Cash from the grave.

I don’t know the backstory. I haven’t read my Rolling Stone. But somehow, someone just released an album featuring new material from Johnny Cash. And I love it.

Sentimental is the word. As I listened, my brain bounced from memory to memory. I reminisced about the first time I heard “Come in Stranger” on a Sun Records 45 scavenged from a junk pile in my Great Uncles’ abandoned house. I thought of the greatest hit tape I used to play in my ’68 Impala, torturing all my leather-clad, mohawked friends in high school. I recounted the first fight my first roommate and I had over whether I could play “Unchained” in the living room because she “hated country music!”

All these years. So many albums. Even death hasn’t kept this guy down.

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