By DeMatt Harkins. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (November 17)

The morning of January 13th, 1968, Johnny Cash rode half an hour from Sacramento to the granite walls of Folsom State Prison. With Carl Perkins and The Statler Brothers as openers, he played two shows at 9:40am and 12:40pm. The composite recording of the proceedings would surpass 3 million units sold.

This was not Cash’s first performance at a prison, nor was it his initial appearance at that particular location. But in Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison: The Making of a Masterpiece, Michael Streissguth details what proved to be the most important day of Cash’s career, providing the trajectory to cement his place in musical history.

If you came up during a time when Cash was already a living legend, it is natural to assume he always was one. However, Streissguth explains this was not the case. At Folsom Prison‘s namesake track was recorded at Sun Studios 13 years prior. With the exception of one outlier, Cash’s string of hits tapered off around 1963. His output became increasingly uneven and uninspired. This came as no surprise with recording sessions regularly pilfered, when not missed entirely.

Streissguth lays this rut at the feet of Cash’s drug addiction. Throughout the decade, the singer would struggle with the misuse of amphetamines. Meeting concert obligations became a 50/50 prospect. When he did make it to the microphone, it was not unusual for Cash to be deep in the throes of his habit or just returning to consciousness.

However, as the 60s drew to a close, Streissguth demonstrates two people came into Cash’s life, to great benefit. They would help set the stage for the success of At Folsom Prison. Country royalty June Carter served as a calming, supportive, and loving influence on the troubled soul. Her budding relationship with Cash spawned not only a marriage, but also a return to form in the Grammy-winning duet “Jackson.”

Simultaneously, when Columbia Records transferred Bob Johnston to run their Nashville operations, it would open doors for Cash. Although the Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel producer had been stationed in New York, the native Texan proved a Cash ally, with an equal penchant for mischief. Cash had been asking to record at a prison for years. Johnston was just the guy to ignore the home office’s warnings and green light such a project. The gamble would pay off for all parties involved.

Just as At Folsom Prison would provide Cash’s career a shot in the arm, it also rehydrated country music from its own drought of sorts. In 1968, the musical order of the day was psychedelic and soul. Streissguth argues that Cash was miscategorized as country front the get-go, since he truly played rockabilly. He contends the popularity of Folsom greased the wheels for an updated country/rock hybrid introduced by The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Byrds, and Buffalo Springfield. Going further, Streissguth credits Cash’s revival and subsequent exponential growth for paving the way to arena success for Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings, among others.

Nonetheless, Streissguth asks the question, why is At Folsom Prison rarely if ever included in the best albums of the rebellious 60s? While LPs still considered masterpieces today explored new artistic landscapes, he asserts none of them truly challenged authority like At Folsom Prison. Mocking guards and swearing in front of a thousand inmates as tape rolled was a bold move for the era.

Recognizing this, Columbia built their marketing strategy on Cash’s impudence. At the time, the company allocated their promotional budget to pop and classical. With limited resources and a seemingly countercultural message, Columbia sent the record straight to underground newspapers and free-form radio DJs. Although now considered a landmark country album, At Folsom Prison initially gained momentum with the hip set.

But as Streissguth points out, Cash went beyond merely thumbing his nose. Over the next decade he would become an outspoken advocate for prison reform. Essentially unheard of at the time, he understood that caring for prisoners would achieve more for society than brutality. For years he spoke out during interviews, and even appeared at a Senate hearing in 1972.

Without question, At Folsom Prison put Johnny Cash back on the map for three more decades. In addition to putting you there that chilly morning in 1968, Streissguth places the album in context of Cash’s career, personal life, and music as a whole.

DeMatt Harkins of Jackson enjoys flipping pancakes and records with his wife and daughter.

By DeMatt Harkins. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (July 30).
Jim Dickinson and wife Mary Lindsay dine with Atlantic Records’ Jerry Wexler, famed producer Tom Dowd, Dr. John, and Mick Jagger at a Clarence Carter show. Was this a typical social occasion for Dickinson? Hardly. But his posthumous memoir, I’m Just Dead, I’m Not Gone(University of Press of Mississippi), demonstrates such a meeting is not surprising, either.

Father of North Mississippi Allstars principals Cody and Luther Dickinson, Jim Dickinson prospered as a music business triple threat–musician, songwriter, and producer. Beginning with a high school talent show, Dickinson’s adroit musical abilities developed relationships that made him an industry resource, first locally in Memphis and later nationally.

Although he would later produce Big Star, The Replacements, Toots & The Maytals, The Radiators, Albert King, Steve Forbert, and Beanland, and record with Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Mavis Staples, I’m Just Dead, I’m Not Gone covers Dickinson’s first 30 years through 1971.

Dickinson’s writing alternates between thematic directness and rapid-fire anecdotes that reveal a bigger mosaic. The prose is also regularly interspersed with his own poetry, further emphasizing the experience recounted. Part shoptalk, mostly shenanigans, I’m Just Dead, I’m Not Gone paints Dickinson as a eclectic, deft at spinning a yarn.

Dickinson explains his musical proclivity was no accident. Both of his maternal grandparents were in-home musicians, and his mother taught piano. Plus once they settled in Memphis, Dickinson’s parents frequently caught big bands at the Peabody, occasionally bringing Jim with them.

Ultimately Dickinson points to two episodes from his youth that crystallized a scholarly zest for the region’s music. While walking downtown Memphis with his father, the pair happened upon the legendary Will Shade & the Memphis Jug Band set up in an alley. They left Dickinson awestruck, and strangely it would be years before he learned who they were. Similarly in West Memphis another Saturday, he stumbled upon Howlin’ Wolf’s in-studio performance on KWEM. These were far from tuxedoed big bands, and left quite an impression.

Throughout his teens and early 20s, Dickinson hopped among overlapping local bands, playing guitar and keys on the party circuit, eventually making his way to the control room of several studios in town. He would come to know Memphis notables Sam Phillips, Steve Cropper, Chips Moman, Larry Raspberry, Sid Selvidge, Duck Dunn, and Don Nix. Dickinson bands opened for Bo Diddley and Jimmy Reed, and even played a real-deal chicken wire gig.

In time, homespun connections earned Dickinson sutdio experience in Muscle Shoals, Nashville, Miami, and Los Angeles. His achievements include Albert Collins’ “Trash Talkin” (R&B Instrumental of the Year Grammy nominee), Arlo Guthrie’s “City of New Orleans” (No. 18 Billboard Hot 100), and Aretha Franklin’s “Spirit in the Dark” (No. 2 R&B/No. 25 Pop) including “Don’t Play That Song” (Best Female R&B Vocal Performance Grammy winner) and and uncredited back-up vocal on the Allman Brothers Band’s “Midnight Rider.”

Easily Dickinson’s most famous appearance is on the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.” The story involves his buddy Stanley Booth from Memphis State, his wife’s station wagon, an in-tune grand piano, and an out-of-tune band.

For all his successes, Dickinson also divulges the disappointing or hilarious near misses. A Sam & Dave record, and a session with Duane Allman and Eric Clapton each sat on the shelf for decades. Lenny Kaye (later Patti Smith’s guitarist) interviewed Dickinson in New York for a feature in Esquire to promote his solo album Dixie Fried. On his way home, a mugger nabbed Kaye’s tape recorder. And Billboard Magazine named the New Beale Street Sheiks’ record its Pick Hit–three days before the Beatles debuted on Ed Sullivan.

Despite the ups and downs, in I’m Just Dead, I’m Not Gone, Dickinson humorously reveals the secrets to finesse and savor a satisfying life following musical passions.

DeMatt Harkins of Jackson enjoys flipping pancakes and records with his wife and daughter.

Mary Lindsay Dickinson (widow of Jim Dickinson) along with their son Cody, will sign copies of I’m Not Dead, I’m Just Gone at the Mississippi Bicentennial and Mississippi Encylopedia Party on Thursday, August 17, at 5:30 p.m. at the Cathead Distillery (422 South Farish Street, Jackson). Also, Mary Lindsay will serve as a panelist on the “Celebrating Our Roots: A Tribute to Mississippi’s Musical Heritage” discussion at the Mississippi Book Festival on , Saturday, August 19, at 1:30 p.m. at the Galloway Fellowship Center.