The most important point he makes, I think, is that we must judge the MSG show in terms contemporaneous to the show, not to our times. We have the luxury of the last 33 years--the times of John's rise to icon status--and to compare that December night in 1969 to another era does neither John nor us nor history any justice. So let's take a trip back and try to remember how it WAS, not how we might want it to have been, or what our filtered memories tell us it was.

On October 17, 1969 the president of CBS records, Clive Davis, announced that Johnny Cash was the "biggest selling artist in the world." Not the biggest in Nashville, or on Columbia, or in country music, but IN--THE--WORLD. August 23, "A Boy Named Sue" hit #2 on the pop charts, and "At San Quentin" would be number one for four weeks.

 You'd a-thought this would be a confirmation of sorts; instead, the whirlwind which overtook the Cash family and their lives didn't leave much time or room to celebrate. Life had surely gotten better, but as they say, "Be careful what you wish for..." Still, I don't think John or anyone else could have even dreamed to wish for this. This was not Hank Williams--whose best career move in 1953 was to die. This was Elvis, and no matter how much those boys at Sun--John included--wanted what Elvis had, the getting there was rough, and the being there was almost as bad.

Two short years before, Brax Dixon was pulling John out of the icy waters of Old Hickory Lake, saving a life that didn't seem worth living. In January 1968 Vivian had finally gotten her divorce, something he had wanted, but which still sealed as failure an important part of his life. His recording of the Kingston Trio's 1963 song (written by Billy Edd Wheeler and New York socialite Gaby Rodgers) "Jackson," would (later) win him (and June) his first Grammy, but at the time, it also had people talking out loud about his notorious affair with his singing partner ("God, couldn't they have called the duet album something--ANYTHING--other than "Carryin' On"! And that cover picture!") Within a week of the divorce, he was in Sacramento doing the long-sought prison album, in Folsom, but even that was a mixed bag. Don Law had never been keen on the idea, but had finally relented, only to go and retire, leaving new guy Bob Johnston a rather reluctant producer on this risky project. The records weren't selling again, either. After "Ring of Fire" tore up the charts in 1963, and the fair success of the folk releases over the next few years, things were drying up. Although "One on the Right" made it to #2 in 1966, "Everybody Loves a Nut" didn't even make the top 15, and "Boa Constrictor" totally tanked. "You Beat All I Ever Saw" just made top 20, but "Wind Changes" never got higher than #60 (although "Rosanna's Going Wild" would hit #2 in February 1968). Still, there had been no charted records at all after March, until "Folsom Prison Blues" was released from the live album and started at #47 in June, the month the album was released. And in its second week, it only moved up six notches; even "Wind Changes" moved up 10 in its second week. We know now what happened, but my point is that it was certainly not pre-ordained--and absolutely not expected.

And when it happened, there wasn't a lot of time to savor it. Nor did the money flood in. Although now in demand, many of John's dates were make-goods to promoters who had been burned by his no-shows of the past few years. John had not been a "hot ticket" in Hollywood recently, but in July the Smothers Brothers had him out to L.A. for an appearance on their TV show, although the rest of time was spent touring and working on what was considered a "vanity" project at Columbia--a religious album based on John and June's trip to Israel the previous spring. Then, Luther Perkins fell asleep at his home with a lit cigarette on August 3 and died two days later at Vanderbilt Hospital, followed by the death of two sons of Roy Orbison--John's next door neighbors--when their house burned down on September 14. Then Gordon Jenkins decided that he would sue, claiming that "Folsom Prison Blues" was plagiarized from his "Crescent City Blues" from the 1953 "Seven Dreams" album. By the time John received a CMA award for Best Album on October 17, he was riding high, but real life--and the road, which WAS real life--surely kept him down on planet Earth.

Perhaps the Carnegie Hall show on October 23--attended by people like Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin--might have given him an inkling. But two days later he was in England on tour, followed by an extensive tour of the northwest US and Canada and, in January, the Far East, including Viet Nam. By February 1969 he was hosting a visit from Bob Dylan--and recording duets with him--and doing another prison concert, in San Quentin. Of course, "the rest is history," but we should remember that it was a couple strokes of fate that helped history along--the presence of England's Grenada TV, which filmed the moment--and the appearance of a Shel Silverstein song on the setlist. John was no stranger to Silverstein's writings, as the Playboy cartoonist had contributed songs to Cash albums since 1964 (and "25 Minutes to Go" had been done at Folsom), so it again was nothing especially new for him. But the resulting roar was certainly new.

I don't know how anybody "prepares" for such cataclysms. John was certainly taken aback by all the attention. As he refers to at the MSG show, everybody started asking him what he thought about every such thing. He didn't realize that he was "supposed" to have an opinion on EVERYTHING. He didn't, but that just resulted frequently in him telling people what he thought they wanted to hear. Those kinds of one-off remarks would come back to haunt him later, when seemingly insignificant comments would be resurrected and John was put on the defensive. The constant "What do you think of this?" and "What do you think of that?" may have started out making John feel important, and he would surely come to realize the "clout" he had by the time the TV show became a hit, but it was more than a minor irritant.

After the well-received broadcast of a Kraft Music Hall TV special starring John on February 15 (just before the California tour which would include the stop at San Quentin), the TV establishment was swarming. "The Holy Land" had been released that month, with its gospel-tinged centerpiece "Daddy Sang Bass," which has spent six weeks at #1 at the beginning of the year, and John was finding new acceptance by the mainstream. But there was tremendous conflict over whether John should accept a weekly TV gig. It had been a dead-end for many who aspired to a larger stage before, including Jimmy Dean and Roger Miller, who strongly advised against it. But John had wanted such exposure for a long time, and had even uprooted his family in 1958 and moved it to California in a vain attempt to become a movie star, so, on April 16, 1969 the first Johnny Cash Show taping was done from the stage of the Ryman Auditorium, home of the Opry, which had tossed him just four years before, with guests Jeannie C. Riley, Joe Tex and the Rouse Brothers, of "Orange Blossom Special" fame. (Did I mention that Randy Noles' "Orange Blossom Boys," the story of the Rouses and the song, is a must-read?). Later, it would be said that the TV show so over-exposed him that it "ruined" him. I don't know about that. How else would a song like "A Boy Named Sue," with its theme of planned patricide, be received as more of comic relief and take the edge off a show done for the benefit of murderers and other hard-core criminals? That song, and the album, would rise to the top of the POP charts AFTER the end of the TV show's summer run. While years later we tend to lump the two prison albums together (and Columbia, of course, would market them as a 2-pak), they came at very different eras and were received by very different audiences when each was released. I would submit that "Folsom," although not the big pop hit, was more authentic, more Johnny Cash, less "uptown," and less dependent on a certain "expected" Johnny Cash.

Much has been made of John's demeanor, stage-presence and song choices at MSG, which occurred less than seven months after San Quentin, just after the end of "A Boy Named Sue's" chart run, while "Blistered" was in the top 10, and while the album was STILL number 1 on the country charts on its way to 11 weeks at the top. Supposedly, the "folk" nature of the songs (yikes, dare I reopen THAT discussion!) was a surprise. This confuses me. Over the four-month period prior to this show, John had been working on what would become "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash." Songs included "To Beat the Devil," "Route 1, Box 144," "If I Were a Carpenter" (written by folkie Tim Hardin), "Blistered" (by Billy Edd Wheeler, the afore-mentioned writer of Kingston Trio songs), "Six White Horses," and others. "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash" has been called, accurately, I think, John's masterpiece folk album--and I have always said I believe it is the greatest album he ever made. It would be released the next month, in January 1970, and be certified gold WITHIN THE MONTH. So RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS comes the MSG show. Why in heaven's name would we expect anything other than what it was? Why should there be disappointment with the highlight of John's recording career? MSG is a snapshot of John exactly inline with what he was, a modern-day folk troubadour.

It also brings up the question, What else would he have sung? If he had not done songs from his recent and up-coming albums, and his staples, what else would he have done? He had been recording for 15 years at this point, but many of his songs were not "concert-friendly," so he actually had a rather limited repertoire to pick from. Look at "Folsom Prison." There's not a new original song on that album except for Glen Sherley's. Likewise, San Quentin is full of old standards and re-dos.. Heck, even on the TV show, John sang "Country Boy" no less than five times!

John was never a very good ad-libber. Tapes of the TV shows show him to be rather stilted in his delivery, almost wooden (until he started singing). He was just getting the hang of it. Later, we find him with his spiel down pat, but, again, we should not impose today's mores on events of 33 years ago.

And the moment: In the two months leading up to MSG, John had done over two dozen concerts, including two other visits to New York, and several TV tapings, with Glen Campbell, Tom Jones and another Kraft Music Hall show. Not only was he probably tired and maybe even distracted (he had barely been home since October, and his wife was pregnant), he also probably did not ascribe a Momentous Moment designation to what was just a typical show. He was also being torn apart by his differing constituencies: ABC TV wanted him "sanitized" for the Folks Back Home in TV Land. They picked at every song and every guest. They demanded changes to phrasing (most famously on "Sunday Morning Coming Down") and had little respect for The Talent. (Remind me to talk one day about the time the Carter Family walked off the show after one of the New York honchos insulted and dismissed Mother Maybelle Carter.) On the other hand, Columbia tried its best to keep John's outlaw/outsider image at the front. Their PR machine put out the most devious stuff, designed to make you THINK that John was an ex-con, ne'er-do-well, without coming out and saying it. For example, the trade ad for "The Holy Land" (an album which was the antithesis of their image corrupting campaign) said the following: "Johnny Cash does more than just write a song, or sing it. He experiences it. Living out on the desert. Bumming around the back roads of America. Or spending time in a prison." Now, we know John never spent time in a prison except to perform. But Columbia preferred to keep it murky. Like, later, the tag line for "What is Truth?" was : "Another song Johnny Cash won't be able to sing at the White House." Of course, there was NEVER a song he was not permitted to sing at the White House. But Columbia would have had you think otherwise. The conflict was such that John famously stated "My record company would rather me be in prison than in church." And so we also find, at MSG, the result of this conflict. John goes directly from "Cocaine Blues," where he shoots "that bad b!tch down," into Christopher Wren's "Jesus Was a Carpenter." It's a wonder the man didn't crack up and shoot a man at a record company just to watch him die! But I cannot find anything on the recording which is an anomaly. He always had throat problems (he coughed all the way through Folsom and San Quentin, and in virtually every concert for 40 years). The sound production of the recording was very crisp, unlike the prison shows. This gives the recording a less-homey "feel," almost slick, and so some of the personality may not come through. But I think John connected with his audience that night in exactly the same way he always did--by being himslef, nothing else. We should savor the Moment, because it is as true a Johnny Cash Moment as there was.

- Mark