Still fightin'

Merle Haggard sings the classics and peddles biodiesel at Municipal Auditorium

BY RYAN MARKMANN

When country legend Merle Haggard performed at the Municipal Auditorium on Monday, February 5, he had something else to sell besides Tee-shirts and a huge back-catalog of CDs. The “Hag” is now an official biodiesel peddler.

Haggard and his backing band The Strangers were in San Antonio as part of the third annual National Biodiesel Conference and Expo.

After an opening remark from Davide Geanacopoulos of Volkswagen, the show’s sponsor, The Strangers started the show with George Jones’ “A Picture of Me (Without You)” and got feet stomping to the backbeat of Waylon Jennings’ “I’ve Always Been Crazy.”

But before Haggard took over the stage, biodiesel advocate and Kill Bill star Daryl Hannah introduced the country singer, calling him “one of the most beautiful creatures alive on the planet.”

Dressed in black from head to toe, Haggard joined his band, grinning behind his sunglasses and nodding to the audience. Jumping right into what would be an hour of classic, blue-collar anthems, Merle ran through “Big City,” “Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star,” and an extended version of “I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink,” with solos from almost every member of the 10-piece ensemble.

Noting that he recently switched his tour bus to biodiesel, a biodegradable nontoxic fuel made from various vegetable oils, Haggard paused to make a brief sales pitch.

“Biodiesel. How about it?” he said. “I ought to write a song about it, but I ain’t got time.”

Unlike past shows at Cowboys Dancehall and Floore’s Country Store, Haggard seemed relaxed and playful with a crowd comprised of more business-casual wear than cowboy hats. After a cover of his idol Jimmie Rodgers’ “California Blues,” Haggard made light of a recent stint in rehab.

“When your family sends you away in a yellow cab and pays the tab, you know you’re not a funny drunk.”

Haggard exchanged his signature Telecaster guitar for a fiddle to perform a short medley of Bob Wills songs including a tip of his hat to the Alamo City with “San Antonio Rose.”

One of the funniest moments of the night came when Haggard stopped his band to answer a woman in the crowd wanting to know why the Municipal didn’t recycle. Clearly amused, Haggard chuckled back that he would be sure to get down to the bottom of things after the show.

While touching on topics of growing older, his mother and marijuana, Haggard also showed his political tenacity with the patriotic “The Fightin’ Side of Me.” He even changed the lyrics to Lefty Frizzell’s “That’s The Way Love Goes” from “don’t worry baby,” to “don’t worry what George Bush does.”

A performer not known for encores, Haggard left the stage after a version of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues,” and the show was abruptly over.

As another speaker grabbed the mike to push biodiesel, fans in the back and up in the balcony wouldn’t hear of it. With shouts for Haggard growing louder and more insistent, the frustrated speaker quieted the crowd by saying “Merle’s not coming back folks.”

And he was right.

(originally published in the San Antonio Current on February 14, 2007)

Emo's celebrates 11 years

BY RYAN MARKMANN

Most businesses celebrate 10 years in service. Leave it to popular Austin music venue Emo’s to do things differently.

On Sept. 29, Emo’s will honor 11 successful years with a special anniversary show featuring the rock band Turbonegro.

Located at the corner of Sixth Street and Red River, Emo’s has become a staple in Austin’s nightlife.

Emo’s has accumulated a diverse list of artists that have graced the stage over the years, everyone from the Melvins and Jesus Lizard to The Donnas and the Get Up Kids. Even legend Johnny Cash played a sold-out show in 1994, giving Emo’s national recognition and introducing Cash to a new generation of fans.

Eric “Emo” Hartman opened and ran the club for nearly eight years, creating a hotspot for traveling punk, indie and underground bands while also catering to up-and-coming local bands.

Artist Frank Kozik began his career in Austin silk-screening posters for various clubs before gaining notoriety for his work at Emo’s. His concert posters cover the ceiling at Emo’s along with an x-rated mural of The Flintstones’ cartoon characters near the entrance.

“The owner approached me before the place opened to do posters and so on,” Kozik said. “Eric knew what was going on in Austin and made sure to contact all the currently ‘cool scene’ people to come to his place.”

Now living in San Francisco and owner of his production studio, Wackyland, Kozik still has fond memories of Emo’s.

“There were hundreds of great drunken nights, great bands. It was the perfect place,” Kozik said.

Emo’s promoter, Graham Williams, has booked thousands of bands in the last five years and attributes the club’s success to what Emo’s represents.

“We are a music venue first and a bar second. We serve people who like to listen to music,” Williams said. “Our booking policy is pretty strict as far as who we let play here. For example, if the promoter for Linkin Park called me tomorrow to set up a show, I’d probably have to tell him no; that’s not the kind of act we’re trying to get.”

Kozik has his own theory for Emo’s longevity.

“They had an excellent booking policy, a great staff, great space and location and free shows,” Kozik said.

With the exception of free shows, all of the other elements still apply, according to Emo’s current owner, Frank Hendrix.

“I’m very fortunate to have some of the best employees around,” Hendrix said. “The turnover rate here is incredibly low. That combined with a loyal following to the club is what has made this place last.”

A former stock trader and car salesman, Hendrix had never set foot in inside the club when he purchased it from Hartman four years ago.

“To be honest, the club was about 30 days away from being shut down when I got here,” Hendrix said. “The rent was past due, the utilities were behind…the place needed work.”

Within the last few years Hendrix has made a number of changes to the club, including upgrading the sound system, creating a comfortable backstage room for touring bands and knocking down a wall to expand the size of the main stage area.

Hendrix is reluctant to take credit for the success of Emo’s and insists he simply carried on what Hartman started.

“Eric gave Emo’s its attitude. He also believed if anyone leaves the club unhappy, then someone has done something wrong. We’ve always done our best to make sure that never happens,” Hendrix said."

Tickets for Emo’s 11th anniversary show are available in advance for $13 at www.emosaustin.com.

(Originally published in the Texas State University Star in 2003)

Grinderman

BY RYAN MARKMANN

In a recent BBC interview, Nick Cave complained that he finds interviews “hugely” counterproductive.

Considering that he recently released and toured behind an ambitious double album with his musical counterpart the Bad Seeds (Abattoir Blues/Lyre of the Orpheus), and wrote a critically acclaimed screenplay and accompanying soundtrack for the gritty Leone-esque The Proposition, all in a little over two years, it’s easy to see why Cave doesn’t care to reflect on the past.

To add to the list, Cave – along with Bad Seeds Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey, and Jim Sclavunos – has found time to record Grinderman, an experiment of sorts; more stripped down than the Seeds, but not bordering on chaos like Cave’s earlier work in The Birthday Party.

If you’ve come to expect sweet and merciless piano ballads from Cave, you won’t find them here. In fact, Cave forsakes the ivories altogether for fuzzed-out guitar on “Love Bomb” and the wall-of-noise showcase “Electric Alice.”

Behind the stabbing repetition of Casey’s bass and Sclavunos’s percussion, Ellis joins in the mayhem, mutating his usually transcendent violin into the part of lead guitar, screaming through an assortment of distortion and wah pedals.

With song titles such as “Get It On” and “No Pussy Blues,” Cave wastes no time on metaphor or sentiment. Cave seems preoccupied with sex, or rather, the lack thereof. Rest assured, however, he is having fun, for after repeating the refrain of “I got the no-pussy blues” on the aforementioned song, Cave rimshots with “seems I was wrong with the flowers.”

Recorded in a non-stop, five-day session in a London studio, Grinderman seems about as preconceived as a car crash, and that’s not a bad thing.

Simply put, this is pure punk and blues; not necessarily something you wouldn’t expect from Cave, just long overdue.

(Originally published in the San Antonio Current on March 28, 2007)

Snack Attack

Local pizzeria becomes the unlikely center of SA’s hardcore-punk scene

BY RYAN MARKMANN

If you’ve ever dined at a family-oriented pizza restaurant in San Antonio, there are probably a few amenities you’ve come to expect: affordable food, games for the kids and a funny name like Scooby’s Snack Shack.

You wouldn’t necessarily expect to find hardcore punk bands ripping into breakneck anthems for a throng of righteously frenzied teenagers. But for the last eight months, Scooby’s Snack Shack (formerly Midtown Pizza) has hosted some of this city’s best hardcore bands, as well as touring groups from Las Vegas to New York City, becoming the unlikely epicenter for SA’s hardcore movement.

Located next to Casbeers on Blanco Rd., Scooby’s is unassuming and easy to miss. The only standout decoration to be seen is a small mural of the Spurs’ Coyote spinning a pizza, instead of a basketball, on his finger. But what Scooby’s lacks in flash, it makes up for with the staples of a family arcade: video games, an air hockey table and crane machines.

By day, Scooby’s is a friendly pizzeria with sparse crowds. But at night, hordes of minors can be found hanging outside of the makeshift club waiting to catch their favorite hardcore band.

Josh Huskin, drummer for the SA band Lie and Wait, began booking shows at Scooby’s almost by accident. Last summer, he wandered into the building after seeing art-pop phenom Marcus Rubio play next door at Casbeers. At the time, Huskin found it difficult to locate venues in San Antonio that were affordable enough for hardcore fans. He decided that Scooby’s was a perfect option.

In step with the “do-it-yourself” ethos of hardcore, Huskin quickly took on the role of booking agent, soundman and the sometimes-grueling job of publicist, all at once and without pay.

“To really promote your shows you have to go to those bad metal-core shows at the White Rabbit with 25 bands with blood in their name and hand a flyer to every kid there hoping they come to your show,” Huskin says.

Despite the bare-bones, grassroots marketing tactics of flyers, word-of-mouth and an arsenal of Myspace bulletins, Huskin has seen crowds grow consistently from 20 to over 200 people, the latter for a show in January featuring popular hardcore acts Bitter End and Iron Age.

Considering that Scooby’s doesn’t serve alcohol, many of the shows fall on weeknights, and there is no advertising budget to speak of, it’s amazing that Huskin has found a consistent audience in a city where more visible clubs have closed their doors after struggling to maintain a loyal following.

For three years Ruben Faris worked as a cook at Midtown Pizza. Two months ago, he took over full ownership of the newly renamed restaurant along with his wife Christina. While his wife looks over the building during the day, Faris can be found sitting behind the counter at night, watching the bands play in his oversized black apron with a deadpan expression.

“Oh, you know, this music isn’t really for me. I grew up listening to Tejano, but I like it all right,” Faris says. “Hey man, music is music.”

Although allowing bands to play has proved to be a wise business decision for Faris, he takes more pride in providing a place where young people can support each other’s music and stay off of the street.

Faris is quick to give full credit to Huskin for his hard work and notes he only has one rule, a rule that has yet to be broken by the hardcore crowd: “Respect me and my place and I’ll respect you.”

One hardcore patron is Javier Torres, bass player for the local band No Return. Along with bandmates Matt Thompson, Rosendo Flores and Sam Vaughan, Torres finds Scooby’s to be a favorable locale for bands that thrive on the support of a like-minded community. It’s an idea he says other clubs don’t understand.

“There was a couple of years where the White Rabbit and the Sanctuary were handling hardcore shows,” Torres says. “As prices raised from five to fifteen dollars, the community just fell apart.”

A relatively new band, No Return has only played three shows, all at Scooby’s. Like many of the bands that frequent the restaurant, No Return chooses rapid, straightforward chord progressions and lyrics covering all the bases of personal turmoil. Vaughan, the group’s frontman, is a dead ringer for a young Henry Rollins, with his shaved head, tattooed arms and muscular stance. He bluntly sums up No Return’s performance approach as “fast, very fast.”

Over the last three decades, hardcore music has mutated from the underground subgenre shaped by bands such as Minor Threat and Bad Brains. But what hasn’t changed is that it remains a music by, and for, disaffected youth. As Huskin continues to serve the musical tastes of hardcore loyalists, Faris will continue to serve them pizza.

(Originally published in the San Antonio Current on March 7, 2007)

Bucky Covington

BY RYAN MARKMANN

For all the female commercial success stories American Idol has produced over the last six years (Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, Carrie Underwood), the modern-day musical judge, jury, and executioner has been less rewarding to its chosen sons (Justin Guarini, Clay Aiken, Bo Bice, Taylor Hicks, etc.).

Still, a dollar is a dollar, so it’s no surprise recording contracts are handed out to nearly every face that gets a chance to milk a little Idol airtime.

The latest recording bone has been thrown to Bucky Covington, a young man who barely made it into the top 10 last year. If you’re the type of person who doesn’t forget a name or a face you probably remember Bucky, who eerily resembles jazz singer Diana Krall, or would if she ever grew a soul patch. But jazz is not Bucky’s musical forte.

On his self-titled debut album, Covington steps into the highly charted territory of Americana. In what seems to be a retooling of Springsteen’s “Glory Days” through 11 song titles – such as “American Friday Night,” “Hometown,” and “It’s Good To Be Us,” – originality does not come off as Bucky’s strong suit. And with Nashville producer Mark Miller (of Sawyer Brown fame/infamy) at the helm, Covington doesn’t stand a chance of escaping the slick Music Row chains to which he’s bound.

Another setback is that the album is manufactured on Lyric Street, the proclaimed “country division” of the Buena Vista/Walt Disney Company. Lyric Street produces bands of similar stunted creative growth, such as Rascal Flatts and Shedaisy. Unlike those bands, however, Covington adds a little vocal flavor to each song with a voice that suggests Travis Tritt with a pulled groin.

With Underwood poised to become the most popular Idol to date, one can only imagine how music execs have been salivating over the initiation of the next country crossover. As demonstrated by his performance on the show, Covington will never be first-rate, so he might have to settle for a distant, second-think Kellie Pickler.

(Originally published in the San Antonio Current on April 11, 2007)

Black Sabbath

BY RYAN MARKMANN

1979 was a rough year.

There was a nuclear meltdown at Three Mile Island, 66 Americans were taken hostage in Iran, John Wayne passed away, and the Village People climbed to the top of the pop charts with “YMCA.”

And, just to rub vodka in the wound, Ozzy Osbourne parted ways with Black Sabbath.

Continually sagging sales from precarious electronic ventures such as Technical Ecstasy and Never Say Die, combined with drugs and internal conflicts, led to Ozzy (depending on whose story you hear) quitting or being fired.

The remaining members, most notably guitarist Tony Iommi, were left with the question of who would make a suitable replacement. The answer was Ronnie James Dio.

The “Man on the Silver Mountain” and former Rainbow frontman assumed his new role with gusto, adding fresh oil to the squeaky wheels of the Sabbath machine. Under the guise of flowing, permed hair and high, piercing vocals (in contrast to Osbourne’s more monotone drawl), Dio spent four years with Iommi, bassist Geezer Butler and Dio drummer Vinnie Appice, becoming part of two often overlooked albums, Heaven and Hell and Mob Rules.

On such hits as “Neon Knights,” “Lady Evil” and “Turn Up The Night,” Dio’s lyrics were a twisted version of King Arthur’s Court, steeped in images of swords, dragons and maidens.

With the new release of Black Sabbath: The Dio Years, a retrospective of Dio’s time with the band, including three new studio tracks, Dio (unable to use the name Black Sabbath per insistence from Osbourne’s camp) is on a subsequent tour under the moniker Heaven and Hell.

So, if you admire the man who purportedly made the “horned hand” the official hand sign of heavy metal, start flexing your fingers. If not, don’t fuss. In the revolving-door world of rock reunions, it has already been reported that Ozzy is in talks for a Black Sabbath reunion…again.

(Originally published in the San Antonio Current on April 27, 2007)

Clipd Beaks

BY RYAN MARKMANN

Clipd Beaks have at least two things in common with Prince. They both originally hail from Minneapolis and the Beaks’ sound evokes the synth-happy confusion of Purple Rain’s inventive “Computer Blue” and “Darling Nikki.”

That’s about as far as the comparisons go.

On their six-song EP, Preyers, Scott Ecklein, Ray Benjamin, Nic Barbeln, and Greg Pritchard chronicle the mindsets of five young men coping with the realities of life under George Bush’s rule.

A unique concept for a post-punk band with psychedelic inclinations? Maybe. But with song titles such as “Nuclear Arab,” “We Will Bomb You (we will),” and the marathon “Messed-up Desert,” the political pieces aren’t too hard to put together.

As part of a U.S. tour that will extend into the summer – when Hoarse Lords, their first full-length album, is released on Tigerbeat6 – Clipd Beaks made an extended pit stop in Austin for SXSW with a showcase at the Beauty Bar, along with the beat-friendly Kid606 and White Williams.

After a few dates in Arkansas and Louisiana, the Beaks return to South Texas on Sunday with the like-minded company of Church of The Snake to work a venue called The Mattress Factory. New to the Alamo City, The Mattress Factory, funny enough, used to be, well, a mattress factory.

Ultimately, Prince might not be the best royal analogy for the Beaks, as Barbeln would rather you compare them to another prince, Prince Be of early ‘90s R&B/hip-hop phenom P.M. Dawn. While Dawn’s hit “Set Adrift On Memory Bliss” may parallel the Beak’s “Smoke Me When I’m Gone” in sentiment, Barbeln makes it clear that the connection is more than tongue-in-cheek irony, when he proclaims: “Clipd Beaks are the P.M. Dawn of noise-rock.”

(Originally published in the San Antonio Current on March 21, 2007)

Still rockin' at 61

BY RYAN MARKMANN

SAN ANTONIO -- At 22 years old, it’s strange to be the youngest person at a rock ‘n’ roll show.

Music legend Leon Russell performed to a sea of 50-year-olds Wednesday at Sunset Station. Balding hipsters and women old enough to be my grandmother wearing leopard-spotted halter tops filled Sunset to see the man known as the “Master of Space and Time.”

I’ve never been a fan of the venue. Whether the performer is Junior Brown or Danzig, the acoustics of the stage seldom complement anyone. The price for a beer is too embarrassing to mention and the flashing lights around the stage gives one the illusion that they are the steel ball being shot around a blinding pinball machine.

None of my usual gripes seemed to matter when Russell took the stage.

Sixty-one-year old Russell sneaked out to his seat, hiding behind his wide assortment of keyboards, computer gadgets and his huge ZZ Top-style beard.

He began pounding away on the keyboard allowing the crowd little time to react. Before a breath could be taken, Russell had finished six songs, including a new retooled version of Tennessee Ernie Ford’s “Sixteen Tons.”

When Russell and family began the Rolling Stones’ ”Wild Horses,” one man in the audience, who oddly seemed right in place wearing a turtleneck and stonewashed jeans, started throwing out high-fives to all hands that would accept.

Russell has played with a list of artists so diverse and impressive it’s hard to choose ones to list here. Frank Sinatra, Ike and Tina Turner, Sam Cooke, The Beach Boys, and Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass are a small taste.

Russell finally stopped to introduce himself and his band, which included his two daughters, Tina Rose and Sugaree Noel, singing backup. “Delta Lady,” a song from his landmark album Leon Russell, started a near two-hour medley of hits from the Russell catalog.

Bass player Jackie Wessell and Rose lent their singing talents to a few songs, but whether Russell is singing in his gravel-driven voice or simply banging away at the keyboard, he is impossible to overshadow.

Halfway through the show, Russell’s band exited the stage so Russell could become more intimate with the audience. He has made a career out of collaborating with other artists on stage and in the studio, but sitting there, musically naked in his oversized Hawaiian shirt, it was easy to see Russell in a more romantic light.

He picked some of his slower songs, looking over such favorites as “Sweet Emily” and “This Masquerade” for “That Lucky Old Sun” and “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue.”

I’m not sure any Russell concert would be complete without his most-recorded work “A Song For You.” One of the best love songs ever written, “A Song” has been covered by everyone from Dusty Springfield and Willie Nelson to Lena Horne and Prince. As is the case with covers, the creator usually does it best, and Russell proved that by provoking many bodies to sway and a standing ovation at the end.

Famous Texas musician Augie Meyers of the Texas Tornados had a reserved seat in the middle of the venue, showing his approval with a smile and a nod of the head. Shortly after the mellow set, it was time to get back to the rock with hits like “Dixie Lullaby,” “Prince of Peace,” and “Stranger in a Strange Land.”

Russell ended his set with a song he’s been playing so long many folks think he wrote it. “Jumping Jack Flash” by the Rolling Stones has been a staple in Russell’s set almost as long as it has in the Stones'.

Russell made a career of being a “musical chameleon,” as he was referred to in the ‘70s, covering everything from rock, jazz, bluegrass, country and pop.

In 1973, Russell was acknowledged as the top concert attraction by Billboard Magazine. That was long before I was born, but 30 years later I can still see why Russell was a giant in his youth.

Though he has abandoned the long, evangelical-styled sermons and high-pitched screams that sent him above his contemporaries and filled arenas across the world, the spark remains. It may be hidden behind the white beard and sunglasses, but Russell’s unique voice and mysterious persona still demand attention. Whether you’re 9 or 99, you will notice.


(Originally published in the Texas State University Star in 2003)

Legendary DJ

BY RYAN MARKMANN

Tom Allen is not recognized by name alone. Fans of country music radio know him by voice.

Allen has been playing some of the best songs classic country music has to offer for almost 24 years on Austin station 98.1 KVET-FM. He also hosts the Country Gold show, the top-rated Saturday morning show in Austin.

To say Allen is a professional in the world of broadcast is an understatement. He has been a DJ for nearly half a century. Though Allen has won numerous awards throughout the years and nominations for “DJ of the Year” by the Country Music Association, Allen has not forgotten his humble beginnings.

“I was asked to fill in for an announcer who had partied too much on New Year’s Eve.” Allen said. “That was my big break.”

Allen found his passion for broadcast while attending the University of Minnesota in his hometown of Duluth. He was offered a job as an announcer for the campus radio station KUMD-FM, and quickly moved to commercial broadcasting. Allen’s transition to country music was not as smooth.

“I became a country DJ totally by accident,” Allen said. “I had been playing music for about six years when the radio station I was working for decided to change formats. They asked me to stay on to see how I liked country music, and I fell in love with it. I’ve been country ever since.”

In 1979, Allen and his family moved to Austin where he was hired as program director for stations KVET and KASE 101. Although many of today’s country stations cater only to contemporary country music, Allen’s preference is for classic country.

Classic country music is typically defined as music recorded from 1945 to 1985, and is significant not only by era, but also by the artist.

“We concentrate on those artists who have made their mark during that 40-year period. For instance, Merle Haggard and Charley Pride are classic country artists, Tim McGraw and Toby Keith are not,” Allen said.

Although Allen is content with playing his favorite music, he also sees a trend in mainstream country music that has affected his own listeners.

“Many, many folks do not consider what is being ‘cranked out’ today as country music. That’s why the older music has such appeal,” Allen said. “I think we’re about to go through what pop music went through that led to the success of oldies and classic rock stations. Growing disenfranchisement led to the popularity of those formats.”

Allen believes today’s country music market is different because the music is driven by a song instead of the artist.

“Years ago, George Jones could record a mediocre song and it would still be a hit. Why? Because he was George Jones,” Allen said. “Today, the song has to measure up, or it doesn’t matter who recorded it.”

Janice Williams, KVET music director and afternoon personality, disagrees.

“I think the current Nashville scene is more artist-driven with the image and total package of Tim McGraw, Shania Twain and Kenny Chesney,” Williams said. “I think their audience looks more for them than the actual song and its appeal.”

Williams plays mostly current country songs on the charts but recognizes classic country’s value to the station.

“The classics are very important to KVET because we were the first station to ever play so many of these great songs in Austin,” Williams said. “Tom is so great with this because he has such a long history with KVET and such a broad range of knowledge.”

Allen acknowledges artists such as George Strait and Alan Jackson as two good examples of country stars who continually stay true to country without pandering to the pop crowd. Allen’s only advice to up-and-coming artists of the genre is to “stay as country as you can.”

Allen’s Country Gold show pulls an impressive 23 percent audience share on Saturdays, meaning a quarter of all radios in the area are tuned to him at that time. The target audience is 35-to 63-year-olds, and Allen is always surprised to hear from younger listeners who have developed an appreciation for classic country music.

“I just got an e-mail from a girl who says her friends think she’s crazy; her main focus of music is on pop and hip-hop, but she loves our Saturday morning classics show. How’s that for diversity?” Allen said.

Listeners who are unable to hear Country Gold on Saturdays can still catch Allen on his weekday program. Ron Curtis, a mechanic at Holt machinery in South Austin, listens to Allen while he works on tractors. Curtis spoke for other mechanics at Holt when he gave a simple reason for listening to classic country.

“It’s what I grew up with,” Curtis said.

(originally published in the Texas State University Star in 2004)

Man In Black 1932-2003

BY RYAN MARKMANN

In the late outlaw Waylon Jennings’ song “Living Legends” he writes, “Living legends are a dying breed and there ain’t too many of us left.”

Those words never seemed so true when American icon Johnny Cash passed away Friday.

I had spent the night before he died on the computer, oddly enough, reading news feeds on the Internet about the new album he was working on with producer Rick Rubin. Earlier that day I had an itch to listen to Cash’s last album, American IV: The Man Comes Around. I ended up falling asleep with it playing in the background.

The next morning Cash was dead.

I think I speak for many fans of Cash when I say his death did not come unexpectedly. Cash suffered for almost a decade from chronic illness and after the passing of his beloved wife, June Carter, I understood there was one big reason not to fight off illness anymore.

In that respect, I’m glad Johnny Cash left.

In an interview with MTV’s Kurt Loder, ominously done only a month ago, Cash said, “Oh, I expect my life to end pretty soon. You know, I’m 71 years old. I have great faith though; I have unshakeable faith.”

Cash was aware of his destiny. He seemed at peace with this life and looked forward to the next one with his wife.

Still, I couldn’t stop the tears when I saw the scrolling ticker on CNN cementing the fact—he was gone.

I cried for what I had lost as a fan of music and as an American. To say Cash was an original is a gross understatement. He was so much more--an actor, a preacher, a husband and a father.

Cash was a humanitarian.

Cash was a voice.

Besides all of his contributions to society and to the definition of what a true American artist is and should hope to become, Cash left the best gift of all in his music.

He shaped what rockabilly would become and along with fellow Sun Records artists Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presly and Carl Perkins, paved the way for rock ‘n’ roll before the Beatles ever set foot on American soil.

Cash broke the binds on genres, categories and labels. He wasn’t country, rock or folk. He was all of those things and more.

Even in Cash’s golden years he didn’t become a parody of himself or burn out. He did one of the most dangerous things in the music business. Cash reinvented himself and succeeded.

As I reflect upon Cash’s career, I come to an important question, a question George Jones already pondered through song years ago.

Who’s going to fill Cash’s shoes?

Obviously, there will never be another “Man in Black,” but there must be someone who can encompass at least half of what Cash represented. There has to be another legend waiting to emerge in my time.

But the more I think about it, fewer artists come to mind. In the world of country, who will follow? Toby Keith, Tim McGraw, Shania Twain, Kenny Chesney?

I don’t think so.

In rock music, whom can we turn to? Creed, Metallica, Aerosmith?

Artists today are afraid of taking risks. They won’t go outside the box that record executives, money and managers have stuffed them in.

When Cash died, one of the first celebrity reactions posted on TV and in print was by pop singer and kiddie-idol Justin Timberlake. If he’s the only person the media can go to from my generation to respond to Cash’s passing, we are all screwed.

The only advice I can impart now is to listen to the American legends we have left. Listen to Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Ray Charles and Bob Dylan; take pride in who they are and the difference they’ve made in American culture.

Heed the warning of Waylon Jennings, or as he says at the end of his song, “that’ll be all folks.”

(2003)