What a horrible week for legendary musicians. What a horrible week for anyone who cares about their fellow man. I don’t think I have seen a smile on anyone’s face in days.
On Monday when I found out that Warren Zevon had passed away, I remembered that Johnny Cash had been ailing and a sudden flash of horror skittered across my brain “what will I feel when Johnny dies?”
I have always been a loving fan of Johnny Cash from the day my daddy played his music. My father was a hillbilly so he had some questionable taste in music, but he loved Johnny and Hank. So in turn did I.
Johnny Cash was a man who defied musical stereotypes in my mind: a visionary. So much of his music defined what it meant to be a thinking man’s country singer. He didn’t sing just about drinking and carousing with women, his tales were songs of loss, pain and solitude. A man constantly seeking answers from an unyielding world full of mystery.
His low, gravely voice seemed to rumble in my bowels and I often felt as though I had come from a demon exorcising revival. All sins conjured up, inspected, held up to the light and discovered for what they were, a withered boogeyman from a child’s imagination.
I haven’t listened to Johnny as much in recent years, but his musical impact on me was made early and never left. I hope he has finally found the answers to the questions that he always seemed to be seeking.