Book Review: The Resurrection of Johnny Cash by Graeme Thomson

I'm a Johnny Cash fan. I would be surprised if that was news to anyone. I've managed to amass a mini-library of sorts concerning Cash's career, homelife, spirituality, etc. Some come from the man himself, others from biographers and former bandmates. All give varying accounts on the life of Cash as well as the impact his music had throughout his 50 year recording career.

With the ability to glean snippets of information from each of these books, my interest was peaked with the release of Graeme Thomson's book, The Resurrection of Johnny Cash which, according to it's description, deals primarily with the later-phase career of Cash with Rick Rubin for the American Recordings series of albums in the 90s and 2000s.

Once the book got in my hand, I began devouring the pages like a starving castway at the Sizzler...only to realize that I wasn't very hungry for the dried out, un-inspired, and overtly critical writing of Thomson. Contrary to the book's title and published description, Thomson spends much of his time backtracking into Cash's dismal recording career in the 1980's and early 1990's...a period of time which any Cash fan would just as soon forget ever happened. Of course this period of time needs to be discussed, but Thomson spends more time overall in his book on the failings of Cash's musical career than he does on the acclaim that he received with his recordings with Rubin.

Even when he does deal with the American Recordings series, Thomson fails to provide any new insight or information regarding the recordings. Any information found in his book could be located in countless other books or online articles. Perhaps one of the other major failings of this book would be the heavy emphasis on quotes from other musicians and technicians who worked with Cash at one time or another. Some individuals like Rodney Crowell, Roseanne Cash and Lou Robin have a rightful place in this book but, because he is British, he lends too much creedence and space to individuals like Nick Cave, Will Oldham and Nick Lowe (though Lowe was at one time Cash's son-in-law) and thus dilutes any wisdom that might be gleaned from the overall interviewees.

In short, Thomson fails to deliver the goods that he promises in his book's title and published description. This book neither satisfies the most rabid of Cash fans, like myself, or the novice who picks this book up with no prior knowledge of the man in black. Still, this remains a critically important period of time for Cash's life and recordings and a thorough, broad-scope view still needs to be written on the subject.

Why?

The other day, I was walking my 2-year-old cousin from my house to my grandparent’s house. As we walked along the street, I told him of the time I fell off my bike and broke my arm on that very stretch of asphalt. I had this great story of how I got hurt, and all he could think of to say was, “why?” Each explanation that followed only resulted in more “whys?” It got me to thinking about perhaps the most important question ever asked throughout history, “why?”

Why are we here? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does the Jersey Shore continue to get renewed each and every season? The simple question of “why” really isn’t all that simple. As people, we want to understand everything, and unfortunately, it’s an impossible desire to fulfill.

As harrowing, as it might be to ask an impossible question day in and day out, I was reminded of the innocence in asking such questions, especially from the perspective of a 2 year old. It shows that one is growing in their awareness. It also shows that the person asking such a question is willing to admit that they don’t know everything and would like to know more.

Many people retreat when they are posed with the question of “why?” This question is perhaps the most dangerous when asked in a religious context. Such questions upset the norm and tip the balance of faith towards ambiguity. But often, we learn more from the questions themselves than what answers human minds can devise to try to offer some sort of answer. Quite frankly, we can never know some things about our faith, and it would be irresponsible to try and fabricate some kind of response to appease a certain point of view. But luckily for us, Christianity IS a faith that welcomes mystery and intrigue. God never chastises us for the questions we ask, but He appreciates the honesty and candor with which questions are posed, understanding that, just like infants, we must ask questions towards those who are older and wiser than us, even if we don’t understand the answer when we hear it.

Be the Change You Want to See

On the eve of the midterm elections tomorrow, I thought about putting up a status on facebook encouraging on everybody to vote, no matter their political ideology. However, I detest when people try to sum up their political tendencies in brief, out of context statements, so with that I will say the following concerning tomorrow's vote.

I don't rightly care who you vote for, as crazy as they might be. I don't even care what direction you want to see this country go in. What I do care about is that people become part of the electoral process by exercising their right to vote. We are living in a time where PACs, pundits and patsies inform the public on current events and the political landscape in general. They are the middlemen, filtering what is really happening through their talking points in order to attract ratings, book sales and appearance fees.

Please, don't let Glenn Beck or Rachel Maddow speak for you. Speak for yourself. Millions of people have sacrificed so much so that you could speak up for yourself and become part of the process here in America. Make the most of it. Be involved beyond election day and be a part of any change that you want to see happen in this country and world.

So whether you read Huffington or Drudge, read this: do your duty, vote. Be a part of the process, not part of the problem.

Mask-querade

With my second favorite holiday of the year just days away, Halloween, we welcome it's arrival with changing seasons, mass amounts of diabetes-inducing candies and of course week long monster movie marathons. One thing that always seems to grab my eye most at Halloween isn't something you find trick or treating, or even as your peruse the aisles of costumes at your local Halloween express. No, what I am talking about are the notices that our banks so prominently post on their doors which politely ask us patrons not to come in "wearing maks, costumes or any other halloween costumes."

It's a reasonable request. I mean, if YOU WERE to rob a bank, you would more than likely grab a mask and burst on in there. Masks disguise who we are, hiding just our physical appearance and nothing else. Most people think that masks change us somehow. They hide our true character and allow us, if even for one night a year on Halloween, to be someone different. I mean, who wouldn't want to get away from the norm of our everyday existence? It would be so easy to put on a mask and become someone different.

But, life doesn't work that way. We can't change who we are by what we put on to disguise ourselves, no matter how well we are at fooling ourselves into believing that. Deep down, we will always be the same people - that is, as long as we are looking to change ourselves on the outside. Character and personality are traits that lie at the foundation of our human core, our basic identity.

It's so easy in the society we live in to want to wear more masks, to be more things to more and more people. But, in the process of being many things to many people, we lose our ability to be ourselves. Life was not made to be mired in busyness, to be pulled at by the masks we are so easily fooled into wearing. Maybe we have such an affinity for being wanting to be something other than ourselves because we are not comfortable with who we are to begin with.

Well, take comfort that no one wants you to wear a mask. What people really want, deep down is for you to simply be yourself. And that is all that humanity should ever ask, or demand of you.

Up North

I'll be frank, I've never left the southeastern United States. Sure, I've skirted through Indiana and Illinois before on the way to mission trips, but for all intensive purposes those regions I passed through were the same kind of environments you can find in any pocket of the Southern US. It's these thoughts of travel that have been awaken in me as I contemplate my upcoming voyage to the heart of the Northern US in just a few short months for a friends wedding: Massachusetts.

I've always wanted to travel, and with the Union just hours away, I'm surprised it has taken me this long to prepare for the journey to the land of Lox & Bagel. It's not that I dread the experience, no I actually look forward to it very much. It's the mass of people that has me thinking. I mean, look at the facts, the number of people crammed into NYC reflects roughly the same number of people who inhabit NC. Not just that, but roads are more liked clogged toilets, delivering the refuse of it's citizenry back to their suburban dwellings night after night.

Of course, I do feel that most of my view of the North has been prejudiced by 2 of my favorite shows: The Sopranos, and The Wire. Both of these gritty HBO dramas depict life in subcultures that happen to be found in the North. Just as we have gangsters and drug dealers here in Harnett County, so they too have the same problems in Harlem and the Hamptons. When you think about it, they aren't so different from us after all. The world is full of people just like you and me, people trying to find a way, a purpose. But most of all, they are finding a way to get by, and what is foreign about that to me?

War Heroes, Blind Dogs & BBQ

Today has been an eventful day. Yesterday, we had a 2/3 dirty 30 reunion in Buies Creek, sans Zach, as Daniel and I made the most of a dreary excursion into greater Harnett county to cleanse our pallets with the likes of Sherry's Bakery, Mi Casita, and of course Sunni Skies. As Daniel departed for Winston-Salem this morning, I departed as well for home in St. Pauls for a family excursion that I have been looking forward to for some time now.

This excursion was to see, and meet for the first time, my maternal grandfathers last surviving uncle, Colin, who at 92 is still remarkably agile and whose memory is as sharp as ever. Colin had just participated in commencement ceremonies for the Marine Corps in Paris Island, SC where he was an honored guest in the graduation exercises. During WWII, Colin served in the Marines and saw action in the Pacific theater of that war, encountering battles in the Marshall Islands, Guam, and the especially violent Okinawa campaign. For years, I have heard my grandfather speak of this last surviving uncle with great affection and pride and I have longed for the opportunity to meet this family member who had such an important link to the history of both my family and this country.

So, my parents and grandparents loaded into the car and we made it up to Thomasville, NC to the home of my grandfather's cousin Athlene, where Colin and his wife were staying, to rendevous with them and an assortment of other elderly cousins and relatives of my grandfather. I had never met many of them before in my entire life, and if I had I could tell it had been a while when they looked at me in disbelief over how tall I had gotten since the last time I had been in their company.

Like any pleasant, God-fearing Southern family, the fellowship included Lexington style BBQ and the growlings of Athlene's blind dog named Elijiah as he struggled to understand what was going on in the darkness that surrounded them. The meal was fantastic. The company hilarious. The chance to meet the oldest surviving member of my grandfather's family was priceless. As I prepared to leave earlier this evening, Colin embraced me and was so grateful for having finally met me. I returned the sentiments and wished him the best until we meet again, wherever and whenever that might be.

Taking Down Trees & Putting Up Brick

I just returned from a brisk, sweltering walk to the new library here on the campus of Campbell University when I saw an all too familiar, and unfortunate, sight. Crews had delimbed a massive oak tree outside of the science building on campus that had been damaged and nearly destroyed by a storm last year. Half of the tree was gone, but the half that remained was strong, supporting it's massive limbs and ensuring that all of the leaves would not die, but that they would remain green and healthy for the foreseeable future. Well, that future ended today.

It would be a common enough sight around campus to note this tree removal, but compare that removal of greenery to the massive effort that has been underway to put in more brick "monumentation" around campus. Brick is pretty if you look at it vertically ascending on the side of a building or residence hall. It's not such a wondrous sight when you see it splayed out on the ground before you, with no sprig of grass or weed yet daring to creep under it's skin. I'm all for progress, but I would like to see a more measured approach towards preserving what we have already against what we would like to add to this delicate, beautiful campus.

It is ironic however that more time and planning was probably given to the removal of this damaged, yet thriving, tree than has been given to the potential removal of another massive, yet completely dead, tree that stands next to Butler Chapel. Next time, let's look to remove the deadwood rather than that which is thriving still.

What is Life?

That question was posed by the former Beatle, George Harrison, on his debut solo album, "All Things Must Pass." Though not a philosophical composition by any means (it took him 30min to write this diddy about living apart from another's love) the question is still a very striking one. As a another birthday has passed me by, 23 is no longer the famed number on Michael Jordan's jersey, but my age. An age I could never imagine back when MJ was still playing for the Bulls and it is still hard to comprehend even now.

The other night, I was speaking with Daniel about our advancements in age and remarked how in 7 shorts years, we would be 30. Now, that might seem hard to imagine for someone still in their early 20s, but just 7 short years ago I turned 16. That seemed like yesterday! Does that mean that 30 is just around the corner of tomorrow? I hope not.

Some people are scared to death of the future. You see that fear when middle aged women and men get botox injections and hair plugs. You see it when friends parents try to be trendy and instead come off as tacky. Now, that doesn't mean that when you hit 50 you should buy velcro sneakers and a box of metamucil. With age comes (hopefully) maturity, and with that maturity, a confidence that you are on the right track of a purpose, a calling, a journey. I still have no idea what that journey ahead looks like for me, but with another year under my belt, I'm packing some pretty good experience for the road ahead.