JOHNNY CASH

Rip It Up, Issue 199, 1 March 1994, Page 28

JOHNNY CASH

Town Hall, February 14

A polite, all-seated show for grownups is quite a strange thing if you've never been to one before. A predominantly middle-aged crowd (ie people who could afford the SSO tickets) filed in in an orderly manner then the guy behind me offered to do mortal violence to the person who mistakenly had his seat if he didn't get the fuck out of it NOW. A disembodied American voice welcomed everyone to "the Johnny Cash Show" then, once escape was impossible, informed us that we were about to be subjected to the Warratahs. I don't really know what there is to say about them: they played original songs with strong melodies and obviously enjoyed themselves, but I just find those twangy country harmonies, cheerful piano accordian fills and mildly plaintive fiddle parts intolerably good-natured, the musical equivalent of a big toothless grin on the face of an imbecile. And never, ever before have I seen a support act spotlight and introduce the band members one by one. When Johnny Cash's band came on and started playing an extended instrumental version of 'I Walk the Line' the difference between straight country and whatever it is they do was unmistakable. The

line-up was stand-up bass, electric guitar, piano and drums, and the players have apparently been with Cash since the 50s when his music was regarded less as country than as grim, slowed-down rockabilly and as such, a potential menace to society. They played a selection of hits that may have struck longtime fans as predictable but were just fine for the rest of us, including 'Folsom Prison Blues', 'Ring of Fire', 'Cry CryCry','Don't Take Your Guns ToTown', 'Ghost Riders' and 'I Walk the Line'. Then three tracks from the new Rick Rubin produced solo acoustic album, one about the singer's dissolute past, one about God and a dead slow version of Cohen's 'Bird On A Wire', a song perfectly suited to Cash's beautiful voice and taste for ultra-sparse arrangements. After that June Carter came on and sang 'Jackson' with her husband which was all very well. But her next trick was an excrutiating stand-up comedy routine in which she actually resorted to Dolly Parton jokes, and then she invited the entire Carter family (excluding Shayne) on stage to sing about a hundred songs their mother taught them, all

of which revolved around insufferably hearty four part harmonies and second helpings of down-home family values. Finally Johnny returned to sing some spirituals with the family, and in-a particularly bizarre moment, to introduce us to his personal travelling evangelist, who was offering free advice to anyone with "a drug or alcohol related problem.” And so after a few more songs without the plague of Carters, including 'Drunken Ira Hayes' and one by "my little Irish rock band U2", the man in black and purple vanished into the night, the house lights came up and the crowd disappeared into the Civic underground car park and home to New Lynn or Glenfield or Howick or Ponsonby.

MATTHEW HYLAND