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It was an unbelievably rainy night in 1988 when mom dragged me kicking and screaming away from the Uplift Mofo Party Plan and drove the two of us down to the Ottawa (KS) Municipal Auditorium to see Johnny Cash. Keep in mind that this was long before Rick Rubin had saved the Man in Black (and a few years before he got around to ruining the Chili Peppers). I was 17 and, in my mind, I was part Chili Pepper/part Morrissey and I had absolutely zero interest in a washed-up country has-been playing in my parents’ hometown. Well, I was wrong. Johnny Cash (and my mom who ‘got it’) changed my life that night. It was around then that I got my hands on Uncle Mark’s old acoustic guitar and saved enough dough to buy a little Tascam 4-track recorder. I’m pretty sure the first hack recording I did w/the guitar, the 4-track, and the 2 ½ chords I could almost play was Folsom Prison Blues. (note: Kevin Sullivan, that’s the guitar you’re learning on) Fast forward to 1994. I now know 4 chords, have been generously dragged around by a band w/4 real musicians for a few years, have been introduced to Winfield by Uncle Mark & Cyndi, got ‘Uncle Tupelo-ed’, and then, as all of this is going on, Rick Rubin ‘discovers’ Johnny Cash and puts out the brilliant and spare American Recordings album. Just Johnny in a chair strumming simple chords and singing with that voice. I love this album. Nikki and I were dating, she was living in Wichita, and I must have listened to that first JC American Recordings CD front to back a million times driving up and down I-35 to see her. I was still playing in bands a little bit in the 1990s, mostly electric, mostly bass and never anywhere near a mic. But at home, I’d strum and mumble the words to simple Johnny Cash songs, always off-key and missing beats here and there (some things never change). Mom liked it (or at least said she did). She would always ask me to play this song, “Let the Train Blow the Whistle”, so I would. (Pro tip: when you have only 1 fan, do whatever they say). Now it’s the song I play to ‘warm up’ almost every time I pick up the guitar and every time I think of Nancy Lou. Happy Birthday, Mom
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