Johnny Cash - American Recordings I II III IV V SLAYER DISCOGRAFIA (MEDIAFIRE) Si! Tenia que hacer este post alguna vez, es lejos mi banda favorita de theash metal, y cada uno de estos discos es mas que obligatori. American V: A Hundred Highways is the 93rd overall album and a posthumous album by Johnny Cash released on July 4, 2006. Luma Electronic's Johnny Cash discography listing Preceded by Testimony: Vol. 1, Life & Relationship by India.Arie Billboard 200. Johnny Cash, American V: A Hundred Highways. And Cash, too, sounds remarkably easy going on Like the 309, a Jimmie Rodgers-style train number and one of the last things he recorded. Brushing aside his breathing difficulties with 'I'm not the whinin' kind', Cash orders his 'sweet baby' to 'kiss me hard, draw my bath water and sweep my yard'. American V: A Hundred Highways. I Walk The Line. The Johnny Cash Children's Album. METROPOLIS MUSIC COMPANY doo Makedonska 21, Beograd, Srbija tel +381 11 36 10 324. Prijavite se za newsletter. Makedonska 21.
Johnny Cash's final album attempts to balance man and myth, with songs that allude to his grief, his deep faith, and his impending death.
Johnny Cash is dead, and now that the body is no longer with us, all that's left is the public myth: the larger-than-life love affair with his wife, June Carter Cash; the thundering voice, which will resound now only from speakers; the unshakeable moral authority that derived from his hard childhood, hard living, populist outlook, and eventually his old age; the neurodegeneration that made it impossible for him to play guitar on his last records; the inspiring determination to write and record even in his frail final days. And most of all, that black wardrobe, which he once told us symbolized, among so may other things, 'the poor and the beaten down/ Living in the hopeless hungry side of town.' Cash may be dead, but his ghost haunts us publicly.
Perhaps more than any other album in the Rick Rubin-produced series, Cash's final work, American Recordings V: A Hundred Highways, tries to balance the man and the myth, addressing his life and career with a humor and a gravity that are unmistakably human and unmistakably Cash. Despite the fact that all but two of its tracks are covers, these dozen songs address his marriage to June, his determined Christianity, and his impending death with candor and insight. His covers of Gordon Lightfoot's 'If You Could Read My Mind' and Hugh Moffatt's 'Rose of My Heart' tenderly sum up the Cashs' loyalty more eloquently than any movie ever could, and 'On the 309', the last song he wrote, is filled with wit and vigor. Cash also cracks jokes about his legacy on Don Gibson's 'A Legend in My Own Time', finding it little more than meaningless as he prepares to meet his Maker. 'If they gave gold statuettes for tears and regret,' he sings, 'I'd be a legend in my own time.'
The album is also notable for what's missing. There are no abstractly religious songs like 'The Man Comes Around' or 'Redemption', nor any poorly chosen covers like 'Rusty Cage' or 'The Mercy Seat'. A Hundred Highways may be the most consistent entry in the series, although perhaps not the most exciting or even the most enduring. But after the middling Solitary Man and The Man Comes Around, both of which failed to capture the vitality that made American Recordings and Unchained so engaging, A Hundred Highways sounds surprisingly good-- a final uptick in the series' downward trajectory. It's a satisfying and often moving final chapter to Cash's life and career, one that rejects self-pity and remorse in favor of hopefulness and even celebration.
Rubin does insert some distracting production elements, like the ominous marching percussion that overwhelms Cash's vocals on 'God's Gonna Cut You Down', but for the most part A Hundred Highways is bare-- just Cash and an acoustic guitar-- which makes it a nice complement to Personal File, a collection of recordings released earlier this year. The quality of Cash's singing fluctuates from song to song; he sounds positively youthful on Springsteen's 'Further on up the Road' and sadly ravaged on 'Four Strong Winds'.
But he makes better use of the wrinkles in his voice here than on The Man Comes Around, on which the quaver lent unearned gravity to several tracks. On the opening prayer, 'Help Me', he exhaustedly exhales the word 'please' in the chorus, letting us know what's at stake in these songs and in his life. Nothing else on this album-- or likely on any other release this year-- so effortlessly and evocatively suggests the helplessness of old age, the comfort of mortal resignation, or the finality of death than Cash's delivery of that simple word.
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Rapidshare Johnny Cash American Vinyl
Wheelchair-bound, nearly blind and close to the end, Johnny Cash nonetheless punched in for work immediately after American IV: The Man Comes Around was released in 2002. The first posthumous album in the Rick Rubin-produced American series will reportedly be followed by at least one more. Still, A Hundred Highways feels like a deathbed benediction. The snarling brawn and pitch control and oom-chicka-boom good humor of his great earlier recordings were long behind him, but it turns out those weren’t the secret of his art anyway. The glory of Cash’s records was the dignity and gravity he imparted to any old trifle his producers tossed at him, and as long as he had breath left in him, he could play the Man in Black.
Johnny Cash American V Itunes
Adobe after effects cs6 free. Luckily, Rubin had an immaculate sense of how to frame Cash’s voice — these stark, mostly acoustic arrangements don’t try to conceal the singer’s ruined instrument but find authority in its quavers and crags. He was even better at picking songs for Cash to Cashify, and this time they’re specifically about helplessness, acceptance and romantic nostalgia in the face of approaching death. There are no transfigurations of modern-rock songs here. Instead, the repertoire comes from Americana blue chips (like Hank Sr., Springsteen and Trad. Arr., whose “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” gets a magnificently chilling performance), and Cash himself, including his final composition, a train-song-as-meditation-on-mortality called “Like the 309.” It’s a hard record to bear, but it’s a deep one: Concluding with a resigned rerecording of 1962’s “I’m Free From the Chain Gang Now,” Cash makes it clear that the prison he always sang about was his mortal body and the world.