The Man in Black

I’m not a fan of ‘tribute’ acts. I prefer the real thing (the concept, not the 1970’s British soul group). I like the occasional Country Music song, but generally get bored with the migraine-inducing twangs of Tammy Wynette, incessant vibrato of Dolly Parton, or the brow-puckering, tear-jerking, gravelly audience-manipulation of Kenny Rogers.

So when Hubby said he wanted to go to a Johnny Cash tribute act in Milton Keynes yesterday evening, I suggested he take our neighbour and I’d dog-sit. I was sure I could get some gin-flavoured Purina for him. But I relented and off we went, storm Eunice? Eustace? Eunuch? well and truly past its worst but still playing havoc with my broadband connection so no point staying at home.

Johnny Cash was always just ‘fine’ in my books. He was better than many others and what set him apart was the way he played on his delicious bass voice, akin to ladies flashing their own natural assets. Individual songs were great, but after the third in a row I’d get fidgety.

Anyhoo, this particular tribute artist (Clive John) had a lovely voice. Deep, but not Johnny Cash deep, and a bit too ‘pure’. He could play the guitar really well, and interacted with the audience in an understated matey fashion. Really relaxing. But the first half had me yawning into my gin partly because, while one of JC’s (no, not Jesus Christ) strengths was his lyrics, the sound quality was pretty naff and I couldn’t make them out. To boot, the drums were too dominant and 'June Carter Cash' was nudging Tammy Wynette territory. Not the band’s fault, but not far from complaint-territory either.
So I was really looking forward to my second gin in the interval.

Back in our seats, the second set started. The lyrics were more discernible – I assume someone else had complained – but the drums were still annoying (pity, because he was a good drummer).

Then everyone except 'JC' disappeared off stage, and he sang a solo, “Hurt”, a 1995-song by American rock band Nine Inch Nails, written by Trent Reznor. Johnny Cash (the original) covered the song in 2002 to commercial and critical acclaim. He made it his own, more than Jacqueline Du Pre made Elgar’s Cello Concerto hers, if you’ll pardon me mixing my genres.

I was captivated from the opening line. Not only were the lyrics poetically enticing (in a dark kind of way), but his voice was suddenly deeper, less pure, emotional, haunting, personal. I was transfixed. It was a sad song but a thing of great beauty. How can a song about drugs and self-harm be ‘beautiful’, I hear you ask. How can I find such a song so moving when I myself have never done drugs (apart from alcohol) or self-harmed (apart from my liver)? That, my friends, is the intangible power of the arts.

I will say no more and leave you to revel in the mastery that is The Man in Black:

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become

My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair

Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else

I am still right here

What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again
A million miles away
I will keep myself
I would find a way

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