TERRY GROSS, HOST:
This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Next in our series of interviews on R&B, rockabilly and early rock 'n' roll, we have my 1997 interview with Johnny Cash, one of country music's most influential performers. He's in both the Country Music and Rock & Roll Halls of Fame. Some of his best-known recordings include "I Walk The Line," "Ring Of Fire" and "Folsom Prison Blues." His early recordings were on Sun Records, which was owned by Sam Phillips, who we just heard from, and was the most influential label that produced rockabilly.
I spoke with Cash when his autobiography was published. In the book, he said that after his hits in the '60s, he didn't sell huge numbers of records, but he kept making music he's proud of. But in 1994, he hooked up with record producer Rick Rubin, who had produced many rap and rock hits. The recordings they made together included many Cash covers of contemporary rock songs, including songs by Nine Inch Nails and Sting. And, as the autobiography says, the Cash and Rubin collaborations transform Cash's image from Nashville has-been to hip icon, and it gained him a new, young audience.
Soon after we spoke in 1997, he announced that he had Parkinson's disease and was canceling the remainder of his book tour, which had just begun. His diagnosis was later changed to autonomic neuropathy, a disease affecting the nervous system. Cash died in 2003. Earlier that year, he won a Grammy for best male country vocal performance for his new version of "Give My Love To Rose," which he first recorded on Sun Records in 1957. Here's his 1956 recording of "Get Rhythm," which was produced by Sam Phillips on Sun Records.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "GET RHYTHM")
JOHNNY CASH: (Singing) Hey, get rhythm. When you get the blues, come on, get rhythm. When you get the blues, get a rock 'n' roll feeling in your bones, put taps on your toes and get going. Get rhythm when you get the blues. A little shoeshine boy, he never gets low down. But he's got the dirtiest job in town, bending low at the people's feet on a windy corner of a dirty street. Well, I asked him while he shined my shoes how to keep from getting the blues. He grinned as he raised his little head. He popped his shoeshine rag, and then he said, get rhythm. When you get to the blues, come on, get rhythm.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED NPR CONTENT)
GROSS: You grew up during the Depression. What are some of the things that your father did to make a living while you were a boy?
CASH: My father was a cotton farmer first. And - but he didn't have any land, or what land he had, he lost it in the Depression. So he worked as a woodman - woodsman - cut pulp wood for the paper mills. Rode the rails on - in boxcars, going from one harvest to another to try to make a little money picking fruit or vegetables. Did every kind of work imaginable, from painting to shoveling to herding cattle. He's always been such an inspiration to me because of the varied kinds of things that he did and the kind of life he lived. He inspired me so that - all the things he did, so far from being a soldier in World War I to being an old man on - in his patio, sitting on the porch, watching the dogs, you know? I think about his life, and it would inspire me to go my own other direction. And I just like to explore minds and the desires of people out there.
GROSS: You know, it's interesting that you say your father inspired you so much. I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted to lead his life picking cotton.
CASH: I did. From - until I was 18 years old, that is. Then I picked the guitar, and I've been picking it since.
GROSS: (Laughter) Right. Did you have a plan to get out? Did you very much want to get out of the town where you were brought up and get out of picking cotton?
CASH: Yeah. I knew that when I left there at the age of 18, I wouldn't be back. And it was kind of common knowledge among all the people there that when you graduate from high school here, you go to college or go get a job or something and do it on your own. And having been familiar with hard work, it was no problem for me. But first, I hitchhiked to Pontiac, Michigan, and got a job working in Fisher Body, making those 1951 Pontiacs. I worked there three weeks, got really sick of it, went back home and joined the Air Force.
GROSS: You have such a wonderful, deep voice. Did you start singing before your voice changed?
CASH: Oh, yeah. I've got no deep voice today. I've got a cold. But when I was young, I had a high tenor voice. I used to sing Bill Monroe songs, and I'd sing Dennis Day songs that, like...
GROSS: Oh, no.
CASH: ...He sang on the - yeah, songs that he sang on "The Jack Benny Show."
GROSS: Wow.
CASH: Every week, he sang an old Irish folk song. And next day in the fields, I'd be singing that song if I was working in the fields. And I always loved those songs. And with my high tenor, I thought I was pretty good, you know, almost as good as Dennis Day. But when I was 17, 16, my father and I cut wood all day long, and I was swinging that crosscut saw and hauling wood. And when I walked in the back door late that afternoon, I was singing...
(Singing) Everybody going to have religion and glory. Everybody going to be singing a story.
I sang those old gospel songs for my mother. And she said, is that you? And I said, yes, ma'am. And she came over and put her arms around me and said, God's got his hands on you. I still think of that, you know?
GROSS: She realized you had a gift.
CASH: That's what she said, yeah. She called it the gift.
GROSS: Well, how did you feel about your voice changing? It must have stunned you if you were singing like Denis O'Dea and then suddenly, you were singing like Johnny Cash (laughter). How did...
CASH: Well...
GROSS: Yeah.
CASH: I don't know. I guess when I was a tenor, I just - and when it changed, I thought, well, it goes right along with these hormones, and everything's working out really good, you know? I felt like my voice was becoming a man's voice.
GROSS: Right. Right. So did you start singing different songs as your voice got deeper?
CASH: Mm-hmm. "Lucky Old Son," "Memories Are Made Of This," "Sixteen Tons." I got - I developed a pretty unusual style, I think. If I'm anything, I'm not a singer, but I'm a song stylist.
GROSS: What's the difference?
CASH: Well, I say I'm not a singer, so that means I can't sing, but - doesn't it (laughter)?
GROSS: Well, but - I mean, that's not true. I understand you're making a distinction, but you certainly can sing. Yeah. Go ahead.
CASH: Thank you. Well, a song stylist is, like, to take an old folk song like "Delia's Gone" and do a modern, white man's version of it. A lot of those I did that way, you know? I would take songs that I'd loved as a child and redo them in my mind for the new voice I had, the low voice.
GROSS: I know that you briefly took singing lessons, and you say in your new book that your singing teacher told you, you know, don't let anybody change your voice. Don't even bother with the singing lessons. How did you end up taking lessons in the first place?
CASH: My mother did that. And she was determined that I was going to leave the farm and do well in life. And she thought, with the gift, I might be able to do that. So she took in washing. She got a washing machine in 1942, as soon as they got electricity. And she took in washing. She washed the schoolteacher's clothes and anybody she could and sent me for singing lessons for $3 per lesson. And that's how she made the money to send me.
GROSS: What was your reaction when the teacher told you don't let anybody change what you're doing, you know, I'm not going to teach you anymore?
CASH: I was pretty happy about that. I didn't really want to change, you know? I felt good about my voice.
GROSS: You left home when you were about 18. And then, how old were you when you actually went to Memphis?
CASH: Well, I went to Memphis after I finished the Air Force in 1954. I lived on that farm until I went to the Air Force. I was in there four years. And when I came back, I got married and moved to Memphis. Got an apartment. Started trying to sell appliances at a place called Home Equipment Company. But I couldn't sell anything and didn't really want to. All I wanted was the music. And if somebody in the house was playing music when I would come, I would stop and sing with them. Like one time, Gus Cannon, the man who wrote "Walk Right In," which was a hit for the Rooftop Singers. And I sat on the front porch with him day after day when I found him and sang those songs.
GROSS: When you got to Memphis, Elvis Presley had already recorded "That's All Right." Sam Phillips had produced him for his label, Sun Records. You called Sam Phillips and asked for an audition. Did it take a lot of nerve to make that phone call?
CASH: No, it just took the right time. I was fully confident that I was going to see Sam Phillips and to record for him that when I called him, I thought, I'm going to get on Sun Records. So I called him, and he turned me down flat. Then two weeks later, I called, turned down. Turned down again. He told me over the phone that he couldn't sell gospel music because it was independent and not a lot of money, you know? So I didn't press that issue. But one day I just decided that I'm ready to go. So I went down with my guitar and sat on the front steps of his recording studio and met him when he came in. And I said, I'm John Cash. I'm the one that's been calling. And if you'd listen to me, I believe you'll be glad you did. And he said, come on in. That was a good lesson for me, you know, to believe in myself.
GROSS: So what did Phillips actually respond to most of the songs that you played him?
CASH: He responded most to a song of mine called "Hey Porter," which was on the first record. But he asked me to go write a love song or maybe a bitter weeper. So I wrote a song called "Cry, Cry, Cry," went back in and recorded that for the other side of the record.
GROSS: Well, why don't we hear "Cry, Cry, Cry," which was on the first single that Sun Records released by you.
CASH: OK.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "CRY, CRY, CRY")
CASH: (Singing) Everybody knows where you go when the sun goes down. I think you only live to see the lights uptown. I wasted my time when I would try, try, try, 'cause when the lights have lost their glow, you'll cry, cry, cry. Soon your sugar daddies will all be gone. You'll wake up some cold day and find you're alone. You'll call for me, but I'm going to tell you bye, bye, bye. When I turn around and walk away, you'll cry, cry, cry. You're going to cry, cry, cry, and you'll cry alone. When everyone's forgotten, and you're left on your own, you're going to cry, cry, cry.
GROSS: We're listening to my 1997 interview with Johnny Cash. We'll hear more after a break. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF HERLIN RILEY'S "TWELVE'S IT")
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. Let's get back to my 1997 interview with Johnny Cash.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED NPR CONTENT)
GROSS: What was it like when you started to go on tour? You know, after coming from the cotton fields, it's true, I mean, you'd been in the Army and you'd been abroad, you know, with the Army. But what was it like for you in the early days of getting recognized, you know, traveling around the country?
CASH: Well, when I started playing concerts, I went out from Memphis to Arkansas, Louisiana and Tennessee. Played the little towns there. But I would go out myself in my car and set up the show, or get the show booked in those theaters. And then along about three months later, Elvis Presley asked me to sing with him at the Overton Park Shell in Memphis. And I sang "Cry, Cry, Cry" and "Hey Porter." And from that time on, I was on my way. And I knew it, I felt it, and I loved it.
So Elvis asked me to go on tour with him, and I did. I worked with Elvis four or five tours in the next year or so. And I was always intrigued by his charisma, you know? You can't be in the building without Elvis - with Elvis without looking at him, you know? And he inspired me so, with his fire and energy, that I guess that inspiration from him really helped me to go.
GROSS: What were the temptations like for a young married man like yourself on the road, you know, slowly becoming a star?
CASH: Fame was pretty hard to handle, actually. The country boy in me tried to break loose and take me back to the country, but the music was stronger. The urge to go out and do the gift was a lot stronger. And the temptations were women, girls, which I loved. And then amphetamines not very much later. Running all night, you know, in our cars on tour. And we - the doctors got these nice pills that give us energy and keep us awake. So I started taking those, and I liked them so much I got addicted to them. And then I started taking downers or sleeping pills to come down and rest after two or three days. So it became a cycle. I was taking the pills for a while, and then the pills started taking me.
GROSS: I want to play what I think was your first big hit, "I Walk The Line."
CASH: That was my third record.
GROSS: And so you wrote this song. Tell me the story of how you wrote it and what you were thinking about at the time.
CASH: In the Air Force, I had an old Wilcox-Gay recorder and used to hear guitar runs on that recorder going (imitating guitar), like the chords on "I Walk The Line." And I always wanted to write a love song using that theme, you know, that tune. And so I started to write the song. And I was in Gladewater, Texas, one night with Carl Perkins, and I said, I've got a good idea for a song. And I sang the first verse that I had written, and I said, it's called "Because You're Mine." And he said, "I Walk The Line" is a better title. So I changed it to "I Walk The Line."
GROSS: Now, were you thinking of your own life when you wrote this?
CASH: Mm-hmm. It was kind of a prodding to myself to play it straight, Johnny.
GROSS: And was this - I think I read that this was supposed to be a ballad. I mean, it was supposed to be slow when you first wrote it.
CASH: That's the way I sang it, yeah, at first. But Sam wanted it, you know, up-tempo, and I put paper in the strings of my guitar to get that (imitating guitar) sound, and with a bass and a lead guitar, there it was. Bare and stark that song was when it was released, and I heard it on the radio, and I really didn't like it. And I called Sam Phillips and asked him, please, do not send out any more records of that song.
GROSS: Why?
CASH: But he laughed at me. I just didn't like the way it sounded to me. I didn't know I sounded that way, and I didn't like it. I don't know. But he said, let's give it a chance. And it was just a few days until - that's all it took to take off.
GROSS: That's funny. I mean, you'd heard your voice before it, hadn't you?
CASH: Mm-hmm.
GROSS: But - so it was something in your own singing you weren't liking when you heard it?
CASH: Well, the music and my voice together, I just felt like it was really weird and - but I got used to it very quickly. I don't know if that - I didn't hate it, but I just didn't like it. I thought I could do better.
GROSS: Well, let's hear "I Walk The Line." This is a great record. It was great then, and it still is. This is Johnny Cash.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "I WALK THE LINE")
CASH: (Singing) I keep a close watch on this heart of mine. I keep my eyes wide open all the time. I keep the ends out for the tie that binds. Because you're mine, I walk the line. I find it very, very easy to be true. I find myself alone when each day's through. Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you. Because you're mine, I walk the line.
GROSS: We're listening to the interview I recorded with Johnny Cash in 1997. We'll hear more after a break. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF RARE EARTH SONG, "HEY BIG BROTHER")
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. Let's get back to my 1997 interview with Johnny Cash.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED NPR CONTENT)
GROSS: I think it was in the late 1950s that you started doing prison concerts, which you eventually became very famous for. What got you started performing in prison?
CASH: Well, I had a song called "Folsom Prison Blues." That was the hit just before "I Walk The Line." And the people in Texas heard about it at the state prison and got to writing me letters asking me to come down there. So I responded and the - then the warden called me and asked if I would come down and do a show for the prisoners in Texas. And so we went down, and there's a rodeo at all these shows that the prisoners have there. And in between the rodeo things, they asked me to set up and do two or three songs. So that was what I did. I did "Folsom Prison Blues," which they thought was their song, you know, and "I Walk The Line," "Hey, Porter," "Cry, Cry, Cry." And then the word got around on the grapevine that Johnny Cash is all right and that you ought to see him. So the requests started coming in from other prisoners all over the United States, and then the word got around. So I always wanted to record that, you know, to record a show because of the reaction I got. It was far and above anything I had ever had in my life, the complete explosion of noise and reaction that they gave me with every song.
So then I came back the next year and played the prison again, the New Year's Day show. Came back again a third year and did the show. And then I kept talking to my producers at Columbia about recording one of those shows. It was so exciting. I said that the people out there ought to share that, you know, and feel that excitement, too. So, a preacher friend, a friend of mine named Floyd Gressett set it up for us and Lou Robin and a lot of other people involved at Folsom Prison. So we went into Folsom on February 11, 1968, and recorded a show live.
GROSS: Why don't we hear "Folsom Prison Blues" from your "Live At Folsom Prison" record? This is Johnny Cash.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "FOLSOM PRISON BLUES - LIVE AT FOLSOM STATE PRISON, FOLSOM, CA - JANUARY 1968")
CASH: Hello. I'm Johnny Cash.
(CHEERING)
CASH: (Singing) I hear the train a-coming. It's rolling round the bend. And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when. I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps dragging on. But that train keeps a-rolling on down to San Antone. When I was just a baby, my mama told me, son, always be a good boy. Don't ever play with guns. But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry.
(CHEERING)
GROSS: That's Johnny Cash live at Folsom Prison. And Johnny Cash has a new autobiography that's just been published.
I guess Merle Haggard was in the audience for one of your San Quentin concerts. Must have been pretty exciting to find that out. That was before he...
CASH: Yeah.
GROSS: ...Had recorded, I think, that he was in there.
CASH: Yeah. '68 and '69, right on the front row was Merle Haggard.
GROSS: Yeah, and who knew?
CASH: I mean, I didn't know that till about 1963, '62. He told me all about it. He saw every show that I did there. And of course, just the rest is history for Merle. He came out and immediately had success himself.
GROSS: You know, it's interesting. You've always or almost always worn black during your career. And I was interested in reading that your mother hated it, too (laughter).
CASH: She - yeah. Yeah, she did.
GROSS: See, we have something in common. Our mothers don't like black.
CASH: Yeah.
GROSS: (Laughter).
CASH: But I love it.
GROSS: Me, too.
(LAUGHTER)
GROSS: But you gave in for a while. She started making you bright, flashy outfits, even a nice white...
CASH: Yeah.
GROSS: ...Suit. What did it feel like for you to be on stage in bright colors or all in white?
CASH: Well, I was - that was 1956, and I hadn't been wearing the black for very long. Oh, it was OK. I would wear anything my mother made me, you know? I just couldn't afford to turn her down. But before long, I decided to start with the black and stick with it because it felt good to me on stage that - a figure there in black and everything coming out his face. That's the way I wanted to do it.
GROSS: A few years ago, you started making records with Rick Rubin. Seemed initially like a very improbable match. He had produced a lot of rap records and produced the Beastie Boys and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. You know, it would seem like a surprising match. It would - it ended up being a fantastic match. How did he approach you?
CASH: Lou Robin, my manager, came to me and talked to me about a man called Rick Rubin that he had been talking to that wanted me to sign with his record company. It was American Recordings. I said, I like the name. Maybe it'd be OK. So he said, I would like you to go with me and sit in my living room with a guitar and two microphones and just sing to your heart's content everything you ever wanted to record. I said, that sounds good to me.
GROSS: Why don't we hear "Delia's Gone" from Johnny Cash's "American Recordings" CD? And, Johnny Cash, I want to thank you so much for talking with us.
CASH: I want to say you're really good at what you do, and I appreciate you. Thank you.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "DELIA'S GONE")
CASH: (Singing) Delia. Oh, Delia. Delia, all my life. If I hadn't have shot poor Delia, I'd have had her for my wife. Delia's gone. One more round. Delia's gone.
GROSS: My interview with Johnny Cash was recorded in 1997. He died in 2003. Tomorrow, we continue our archive series - R&B, rockabilly and early rock 'n' roll. We'll hear from Johnny Otis, who had the hits "Harlem Nocturne" and "Willie And The Hand Jive" and discovered Little Esther, Jackie Wilson, Big Mama Thornton, Hank Ballard and Etta James. You'll also hear my interview with Etta James, who's now best known for her recording of "At Last." I hope you'll join us.
FRESH AIR's executive producer is Danny Miller. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our managing producer is Sam Briger. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Ann Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Therese Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaloner, Susan Nyakundi, Anna Bauman and John Sheehan. Our digital media producer is Molly Seavy-Nesper. Our consulting visual producer is Hope Wilson. Roberta Shorrock directs the show. Our co-host is Tonya Mosley. I'm Terry Gross.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "DELIA'S GONE")
CASH: (Singing) But, jailer, oh, jailer. Jailer, I can't sleep 'cause all around the bedside, I hear the patter of Delia's feet. Delia's gone. One more round. Delia's gone. So if your woman's devilish, you can let her run. Or you can bring her down and do her like Delia got done. Delia's gone. One more round. Delia's gone. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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