cash goes toe to toe with own mortality
by james sullivan

03.16.03

none of us have the answers. the thing about johnny cash is that he always seemed to be a little closer to finding them.

in the liner notes of his latest album, "american iv: the man comes around, " the great maverick recalls how the book of revelation inspired the title track. "revelation, by its mere interpretation, says that something 'is revealed,' " he writes. "i wish it were. the more i dug into the book the more i came to realize why it's such a puzzle."

there's no puzzle to the devastating new video for "hurt," an unlikely nine inch nails song that cash covers on the new album, the fourth release of the man in black's renaissance with rick rubin's american recordings. the video goes toe to toe with mortality. mortality, of course, throws the last punch.

the much-discussed footage has been posted on sites all over the web -- mtv's, vh1's, rolling stone's. directed by mark romanek, who has done extremely stylish work for nin, beck, madonna and others (and made last year's feature-length creep-out "one hour photo," with robin williams), wades right into the singer's life. not the mighty myth, but the profound frailty of his waning years. for cash, it's a new kind of fearlessness.

cash, who turned 71 last month, is widely known to be battling an onslaught of diseases that would have toppled most lesser men long ago: diabetes, glaucoma, asthma. in 1999 he was misdiagnosed with shy-drager syndrome, a rare neurological disorder. whatever the bill of health, it's clear there isn't much health left.

the album is a real mixed bag, with seemingly misguided cover versions of "first time ever i saw your face" and "bridge over troubled water" (the latter with the accompaniment of fiona apple, of all people). some of it might be laughable. you do not laugh at johnny cash.

"hurt," a dark song of despair, self-punishment and bittersweet deliverance, lends the entire record an unassailable dignity. in the video, cash is shown holing up at home, his hands shuddering uncontrollably, his once jet-black mane gone white and wispy, the bullets of his eyes reduced to useless shards of sea glass.

as the song's tension mounts, shoved uphill by one insistent piano note, romanek intercuts clips of cash in younger years, looking ornery and leathery and utterly invincible. back in the present day, as he lip-syncs the words in his living room, wife june carter cash stands over his shoulder on a staircase,

her lower lip quivering. the quick cuts from sinew to infirmity are body blows; the message is unmistakable. if johnny cash isn't exempt, no one is.

"and you could have it all," he bellows, unsteadily dumping wine on the gothic banquet in front of him, his voice sounding fuller than it ever will again. "my empire of dirt." the final scene repeats an image from the opening seconds. cash gently closes the lid over the piano keyboard. in close-up, his thick fingers gently follow the contour. it's a coffin.

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