after she was overthrown and imprisoned by Americans it became a farewell to her kingdom and its queen. It is still sung today after most traditional Hawaiian funerals, weddings and other functions. Cash's version, set to a Hawaiian-sounding guitar and sung in both its original language and English, is plaintive with the beauty of the melody lifting his voice to an almost spiritual sound. As a finale to the passage from this world to the next, it's not as convincing as another song in the set would have been. Cash's version of "Satisfied Mind," the gospel-themed song that Porter Wagoner made a hit in 1954 is solid and serene. It sounds as if it was the way he would have wanted to depart all that was, and for fans still is, Johnny Cash.
