Album: Jackie Leven <!-- none onestar twostar fourstar fivestar -->

Elegy for Johnny Cash, COOKING VINYL

Andy Gill
Thursday 08 September 2005 19:00 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Arriving only five months after the Jackie Leven Said collaboration with Ian Rankin, Elegy for Johnny Cash was recorded late last year in Beirut, where Leven, a Romany himself, had been invited to appear at an gathering of Romany singers. Its style, however, is barely altered from Leven's customary soulful Caledonian folk-rock, other than the occasional flurry of Arabic percussion or Greek rembetika viola. His lyrical concerns are likewise unchanged, focusing on the iron in the souls of hard men struggling to retain their dignity in an age that has no use for them: the "broken men of the Mersey and the Tyne" stricken with industrial injuries in "Vibration White Finger"; the bitter, hard-drinking misanthrope in "King of the Barley"; the husband kicked out by his wife in "Blue Soul, Dark Road". The calloused nobility apotheosised by Leven is iconically represented by a few specific figures, notably the boxer Roberto Duran, turning his back mid-fight on Sugar Ray Leonard in "Museum of Childhood", and Johnny Cash, a gnarled monument of pained solitude borne with stoic grace, whom Leven imagines singing the title-track. The love songs are rather less effective (and the romances always doomed), but then women per se play pretty much the same kind of support roles in Leven's work as they do in Scorsese's films.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in