Johnny Cash At Folsom Prison At 50.

Fifty years ago today, Johnny Cash recorded the concerts that would provide the basis for one of the most celebrated albums in American music, At Folsom Prison.

The idea of the concert itself proves nearly irresistible--The Man In Black staring down a prison full of prisoners as his audience--no wonder it provided the focal point of the well-intended but overrated (& historically shoddy, it must be said) I Walk The Line film in the early '00s.

Many have noted that his setlist wasn't one of his traditional hits, but rather a few hits surrounded by B-sides & album cuts, love ballads & murder ballads, work songs & folk songs, spirituals & novelties. This wasn't so much a tour of Johnny Cash's country music as it was a tour of Johnny Cash's country's music. For everything that America may or may not have been to its citizens in the revolutionary days of 1968, Johnny Cash's At Folsom Prison played like the eye of the storm, a study of America held up & stripped down to its core.

* * *

America, it loves to tell itself, is The Land Of The Free. This is not lost on anybody, least of all Johnny Cash.

"The culture of a thousand years is shattered with the clanging of the cell door behind you," he writes on the back of the LP. "Life outside, behind you immediately becomes unreal. You begin to not care that it exists. All you have with you in the cell is your bare animal instincts."

Cash notes later in the essay that he speaks from experience, having been behind bars a few times in his own life. But certainly he never experienced anything like the convicts of Folsom Prison.

Aside from Henry David Thoreau, America is not one to celebrate its prisons; as the land of the free, it stands to reason, these are the people who have failed America, or, perhaps, America has failed. Either way, it plays like a camera obscura of what's supposed to be The Land Of Opportunity.

So what does Johnny Cash have to say to these people? He doesn't pander, he doesn't preach, he doesn't patronize. He seems to have an uncanny ability to place himself in their shoes & provide the range of material they hunger for. He knows that this is not just entertainment, but a piece of home--of America--that he alone can provide.

He's also a master showman.

He throws them a few murder ballads, the first of which, "Folsom Prison Blues" both opens the concert & provides its peak--just listen to the roar that is evoked by the line "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die." Although "Folsom Prison Blues" is perhaps Cash's most famous song now, it was originally recorded at Sun Records in 1955 & released as a B-side to his first Top 10 country hit, "So Doggone Lonesome."

By the time he recorded this version of the song some 13 years later, he was on Columbia Records, who released this live version from At Folsom Prison as a single, where it gave him his first #1 country hit in four years.

But "Folsom Prison Blues" wasn't the only murder ballad in the set--there was also the rousing "Cocaine Blues" which gave the inmates another classic line at which to roar ("I took a shot of cocaine & I shot my woman down"). In between was Merle Travis's classic coal mining lament, "Dark As A Dungeon," & the prettiest song of the set, "I Still Miss Someone," which sounds like it was a major hit but was actually only released as the B-side to "Don't Take Your Guns To Town" in 1959.

He then goes into the first novelty song of the set--the crazy countdown of "25 Minutes To Go," a literal dose of gallows humor penned by songwriter & children's poet Shel Silverstein (who would later write one of Cash's biggest hits, "A Boy Named Sue," which itself spawned one of the greatest novelty song titles in history, "A Girl Named Johnny Cash," but I digress).

Already in five songs, we have gone from murder ballads to work songs to love songs, back to murder ballads & then a comedy song. Next stop? One of Cash's favorite thematic genres: The train song. Cash goes into "Orange Blossom Special," originally written by Ervin T. Rouse in 1938 & most famous from Cash's #3 hit version in 1965. For all of the train songs he recorded--& by this point, he had literally recorded two albums worth--he went for the one that was the biggest hit.

The first side ends with "The Long Black Veil," which was written in the 1950s to sound like an ancient folk song. Most people just assumed it was & gave Lefty Frizzell one of the biggest hits of his career in 1959. The same year that Cash sang it at Folsom, The Band introduced it to the rock world on their debut Music From Big Pink.

"The Long Black Veil" is about a man who is accused of murder & is hanged for it because his alibi would reveal an affair with his best friend's wife. It is she who visits his grave in a long black veil. As a murder ballad-turned-love song, "The Long Black Veil" may come midway through the album, but the defines its conceptual limits. It conjures a small-town America that could come straight out of Hawthorne's pen, but paints a picture in which love is a death sentence. Cash appropriately has sent the band away & sings it solo, just his voice & acoustic guitar.

The second side opens with the next song his solo set, "Send A Picture Of Mother," which was written by Cash himself. If "The Long Black Veil" was a modern country song disguised as a folk ballad, "Send A Picture Of Mother" was a new song masquerading as nineteenth-century parlor music. It was a saccharine ode to a man's mother, & did not sound too far off from those old post-Civil War songs that were later bastardized into Carter Family folk standards.

Next up was Harlan Howard's "The Wall," about a prisoner who tries to make a breakout that the singer reckons was actually an act of suicide. Cash had previously recorded it in 1965 as part of his Orange Blossom Special LP.

Then, as to not dwell too long in the darkness, Cash throws in two novelties by Sun Records jack-of-all-trades "Cowboy" Jack Clement: "Dirty Old Egg-Sucking Dog" & "Flushed From The Bathroom Of Your Heart." They are perhaps the weakest part of the whole set, but at least they gave the prisoners a much-needed hearty laugh.

Cash then calls back out his band, accompanied by his future wife (& current mistress) June Carter, who, as the second generation of The Carter Family, was country music royalty. They duet on "Jackson," their #2 country hit from the previous year that blows away the studio version with a performance that is at once fiery, flirty, & hilarious.

The two then duet on "Give My Love To Rose," another B-side, this time for Cash's old Sun Records single "Home Of The Blues" in 1957. 

Then it's off to the old Lead Belly standard "On A Monday" (here recast as "I Got Stripes"), an old prison work song that was surprisingly one of the few hits on the album, as Cash hit #4 with it in 1959; here, the ringing chorus of singers & the band bring it to an odd place somewhere between a folk song & a musical number.

Following that is "Green, Green Grass Of Home," a three-year-old Porter Wagoner hit (that was in turn covered by Jerry Lee Lewis in his wilderness years, who himself was in turn covered by Tom Jones who scored a pop hit out of it), sung steadily, if not all together memorably.

The finale is a song written by a convict at Folsom Prison, "Greystone Chapel," & Cash gives it a serious & reverent reading. Glen Sherley, the author of the song, was in the front row for the concert, unaware that Johnny Cash was going to play--let alone close with--his song. The moment inspired him to write more songs, but despite help from Cash, he could never adjust to life outside of prison & committed suicide at the age of 42 in 1978.

* * *

In a way, Sherley's untimely passing frames the entire album.

Death is everywhere on the LP. By my count, there are at least three murders (the man in Reno in "Folsom Prison Blues," the woman in "Cocaine Blues," & the "someone" killed in "Long Black Veil") & two executions (the singer of "25 Minutes To Go" & the singer of "Long Black Veil), plus a third who's about to be executed (the singer of "Green Green Grass Of Home"). At least one person is in the midst of dying (the man on the roadside in "Give My Love To Rose"), while another is killed in an apparent suicide ("The Wall"), & yet another pictures their eminent death from their work in the coal mines ("Dark As The Dungeon"). One entire song, "Long Black Veil," is sung by a corpse.

Even the throwaway novelty of "Dirty Old Egg-Sucking Dog" ends with the singer dreaming of killing his dog.

There are several prison sentences given ("Cocaine Blues," "I Got Stripes"), lots of pining for loved ones ("I Still Miss Someone") & family ("Send A Picture Of Mother," "Green, Green Grass Of Home"), & trains that are real ("Orange Blossom Special"), imagined ("Green, Green Grass Of Home"), & trains that somewhere in between, torturing the mind with madness ("Folsom Prison Blues").

& with "Greystone Chapel" as the finale, there's a touch of hope, of spirituality, of redemption.

All put together, At Folsom Prison has enough episodes, adventures, tragedies, & laughs to fill a hundred dimestore western pulps. Each one is rendered all the more real & alive with Cash's unwavering baritone.

There is a line between the performer & the audience in any concert, but this one is all the more unique because that dividing line is also one between freedom & imprisonment.

To borrow a phrase from a major Cash hit--that, like most of his big hits up to that point, he didn't include in this show--the album walks the line between the performer & audience, which is to say between freedom & imprisonment.

The thing that binds them together across that line is the music--which, is to say, is America.

The Top 10 Greatest Bob Dylan Covers Of All-Time.

As Bob Dylan turns 76 this month, I thought it was as good a time as any to look back at the finest covers his music has inspired.

It was a daunting task. Dylan is the greatest rock songwriter of all-time, & his songs have become a kind of cultural currency that transcend rock music itself, or any other genre for that matter. As this list shows, Dylan's work has been remade not just in rock, but in pop, folk, jazz, & country, by women & men, black & white, Americans & foreigners, legendary & obscure, & in music that was major hits or hidden deep within the grooves of an LP.

Dylan himself has always been a shapeshifter, altering his sound, style, & voice on little more than whim. It only makes sense that his music has become a template for such a wide range of performers.

Of the many that didn't make it, there are three in particular I'd like to name--Jim James & Calexico's lovely mariachi remake of "Goin' To Acapulco," Guns N' Roses' absurd hard rock take on "Knockin' On Heaven's Door," & Nico's bittersweet version of "I'll Keep It With Mine"--all of which nearly made the list, & perhaps on a different day, or in a different mood, would have.

I only put out a few simple rules to govern this list: Only one song per artist, only one version of a song per list. There's so much good music to choose from, I didn't want to let this get overcrowded by an artist or a song. Other than that, anything was game.

Here's the list:

10. Elvis Presley: "Tomorrow Is Such A Long Time," 1966.

Bob Dylan once told Rolling Stone that Elvis Presley's cover of "Tomorrow Is Such A Long Time" was "the one recording I treasure the most." Dylan was a huge fan of Elvis early on & Elvis was certainly aware of Dylan, but rarely ever covered him because The Colonel largely forced him to record songs from the Hill & Range songwriting stable (which the owned stock in). One of the few times Elvis strayed was to record this as a bonus track for the Spinout soundtrack, resulting in a rare gem of his otherwise lackluster pre-comeback years. Just as Dylan's gift was his words, Elvis's gift was his feeling, & when the material was worth feeling, as it is here, Elvis gave it his all & made you believe every single word. The only bad thing that can be said about this performance is that it remains a tantalizing hint at would could have been had Elvis recorded more songs like this one.

9: PJ Harvey: "Highway 61 Revisited," 1993.

For her 1993 album Rid Of Me, PJ Harvey took her band & legendary producer Steve Albini & went on an errand into the wilderness of Minnesota in the dead of winter & recorded most of the album live in the studio in a matter of days. The only song Harvey didn't write on it was the title track to Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited album, proving that the titular stretch of road could crop up pretty much anywhere. Harvey didn't so much cover the song as she tore it apart & made it new again, breaking off words & sounds & reassembling them with a range of dynamics that was at once raw, surprising, & beautiful. This is the moment at which Dylan, the great modernist songwriter of our time, goes postmodern.

8. Jeff Buckley: "Mama, You've Been On My Mind," 1993 [Released 2004].

When Bob Dylan's The Bootleg Series Volume 1-3 came out in 1991, it was a virtual treasure trove of music, song & demos that had circulated like secrets & rumors for years finally gathered in a single place for a set that proved Dylan's discarded music could rival his officially-released songs of virtually any era. It was around this time that a young Jeff Buckley began covering this song in his legendary early sets around New York City in The Sin-e & The Knitting Factory. Dylan himself played it live as an upbeat country stomp in the Rolling Thunder Review tours of the 1970s, but Buckley wisely goes by Dylan's original 1964 version (an outtake from Another Side Of Bob Dylan), a slow & stately rumination on how love can linger even once its source has gone. Buckley turns it from a measured dirge into an etherial psalm, which sounds all the more haunting now that it is Buckley who has long since gone.

7. Them: "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," 1966.

Dylan's first kiss-off to the folk scene was covered the following year by Them, Van Morrison's original band, a bunch of Irish kids who snuck into American radios with the British Invasion. They (or rather, Them) recast the song as easy, chiming pop, which serves as the perfect counterpart to Morrison's rough-hewed vocals. It is easy to hear how the song was more than just a cover for Them, but as a template for Morrison, given works like Astral Weeks, which would follow just a few short years later. Plus, it provided Beck with a hot hook for "Jack-Ass" on his classic 1993 album Odelay.

6. Nina Simone: "Just Like A Woman," 1971.

I spent quite some time deliberating between Nina Simone's version of "Just Like A Woman" & the one by Richie Havens, but decided to go with this one. First of all, I think the song is all the more fascinating from a female's perspective, which casts the lyrics & melody into a new light. But while Havens' cover strikes no false notes, it ultimately is just that--a cover--whereas Nina Simone never really covered songs in a traditional sense. She was a true stylist, one who remade everything into her image. This remains true for all of her signature work, including this Dylan cover, which sounds at once passionate yet understated. In the end, she doesn't so much sing the song as she does report it as one more undeniable truth.

5. The Fairport Convention: "Percy's Song," 1969.

In the late '60s, Rolling Stone asked Phil Spector what artist he would most like to produce. He answered Dylan because, in his opinion, Dylan had been recorded but never produced. Around the time Spector was saying this, British folk-rock pioneers The Fairport Convention were working out their own version of Dylan-as-a-production-project & the results are staggering. Here, they take Dylan's unreleased 1963 sketch of demo, which was just that--a sketch--& fill it out with the most majestic oil paints imaginable. Built around Sandy Denny's stunning vocal, the voices & instruments build up & wind down, such that the one thing that made Dylan's version a bit of a chore--its verse-stacked-on-verse simplicity--made it the perfect setting for dynamics & drama. Harmonies that rival The Beach Boys' finest work are filled out by a sound that predicts The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's supergroup country opus Will The Circle Be Unbroken, all to tell the tale of a mis-charged youth facing a cold, cruel world. Only by the time The Fairport Convention are done with it, the song sounds like a beacon of warm hope.

4. Manfred Mann: "Mighty Quinn," 1968.

Purists will probably balk at this choice (let alone at #4), but at the end of the day, pop is pop. With so many serious singers who can seriously sing on this list--Elvis Presley, Jeff Buckley, Nina Simone--Manfred Mann tells the other side of the story, one in which the meaning of the words are sacrificed in favor of the tune, where dancing is held higher than introspection. Appropriately, they chose a Basement Tapes song, where Dylan's lyrical surreal absurdity was a peak, thanks to a casual way to life with friends & a whole lot of booze. Although (or perhaps because) it was perhaps the best-known of the Basement Tapes compositions, it was left off the official 1975 Basement Tapes LP, although it resurfaced over the years on various collections in various versions. & with lines like "it ain't my cup of meat," it's a very weird song. But listening to Manfred Mann sing it, you'd hardly notice--it's only once you slow it down & listening to the words streaming by that you realize how strong it really is. When Dylan heard The Beatles & decided to plug in & get a band in 1965, it was in a gesture to achieve pop greatness. By the time "The Mighty Quinn" was released in the first days of 1968, Dylan's pop idea had already come full-circle.

3. Johnny & June Carter Cash: "It Ain't Me Babe," 1964.

On some of the earliest known recordings of Bob Dylan in 1958, he complains about Johnny Cash being boring as compared to rhythm & blues singers like Little Richard. The following decade, Dylan changed his tune, as evidenced by a film of Dylan & Cash singing a version of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway" backstage in 1965 & even recording a duet for Dylan's 1969 Nashville Skyline album. Around that same time, Dylan made one of his precious few TV appearances on The Johnny Cash Show. One imagines that whatever qualms Dylan had about Cash had more to do with the staid whitebread tastes of his community than Cash himself. Johnny Cash is a rare American music icon, an instantly-recognizable, genre-defying pioneer of popular music. It was only a matter of time before Cash started singing some of Dylan's songs, & the first & best was his cover of "It Ain't Me Babe," sung with future wife June Carter. Cash is able to use the song to strike a deft balance between the deadly serious & the seriously comical, delivering the withering verses like an assassin, before landing on the "Babe" of the refrain with an absurd glee that does nothing to derail the performance. Perhaps it's the budding romance with June, perhaps it's the use of the then-hip lingo "Babe," but the song injects an energy into Cash just as he was beginning to get bogged down by the mid-'60s Nashville sound. It was also a major hit, easily making the Country Top 5, a year before Dylan picked up an electric guitar.

2. The Byrds: "Mr. Tambourine Man," 1965.

The Byrds covered Dylan so many times that you could make a Top 10 list of just Byrd covers (& Columbia Records once essentially did just that with The Byrds Play Dylan compilation). & while The Byrds' versions of "Chimes Of Freedom," "My Back Pages," & "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" are all tempting for various reasons, it has to be "Mr. Tambourine Man." Few songs are as influential in rock history--The Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man" all but launched an entire genre, folk-rock, marrying Dylan's lyrics to The Beatles sound, fleshed out with their own shimmering guitars. (The legend is that, when called "folk-rock," Dylan once quipped, "When did I ever jingle-jangle?") In the end, The Byrds didn't cover the song as much as they stripped it for parts: When held up against Dylan's sprawling original, The Byrds scrap everything except for a single verse & a few go-rounds of the refrain, but it's all wrapped up in such a delectable package that you'd never notice unless you were a investigative Dylan reporter (you're welcome). With Gene Clark's straightforward vocal, Roger McGuinn's shining electric twelve-string, & David Crosby's inventive harmonies, it not only established Dylan in rock in the months before Dylan plugged in, but it established The Byrds as one of the most influential groups of all-time. & as for the Dylan covers of the folk-rock genre--Simon & Garfunkel's "The Times They Are A-Changin'," The Turtles' "It Ain't Me Babe," Peter, Paul, & Mary's "Too Much Of Nothing," to name but a few--The Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man" stands head & shoulders above the rest.

1. Jimi Hendrix: "All Along The Watchtower," 1968.

A list like this can have no suspense. There is only one Number 1. & this is it: Jimi Hendrix's "All Along The Watchtower." Dylan released his original version on John Wesley Harding in the waning days of 1967, his first album since his motorcycle crash. For all of those waiting for The Next Big Thing, they were shocked by a quiet little country record filled with mysterious songs that played like parables with no refrains. Gone were the Nashville studio musicians of Blonde On Blonde or the-soon-to-be-renamed The Band; in their place was Gordon Lightfoot's rhythm section & Dylan leading the group with acoustic guitar & harmonica. One of the first people to buy a copy was Jimi Hendrix, who devoured "All Along The Watchtower" & recast it from a sepia-tone little demo on John Wesley Harding to a shocking exercise in Day-Glo Technicolor. From the clattering opening riff through the wild flames of burning guitar throughout--at some moments crackling with heat, other moments scraping down into charred remains--Hendrix simply owned the song, tossing off the verses in his offhanded talk/sing style that made the words feel even more like his own. Dylan's original only hinted at Bible; Hendrix made the song into a maelstrom of biblical proportions. He also enshrined it as a rock standard ever since. Countless bands from international arena tours on down through some kids in the garage up the street from you right now play the song, so deceptively simple in structure, but limitless in meaning.

& among the many to follow Hendrix's lead was Dylan himself. After he heard Hendrix's "All Along The Watchtower," Dylan realized that this was the way the song was always meant to sound & to this day, hasn't performed it with an acoustic guitar since.

Because, as the man said, Don't Look Back.

[Postscript: If you dug reading through this list, check out The Top 10 Greatest Dylan Rip-Offs.]

The Million Dollar Quartet At 60.

On December 4, 1956, Jerry Lee Lewis was at Sun Records playing piano on a Carl Perkins session when Elvis Presley came to the studio to say hello to some old friends; not long thereafter, Johnny Cash swung by to pick up a paycheck. The four began jamming, Sun founder Sam Phillips switched on the tape, and the legend of the Million Dollar Quartet was born.

There have been great dates in rock and roll before and after, but none so great as this one, 60 years ago today.

You've got February 9, 1964, when The Beatles played on The Ed Sullivan Show, and July 25, 1965, when Bob Dylan "went electric" at The Newport Folk Festival, but in those cases, historical context is the main driving force and the taped performances are secondary. The Beatles sound fine enough, if a bit rushed and nervous (for good reason), while Dylan's electric outfit sounded under-rehearsed and poorly mixed (which some claim is the real reason for the booing). In both cases, it is the audience that is the key element of the performance.

When Elvis, Jerry Lee, Carl, and Johnny jammed at the Million Dollar Quartet, there was no audience. Or not a traditional one, anyway. There were friends, girlfriends, and hanger-ons, and eventually the press as the ever-resourceful Phillips called the Memphis Press-Scimitar--people drifting in and out of the storefront studio. Instead of playing for audience, they were instead playing for each other, playing for history, and playing for posterity. They were playing for us.

I remember first being told the myth of the session when I visited Sun Records as a teenager. I dutifully bought the then-current 1990s release of the recordings and raced to listen to them. I figured it would be a Sun Records greatest hits album times four. "That's All Right," "Blue Suede Shoes," "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," "I Walk the Line," all the rest. This was gonna be great.

Turns out I was very wrong. With the exception of Elvis's "Don't Be Cruel"--more on that in minute--there were none of these hits, or any others. In fact, there was a lot of gospel. And country. And blues. And some more gospel.

As I kept listening, what had initially disappointed me about the session was the key to its invaluable worth. It was less a traditional rock and roll album as it was four founders of the music giving a history class. This was their common ground, a meeting place of fervor and joy. Which makes sense. If you got George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and Alexander Hamilton together, they'd probably be talking about Locke and Rousseau, as opposed to themselves.

But ironically, the finest moment of the session does come the one time one of the legends sings one of their biggest hits. Elvis had recently gone to Las Vegas and bombed, but while there caught a show by the R&B vocal group Billy Ward and His Dominoes. Despite the name, Ward was never the lead singer of the group, he was instead its founder and manager. The group first launched Clyde McPhatter--one of Elvis's biggest influences--who then left the group for his own major solo career at Atlantic Records. If Elvis had gone to see the Dominoes for his idol McPhatter, he was to be disappointed as a new singer was in his place.

Elvis remembers the singer trying to do a few of his songs--"Hound Dog" among them--but striking out. Then, he does "Don't Be Cruel." It was slower and more slender than his own version, Elvis explained, but in the end it was better than his. Elvis then tries to imitate the young African-American singer, who in turn was trying to imitate Elvis. "You know I can't be fo-oo-ound," Elvis sings while a guitar strums. "Sittin' home all a-ha-lone--" Then Jerry Lee's piano marches in with all of the subtlety of an elephant. Soon Carl's electric guitar snaps right in there too, while his band, still in their seats from his session, backing Elvis. "Don't be cruel," Elvis sings. "To a heart that's true..." As the group crashes to a finale, you can hear them reaching for the sound Elvis hears in his head. They don't quite get that sound, but what they create is even more exciting and visceral. Elvis keeps going back it, talking about how that young R&B singer emphasized "tel-e-phone" and how he stepped back with his head shaking, "I don't a-want no other a-love-ah..."

It turns out the singer that Elvis had gone to see was none other than a young Jackie Wilson, already proving himself to have the most exciting timing (and punctuation) of any singer of his era.

On the original 1990s CD I got of the session, "Don't Be Cruel" was sandwiched somewhere in the middle, with the gospel stuff on top and country run-throughs on the other side. Now, with the 50th Anniversary album that came out a decade ago, the chronology was mended and more songs were added to make a clearer picture of the day.

First we get Carl and Jerry Lee playing an instrumental, before jamming on "Jingle Bells" and "White Christmas," still with no vocals. Elvis steps out of the booth to talk about (and sing) Lowell Fulton's "Reconsider Baby," one of his favorite songs, which he will later record on his first album after being discharged from the Army. Although he is partially off-mic, he sounds just as he will in the familiar version from 1960. Then comes "Don't Be Cruel." It is the first complete performance, and the place in which everything comes together. This is clearly what Elvis is most excited about, and is eager to convey to his friends and fellow musicians.

From there, they slip into parlor music ("There's No Place Like Home") and a spiritual ("When the Saints Go Marchin' in"), and then into a string of gospel standards that are among the most memorable performances of the day. Elvis sings "Peace in the Valley" with all of the sorrow and regret that is only hinted at in his later studio version, "Down by the Riverside" and "I Shall Not Be Moved" are made into a cross between jump-blues and doo-wop.

"I am with a crowd, but oh so a-looooone," Elvis sings beginning the next set. The full band is gone, though Carl and Jerry Lee are still unhand to offer vocal support and ideas. Elvis's girlfriend requests "Farther Along," which again takes them from spiritual music to parlor music, followed by Elvis running down a list of his favorite songs, alternating between country and gospel. Carl gets in a lovely take at the gospel song "Keeper of the Key"; Elvis sings the praises of Pat Boone and his latest record, "Don't Forbid Me."

Then, just when you think it's all gone off the rails, they come together in the united front of Chuck Berry, all jamming on "Brown-Eyed Handsome Man." Elvis can't remember the words, so Carl and Jerry Lee help, coaxing him along, reminding each other of verses, laughing at jokes in the song that have become so familiar even the most ardent rock fan has forgotten they were ever heard as comical punchlines. They are like a bunch of old friends at the back of bar right at last call, playing to see if they can make it to the next verse. It is loose, easy music, with a sure sense of freedom.

Elvis then touches on "That's When Your Heartaches Begin," one of the first songs he recorded as an acetate at Sun, and brings the story full-circle. Then, he seems to disappear, and all that is left is Jerry Lee Lewis, ready and eager to debut the sides of his recent first release, "Crazy Arms" and "End of the Road." He then reaches back into the rag "Black Bottom Stomp" and then the Gene Autry standard "You're the Only Star in My Blue Heaven," and then you can hear everyone shaking hands and saying goodbye.

There has been over 45 performances of some 40 songs, including rock, pop, R&B, blues, country, bluegrass, spirituals, gospel, and Christmas songs. There have been standards like "When the Saints Go Marching in," "White Christmas," and yes, "Don't Be Cruel"; there have been obscure tunes like "Keeper of the Key," "Out of Sight, Out of Mind," and yes, "Don't Forbid Me." There have been songs that have been performed by Louis Armstrong, Bill Monroe, Jelly Roll Morton, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Charley Patton, Bing Crosby, Jackie Wilson, The Ink Spots, and Gene Autry, not to mention songs sung by slaves, sharecroppers, and the Union Army of the Civil War.

And yet for all there is, let us pause to consider what there is not (at least to my ears, anyway): Johnny Cash.

Some have speculated that Cash only showed up for the newspaper photo shoot but split before the tapes began rolling; contemporary reports have him singing "Blueberry Hill" with the others, although that song has never been found with the tape. Cash himself claims in his autobiography that he indeed was there and can hear himself singing, only he is farthest from the mic and is singer in a higher range than his usual hit sound.

Maybe, but try as I may (and have), I can't hear him. Also, the fact that at one point Elvis's girlfriend asks "this Rover Boys' Trio" to sing a song leads me to believe there were only three principles there for the main part of the recording, as well as the fact that Elvis later mentions Johnny Cash by full name, in a way that seems to imply that Cash is not on the premises.

This is not to take away from the power of the sessions. If anything, it adds to their mystery. For even without Johnny Cash actually there (audibly, anyway), so much is. There is the stream-of-conscious history lesson of modern American music. There is the only known recordings of Elvis and Jerry Lee together. And there is the only full-length recording we have of Elvis talking at length and off-the-cuff about music. Seems crazy, but it's true.

It all adds up to a session that for me encompasses the whole of rock and roll, much more than a greatest hits album ever could. That said, the latter is almost too irresistible--just check out The Million Dollar Quartet musical by Floyd Mutrux and Colin Escott, which uses the session as a heavily-fictionalized structure by which to tell the story of these Sun Records legends, greatest hits and all. This is all well and good and I'm glad it gets the myth and music out to an even wider audience, but for me, the real magic is in the tape from December 4, 1956.

For all of its bum notes and tangents (both musical and conversational), it is a testament to a brave new music, the young men who made it, and the old world that they conjured up in doing so.

The Top 5 Sun Records Songs Not Released As Singles.

 

Sun Studio, universally hailed as The Birthplace Of Rock & Roll, was an embarrassment of 1950s riches. Their roster formed a Mount Rushmore of rockabilly--Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, & Johnny Cash--& even their second-stringers were future American musical masters like Roy Orbison & Charlie Rich.

But when you start stacking up what was actually released by each artist while they were on the label, the results are surprisingly small. Elvis released only 10 sides while he was at the label, while Carl Perkins only put out 19. Even Jerry Lee Lewis, who recorded the most extensively at Sun--a recent box set of his Sun output clocks in at 18 discs--only released about 2 CDs worth of material while he was employed as an artist there.

So what to do with all of the leftovers? Budget labels & bootleggers have been releasing this ever since, elevating some of these to minor classics in their own right. Everyone may know "That's All Right," "Blue Suede Shoes," & "Great Balls Of Fire," but these ones are arguably as worthy in their own way.

& before we begin, an honorable mention goes out to Carl Perkins' "Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby," which was left off of the list because although it was never released as a single, it was put on his 1957 Sun LP; all of the songs on this list were never released in any format on Sun Records.

5. "Trying To Get To You" by Elvis Presley.

Elvis famously released 10 sides on Sun Records between 1954 & 1955--5 bluesy A-sides backed by 5 country B-sides--& "Trying To Get To You" would've been the 11th side, if only Sam Phillips had a country song to back it with. Unfortunately for Phillips, Elvis signed with RCA before he could record one, which stipulated that Phillips hand over all of Elvis's masters to the new label. (Phillips was sure not to make this mistake again when Columbia signed Johnny Cash, allowing himself to have several years' & albums worth of Cash material ready despite his departure.) Sun's loss is Elvis's first album's gain as his cover of an R&B hit by The Eagles (no, not THAT Eagles--this one was an African-American doo-wop group who are so mysterious that I literally cannot even find a listing of the members' names) was a standout track on an already near-perfect album. It is Elvis's capstone at Sun, singing with all of the confidence & charisma that would carry him through the coming years--although some would argue with increasingly diminishing results.

4. "Domino" by Roy Orbison.

I've always had a soft-spot for Roy Orbison's work at Sun. Although it is overshadowed by his more influential subsequent work at Moment Records (& with ballads like "Cryin'" & rockers like "Oh, Pretty Woman" it's easy to see why), one can hear an eagerness & vulnerability all but absent from his peers. Elvis was the hot one, Jerry Lee Lewis was the crazy one, Johnny Cash was the tough one, Carl Perkins was the quiet one--& Roy Orbison was the awkward one. He didn't have the bravado of the others & to his credit, he didn't try to. Phillips didn't quite know what to do with him but Roy also didn't know what to do with himself either (how else can one explain the coupling of "Chicken Hearted" & "I Like Love" as a single?). In a sea of rebels, Roy was the guy you could relate to. "Domino," his finest Sun cut outside of "Ooby Dooby" & "Go! Go! Go!," was better than nearly all of the other sides he would release during his short stint at the label. One only has to listen to the likes of "Chicken Hearted" & "I Like Love" to get an idea of what people should've been hearing instead.

3. "Wild One" by Jerry Lee Lewis.

"Wild One" was originally written by Johnny O'Keefe, the first major Australian rock & roll star. It kicks, it's cute, it's got lots of saxophone. Enter The Killer. He doesn't so much cover the song as he does eat it up & spit it out as fire in his own image. Gone are the original lyrics, in its place are rushed, half-improvised new ones that allude to his own hits & style. Recorded in 1958, it wouldn't see the light of day until the 1970s, which is a shame because it out-classes "High School Confidential" & most other things that would follow. It's tempting to say it would've provided him with that comeback hit in the wake of his marriage scandal, but if the similarly excellent rave-up "Lovin' Up A Storm" couldn't crack the Top 80, this probably wouldn't have been able to either. Regardless, "Wild One" should with Aretha Franklin's "Respect" & Jimi Hendrix's "All Along The Watchtower" as one of rock's finest covers, but Jerry Lee Lewis so effectively makes it his own that few are even aware that it's a cover in the first place--because after all, Jerry Lee Lewis will always be rock & roll's most wild one.


2. "A Red Cadillac & A Black Mustache" by Warren Smith.

Of all the ones who shoulda-coulda-woulda made it at Sun but didn't, my vote for the least well-known with the best back catalog is Warren Smith. A country singer by trade, he took to the rock music much more naturally than, say, his Sun label-mate Johnny Cash. It was Cash who wrote (or bought for $40 from George Jones) Smith's first single, "Rock & Roll Ruby," which did well enough locally to ensure a few more sides. Despite rockabilly that was equal parts tough & driving (the classic "Ubangi Stomp") & strange & folksy (the "Old, Weird America"-invoking B-sides "Black Jack David" & "Miss Froggie"), the only national hit he ever got was "So Long, I'm Gone," which petered out at #74. Left in the can was this song, a haunting & moody evocation of lost love shrouded in jealousy & suspicion. Only one known take of it exists, placing it in the category of one-known-take wonders like Robert Johnson's "Hell Hound On My Trail" & Elvis's own "Mystery Train." This song alone stands as proof not only as Sun's depth of quality as a label, but of Warren Smith's effortless--& largely forgotten--talent.


1. "Put Your Cat Clothes On" by Carl Perkins.
 

 
On December 4, 1956, the most famous jam session in rock history took place at Sun Studio, where Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, & Johnny Cash sang old gospel, country, & pop songs, over an hour of which made it onto the legendary "Million Dollar Quartet" tape. What is often overlooked is why half of The Million Dollar Quartet (Perkins & Lewis) were there in the first place--to cut a regular session. Perkins was on his way down--it was a little under a year since "Blue Suede Shoes" became a breakthrough smash & he was still looking for that elusive follow-up hit; Jerry Lee Lewis was on his way up--his first single, "Crazy Arms," was just newly released where it would become a local hit & launchpad to a year of glory. But for now, Perkins was the bigger star & this was his session--Lewis was there as an anonymous session man, reportedly to earn some money for Christmas presents. Out of this session came Perkins' masterpiece "Matchbox," which managed to make #67 on the pop charts as the B-side to the inferior "Your True Love."

But arguably better than both songs is "Put Your Cat Clothes On," one of the toughest & most exciting rockabilly record ever cut. Perkins sings with a force & fun that he only ever really matched with "Dixie Fried," rushing lines & keeping the festivities rocking. Also unique for a Perkins record is Lewis's piano solo. Usually Perkins' tight, well-measured electric guitar would play during the solos (as it does during the second musical break), but here a young Lewis takes center stage, with an offhand & breezy, carefree solo. His energy helps to fuel the song's drive & is what arguably pushes Perkins to such a rocking, memorable performance.

It unusual for two rock legends (one past & one future) to collaborate so organically, but therein lies the magic of "Put Your Cat Clothes On"--& by extension, Sun Studio.

The Legend of the Million Dollar Quartet.

The Million Dollar Quartet, l-r: Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Elvis Presley, & Johnny Cash.

On December 4, 1956, Elvis Presley swung by his old label, Sun Records, where he found Carl Perkins cutting a session with a then-unknown Jerry Lee Lewis playing backup on piano; just then, Johnny Cash popped his head in while out shopping for Christmas presents, & the legend of the "Million Dollar Quartet" was born.

The truth, as it always is, is more complicated & less romantic: While the first part is essentially true, it seems like Cash was probably called in specifically from his house to complete Sun Records' rock & roll Mt. Rushmore. Also, Cash is inconspicuously absent from the recordings made that day, despite the iconic photo above & the contemporary newspaper report of the guys singing "Blueberry Hill," which is nowhere to be found.

But, as the Gods say, close enough.

The recordings that do survive of the Million Dollar Trio (if you will) are one of rock & roll's great lost founding documents, often overlooked for the very thing that makes them so fascinating: For all of the different things they sing — from "White Christmas" to "When the Saints Go Marchin' In" — there is very little of what we would think of as rock & roll. There's no "Blue Suede Shoes" or "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On," & the only time Elvis does break into one of his classics, "Don't Be Cruel," it's to describe how an African-American performer sung the song better than him (the singer turned out to be a young Jackie Wilson).

Elvis imitating Jackie Wilson imitating Elvis imitating Dean Martin or whoever he had in his head the day he recorded "Don't Be Cruel" is essential listening, & should be sought out by any fan of music.

Yet it is a very poor indicator of the music made that day, which was partly blues, partly country, but mostly gospel. After blues & country, gospel music gets the short end of the stick, but here Elvis, Jerry Lee, & Carl make a case for it as being rock's great lost third influence. Check out the boys singing "I Shall Not Be Moved" — a gospel song in form & lyric, to be sure, but country-blues rockabilly in every other way, from the boogie rhythm to Carl's snapping solos:

Not only are these tapes the only known recordings of Elvis & Jerry Lee together, they are the only known records of Elvis talking freely about music, period, filled out by a stream-of-conscious playlist of illustrations. It would be like the Founding Fathers made a webcast of themselves raiding Thomas Jefferson's bookshelf. Only a lot more fun to listen to.