Me and the weird old bearded dude who owns that record store in your town are having a music trivia nerd-off. He offers that today's the day Donny Hathaway killed himself in '79. I counter with the fact that on this day in 1968, Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Three performed at Folsom for some super-geeked inmates. Guess what? I WIN THIS ROUND. Almost exactly like the Geto Boys, I CAN'T BE STOPPED.
On heavy, heavvvy rotation in my childhood home, At Folsom Prison was my first foray into the terrible romantic beauty of the Up North Trip in lyric form. Here's to being raised on stories set to melody about prison and coke, then growing up, amassing a bikini collection, getting a master's, and being obsessed with stories set to melody about prison and coke (Happy birthday again, Rae!).
Bonus nerdage: Rick James, Timothy Leary, and Eldridge Cleaver? All former inmates at Folsom. And, coincidentally, all probably CRAZY, dirty-talkin, chemical-assisted, hair-pullin partners in bed. (Sorry Mom.)
“Hello, I'm Johnny Cash.”
“Cocaine Blues.” Wait, didn't I already mention Rick James in this post?
mp3.
“Folsom Prison Blues.”
mp3.
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