"EVERYBODY WON'T BE TREATED ALL THE SAME"

With MTV nomination, another generation discovers Cash's cool (Renee Graham, 7/29/2003, Boston Globe)

The first time I heard Johnny Cash, I had nightmares for weeks.

When his granite-hard voice poured out of my grandmother's radio, it arched my 10-year-old spine. He sang of a wild young man who, though he had murdered 20 men by the age of 10, was due to hang for a killing he didn't commit. As serious and sobering as a news dispatch, the song sounded like nothing I had ever heard before, and I was completely unnerved as it cut through the gummy summer air.

What most affected me -- other than the grim, sharp thunk of the gallows' trapdoor swinging open as the warden sang ''Happy Birthday'' to the condemned man who turned 20 the day he died -- was Cash's voice. Every syllable sounded like a cold truth, as real and stirring as a Sunday sermon. It both frightened me and made a fan for life. Years later, I would learn the name of the song was ''Joe Bean,'' and it remains a favorite, especially since the nightmares have subsided.

Now, the MTV generation has discovered what I learned on that summer night three decades ago: Johnny Cash rules.

If Hurt doesn't bring back the nightmares, The Man Comes Around surely will--it's the most apocalyptic pop tune ever:

And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder:
One of the four beasts saying: "Come and see."
And I saw.
And behold, a white horse.

There's a man goin' 'round takin' names.
An' he decides who to free and who to blame.
Everybody won't be treated all the same.
There'll be a golden ladder reaching down.
When the man comes around.

The hairs on your arm will stand up.
At the terror in each sip and in each sup.
For you partake of that last offered cup,
Or disappear into the potter's ground.
When the man comes around. 

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers.
One hundred million angels singin'.
Multitudes are marching to the big kettle drum.
Voices callin', voices cryin'.
Some are born an' some are dyin'.
It's Alpha's and Omega's Kingdom come.

And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree.
The virgins are all trimming their wicks.
The whirlwind is in the thorn tree.
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks.

Till Armageddon, no Shalam, no Shalom.
Then the father hen will call his chickens home.
The wise men will bow down before the throne.
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crown.
When the man comes around.

Whoever is unjust, let him be unjust still.
Whoever is righteous, let him be righteous still.
Whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still.
Listen to the words long written down,
When the man comes around.

Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers.
One hundred million angels singin'.
Multitudes are marchin' to the big kettle drum.
Voices callin', voices cryin'.
Some are born an' some are dyin'.
It's Alpha's and Omega's Kingdom come.

And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree.
The virgins are all trimming their wicks.
The whirlwind is in the thorn tree.
It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks.

In measured hundredweight and penny pound.
When the man comes around.

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts,
And I looked and behold: a pale horse.
And his name, that sat on him, was Death.
And Hell follwed with him.

Posted by Orrin Judd at July 29, 2003 9:37 AM