It's been a tough week for fans of high quality music. Early in the week we lost Warren Zevon, and just a few days later, Johnny Cash. I started worrying about Johnny Cash a few months back, right after June Carter Cash died. It's not that uncommon for people to just go ahead and die when they lose their spouse, and Johnny Cash had not been in the best of health for some time. But he seemed to be holding up okay. Not great, but okay, so I relaxed a little bit.
Then I got the phone call at six on Friday morning. I didn't answer because the number didn't show on my phone, and I figured it was a wrong number. Then a message showed up. It was a peculiar message from the Evil Queen (whose number usually shows up, why was my phone rebelling?) She sounded like she had also been up all night playing video games and the entire message was, "Johnny Cash died. Oh, and John Ritter." And then she hung up with a loud clatter.
I reported the message to LCG who said, "You called it." "But I didn't want to be right!" I went home feeling kind of sad and went to bed. I decided that I wouldn't write about Johnny Cash because I didn't think I had any business doing so. While I would call myself an admirer of Johnny Cash (show me someone who doesn't admire Johnny Cash and I will show you someone who needs their shin kicked) I would not put myself in the fan category. I like his work, but I probably only have two or three of his records. (I just checked. I have one. I used to have more, but I'm guessing they got sold off because they were too scratched and I never got around to replacing them.)
But then I started watching television, and I got mad. I was watching one of those terrible afternoon entertainment programs, and they were doing their tribute to Johnny Cash. They read a couple of statements released by country acts, and they did things like call him an icon and a huge influence. Well, duh. I was like, hey Dixie Chicks, thanks for the comment, but can't you do better? I would rather hear something about them gathering at one of their homes and crying and listening to Johnny Cash records all day. That would be a statement.
And then there was a statement from Bono. Freaking Bono. You know, I like Rattle And Hum and Achtung Baby pretty well, but I haven't forgotten that horrible Pop record. Apparently, neither has Bono, because now instead of making records, he has all the time in the world to release asinine statements about anything and everything that happens, ever. His statement did not add value to my day either.
I ended up disgruntled by television, and I also began taking the loss harder than I had anticipated. I started thinking about an article I read in Rolling Stone about the Rolling Stones several years ago. They were getting ready for a tour (early 90s, it must have been Voodoo Lounge) and at some point Keith Richards asked the interviewer how old he was. The interviewer had been born in the late sixties, and Keith said that he should be the one doing the interviewing, because the reporter had never lived in a world without the Rolling Stones, and Keith thought that was interesting.
I remember that interview every so often, particularly when the Stones celebrated their fortieth anniversary. They have been around almost as long as rock and roll. This time I remembered it because it suddenly occurred to me that I had never lived in a world without Johnny Cash. He has always been there, making records and generally being prolific and fabulous and dressed in black.
And not only has he been around for a long time, he was one of the early artists on Sun Records. When Sam Phillips died not so long ago, I looked at his death as the end of an era. I realize that independent record labels have been steadily vanishing for decades, but I still hold dear the stories of Sun, Stax/Volt, and other early studios. And now, not only has Sam passed on, but one of his very important artists has also left us. But I don't feeling like going off on any pretentious end-of-an-era crap right now, there are more important things to do.
Namely, reminding you of Rocksnobs Rule Of Etiquette Number Three.
When your favorite rock star dies, you be as sad as you like for as long as you like. If anyone makes fun of you for mourning your rock star, spit in their eye. (If your aim is poor, you may want to do it figuratively and not literally.) You don't have to take any crap from people who don't understand rock and roll.
I know it says rock star, but in the past I have extended it to kitty cats, and since Johnny Cash totally rocked, it suits him just fine. In this case I would also suggest dressing all in black, because not only is it mourning wear, it doubles as a visible tribute. Other than that, you can show respect any way you see fit, because a man with such broad range of talents deserves a broad range of tributes.