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)
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)
posted by Ryan Markmann at
3:50 PM
1 Comments:
You know I thought a lot about you when Johnny Cash died. I wondered what you were thinking and how you had taken it. Thank you for sharing your feelings on that.
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