COUNTRY
Johnny Cash,
"American V: A Hundred Highways" (Lost Highway/American) **1/2
Johnny Cash
began recording his last proper album the day after completing
2003's "American IV: The Man Comes Around," and he continued through
the grief and failing health that followed the death of his wife
June Carter Cash a few months later. His own mortality was clearly
on his mind, and producer Rick Rubin tells us Cash intended this
disc as his final statement. Unfinished at the time of Johnny's own
death in September 2003, Rubin chose to wait until all of the
tributes waned before releasing "A Hundred Highways," returning to
the studio to finish the album by augmenting Cash's vocals with
instrumentation by top-drawer musicians such as Mike Campbell and
Benmont Tench of Tom Petty's Heartbreakers, Beck sideman Smokey
Hormel and guitarist Matt Sweeney, a veteran of Billy Corgan's
short-lived Zwan.
"I never
thought I needed help before / I thought that I could do things by
myself," Cash sings in the opening track, "Help Me." Written by
Larry Gatlin and once covered by Cash's former Sun Sessions bandmate
Elvis Presley, the song is a plea to the Almighty, but it can also
be heard as Cash's statement on two of the key partnerships in his
life -- with June, of course, but also with Rubin, the unlikely
producer of the Beastie Boys, Run-DMC and Slayer who inspired a
late-career artistic resurgence that will stand as one of the most
extraordinary in the history of American popular music.
Unfortunately,
the fifth and final installment of the "American" recordings lacks
many of the traits that made its predecessors so remarkable.
Understandably, Cash's vocals aren't nearly as powerful, but even
more troublesome is the weaker song selection, which is heavy on
schmaltz that even Cash can't elevate (Gordon Lightfoot's "If You
Could Read My Mind," Rod McKuen's "Love's Been Good to Me") and
overly staid spirituals.
One of the
triumphs of the earlier albums was the artist's ability to find God
in surprising places -- in the execution chamber of Nick Cave's "The
Mercy Seat" or amid the soul-crushing despair of Trent Reznor's
"Hurt" -- at the same time making a statement about the genre- and
generation-blind strengths of the very best songs. This was not
nostalgia; it was as vital and immediate as popular music ever gets.
EMO-ROCK
Dashboard
Confessional, "Dusk and Summer" (Vagrant) *1/2
My favorite
moment at Lollapalooza 2005 came when the Brian Jonestown Massacre
hurled insults across Hutchinson Field at Dashboard Confessional,
whose driving force, Chris Carrabba, was of course too meek to
reply. In rock 'n' roll, chaotic energy trumps quiet sensitivity
every time: Sales aside, who was ultimately a more important artist,
Iggy Pop or James Taylor? As a leading light in the self-important
emo movement, the model-handsome Carrabba often provoked snickers,
even if you admired the early, melodic "just a boy, his guitar and
his poems" phase of his career.
Carrabba took a
sharp turn toward full-band bombast with 2003's "A Mark, a Mission,
a Brand, a Scar," and now, after a stint as the opening act for U2,
he's gone completely over the top, recruiting U2's producer, Daniel
Lanois, as well as mainstream hack Don Gilmore (Avril Lavigne, Duran
Duran), and spending three years crafting an album so overblown,
strident but ultimately flaccid that you'd think it would make Adam
Duritz blush, if it weren't for the fact that the dreadlocked bozo
makes a cameo on "So Long, So Long," a piano ballad that unabashedly
rips off the Counting Crows' "A Long December." (For "Stolen," he
cribs from U2's "With or Without You.")
With vocals that
range from an intimate whisper to operatic caterwauling, you'd think
Carrabba was parodying ultra-earnest mainstream FM rock if the
lyrics weren't so cringe-worthy for their alternating angst and "we
can change the world" bravado. Take, for example, the introductory
couplets of the opener, "Don't Wait": "The sky glows / I see it
shining with my eyes closed / I hear your warnings but we both know
/ I'm gonna look at it again / Don't wait, don't wait / The road is
now a sudden sea / And suddenly, you're deep enough / To lay your
armor down." As deep as the sea? Try as shallow as a puddle. And
instead of laying your armor down, kids, how about slapping ol'
Chris upside the head with a helmet?
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