Johnny Cash – Songwriter Review

Johnny Cash was more than a voice. Songwriter fails to consider this as it drafts in an uncomfortable collection of session musicians. These are not all people with ties to the late Man in Black. Therein lies the problem for this cobbled-together collection of Cash demos. The barrel has been scraped for Songwriter. We are left with what remains of a pilfered vault. Cash and the conventional sound associated with him is nowhere to be found. Twenty-plus years after his death is not the time to meddle with his instrumental tone – especially when the contrast of these vocal performances with the instrumental additions is so clear. Just give the likes of opener Hello Out There or second, Black Keys-featuring single, Spotlight, a listen. Flutters of nostalgic space-age iconography on opener Hello Out There are lost to a standardised sound which is too polished, too new, to fit. 

Such is the problem for much of Songwriter, which toys with the instrumentals surrounding Cash. The man never had much in the way of bombastic, layered instrumentals. His beauty and effectiveness came in the isolation of significant solos or instruments. Folsom Prison Blues and a later cover of The Mercy Seat confirm the never-changing style, the introduction of an instrument as the main player once his voice has retired to the background. Hello Out There is country slop which Cash never brought out of the demo stage. Yet for those who want more and see the financial joys of Bob Dylan and Neil Young deep cuts, adding modernised flickers to a classy country singer is inevitable. Dan Auerbach adds very little to Spotlight, an already forgettable track. Each of these songs has the same feeling to it. There is an understanding as to why they were abandoned. 

Hearing them now may be a treat for the hardened fans but they are ripped from the expected, endearing feel they should have. Instead of classic Cash touching his country roots again, we get slick and opportune instrumentals, a few from those who worked in the studio with the late artist. All of it feels like a grift. Parading the dead man around one last time like some Weekend at Bernie’s experience. No demo can go untouched. Drive On is a sweet yet simplified sound of returning home to your loved ones after periods away. A classic Cash track in the 1950s and 1960s with plenty of elusive and enjoyable imagery within. Yet it suffers the same fate as the other tracks within. Modernised music from a man who is no longer around to greenlight the half-hearted studio attempts.  

Every song must be approached with caution. No track is better than Chicken in Black, which at least had heart. All these Songwriter pieces lack warmth. I Love You Tonite is, by Cash standards, poor. A disbelief at making it through the 1980s, a certainly rough period for the Man in Black, was shelved when Rick Rubin pulled him into a studio. These are the half-baked thoughts of a man reacting, not responding, to his situation at the time. No wonder they were put aside. Yet the desire to hear more from artists no longer around to make those hits commands the mood. Soppy love songs far from the standard set by Cash and a few instrumental efforts from those who seem to have a vague grasp of Cash as an artist make for a messy piece.  

Poor and forgettable are unfortunate realities for this Cash collection. Just ten songs to work with and a half-hour of material which could have been left behind. The fanfare comes from the death of the artist and the desire for more. But without the artist or trusted confidants to decide on the quality, the slips made by John Carter Cash and David Ferguson are clear. They strip Cash of his necessary instrumental tools and leave a crater-sized hole in the experience of these lyrics. Songwriter is an unconvincing collection of words and works from Cash. They pale in comparison to the American Recordings and the well-maintained point of those works. Songwriter sounds still feel abandoned and cold, empty tracks where the cracks are paved over with unconvincing instrumentals.