For a few years after his passing in 2003, the market was flooded with everything Johnny Cash. In hindsight, it is even somewhat surprising how little Rick Rubin and his American Recordings utilized this situation. They could have put out anything and everything left in the archives (I’ve understood there was a lot of material), and people would have lapped it up. In the end, the primary posthumous released were the two last albums in the American series and the Unearthed box set. My Mother’s Hymn Book from the latter was later also issued as a separate release.

In hindsight, that’s pretty tasteful. The temptation and pressure from record label executives must have been there to drain the bottom of the barrel, but as far as the recordings done with Rubin, most all posthumous releases more than justify their existence.

American VI: Ain’t No Grave, the final release, teeters and totters there on the borderline. Apparently, it was stitched and sewed together from dozens of takes, sometimes a line or even a word at a time. We’re obviously listening to a very tired, worn out and exhausted Johnny Cash here. But it’s still that same Johnny Cash who Rick Rubin managed to draw out in the mid-90’s from a man who was ready to give up on his recording career. Despite his obvious frailness, there’s an undeniable dignity to Cash’s voice. The strength still so evident from time to time on American V: A Hundred Highways is spent, but its absence does not translate to weakness.

The highlights of the album, such as the title track and Sheryl Crow’s Redemption Day are expertly built around this figure of a tired, worn man who remains strong in his faith. In some ways, one can question the authenticity of Johnny Cash as envisioned by Rick Rubin, as this elder statesman of American music and culture, who stands as a somber figure of dignity, integrity and and righteousness – after all, this was also a man who remained an addict to the end of his life, despite the pretty picture he painted in his autobiographies. But this is the picture Rubin paints, and the aforementioned tracks clearly evoke this imagery.

And of course, from another perspective, Cash was exactly as described above, despite his very human shortcomings. In interviews, he always remained humble and unassuming, but still certain in his convictions: solid, but not judgmental.

But there are lesser tracks on Ain’t No Grave as well. I Don’t Hurt Anymore, Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream and Aloha Oe feel more than a little like padding. And did the world need another, somewhat emaciated version of the old The Sons Of The Pioneers classic Cool Water? Methinks not.

In that sense, American VI does feel a bit like scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’m sure there were plenty of even lesser dregs left undrained, and I certainly hope they will remain so. There’s no need to publish absolutely everything for the sake of completeness: let the rather stellar American series remain so. I’m looking at you, record label executives who’re thinking of what sham to put out during the next Record Store Day.

In this sense, American VI is an album that’s not as uniformly strong as its predecessors. However, overall, Rubin has managed to patch together a solid release, and a worthy epitaph. The title track is obviously built to be another iconic biblically themed hit like God’s Gonna Cut You Down, but despite being a solid song, it’s not. This aptly describes the whole album: it’s solid enough, but a slightly wheezing afterthought to the five first.

One slightly overlooked track on the album I want to give special mention to is Kris Kristofferson’s For The Good Times. Often other people did the definitive versions of his compositions. So too in this case; the tender arrangement and Kristofferson’s beautiful lyrics feel like made for Johnny Cash’s final album. This version makes the song definitely and unquestionably the song of an old man recognizing his approaching death, looking back at life with both melancholy and joy.

Equally as much as the iconic tracks, it’s the inspired “deep cuts” (using the term very liberally) that make the American series so great. More than once, Rubin’s and Cash’s instincts were spot on, and they managed to create beautiful new interpretations of others’ compositions, which suddenly feel like they were made for the elderly, ailing Johnny Cash.

Back in the day, the album was received with some mixed feelings. The most critical reviewers saw a bit of a cash-in here. Overall, the reception was positive, though – which, I think, to some extent reflects the “Cashmania” so prevalent for about a decade after Cash’s death. There are obvious things to criticize on the album, and there definitely is a slight air of cash-in. The American series could have done without this release.

This is obviously a very calculated release, carefully playing on the “elderly man in black” image the media had cultivated in the years after Cash’s passing, evidently underlined in how Rubin’s production emphasized the frailty in Cash’s uneven and breaking voice.

All of these are valid criticisms.

But on the other hand, despite some lesser tracks, this album has strength enough to stand on its own legs. Its highlights ensure that. As such, as an epilogue, a sort of afterthought to the American series and Cash’s career, it feels appropriate. Calculated though it is, it is effective.

---

In From The Vaults we take a dive into the record collection at Only Death Is Real HQ and write about about items of iconic stature or personal significance; rarities and oddities from the archives; obscure gems that deserve more attention; classics of yore deserving of a moment in the limelight; and so on.