“Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” I don’t know if there’s a more iconic opening to a live album, or a more iconic performance than At Folsom Prison, the first live album by the Man in Black himself, Johnny Cash. He was my gateway into country music, like I’m sure he was for millions more, and even folks who completely disavow the genre admit to a grudging respect to the man. Listening to this album you can understand why: few artists could spin a story like Cash could, and few could engage an audience so completely. Similar to yesterday’s review of Curtis/Live! the immersion when I lay back with this on the stereo is deep and dense.

Perhaps the best decision ever made in recording any album was keeping in all the banter and even the small flubs stay in the recording. Producer Bob Johnson and Cash weren’t interested in getting the definitive versions of these songs down; they wanted to capture the experience of a man connecting with his audience. And with the choice of setting, something Cash had been wanted to do since the mid 50s, what is captured in both the boisterous applause during the more raucous numbers like “Cocaine Blues” and “25 Minutes to Go” (God I love hearing Cash laugh as he goes through the verses) and sit in rapt silence during the second half of the show when Cash goers into “The Long Black Veil” and “Send a Picture of Mother”. They also intersperse announcements from the prison, calling out numbers and names to reception and it shocks you into remembering just where they are, just where you are as the show goes on. It adds a level of gravitas knowing that when this show ends the audience doesn’t flow out the gates laughing and talking about what they heard going home; they go back to their solitary cells.

Cats knew this, and the patter he tosses throughout the performance is engineered to give them as much empathy as he can, from joking about not cursing during the recording by reminding them they can’t say “hell” or “shit” and making fun of how terrible the water tastes. But perhaps the most intense moment for me comes at the end, when he premiers “Greystone Chapel” written by one of the inmates in the prison. The crowd eats it up, whooping and hollering at the lyrics that get to the heart of their environment.

Stepping back for a moment, the other key part of At Folsom Prison is of course Cash’s band. The guitars of Carl and Luther Perkins are so essential to Cash’s sound I can’t imagine any other iteration of these tunes coming close. You can hear their fingers scratching against the strings – it’s a gorgeous sounding production. The drumming from W.S. Holland keeps the show constantly moving forward, and Marshall Grant’s bass gives a buoyant rhythm to the faster tracks. And although used sparingly (though you can hear them more in the 2008 reissue where both shows are presented uncut with all the accompanying performances) the background vocals from the Statler Brothers and June Carter (soon to be Cash) are fantastic.

I’m not normally one for double dipping or for owning multiple copies of albums, but At Folsom Prison is one where it feels essential. There is nothing like the original vinyl and track listing, but having the experience of the full show, with Carl Perkins joining in on “Blue Suede Shoes” and June Carter joining in much more is beautiful, and gives the listener a chance to get even closer to these recordings. Revisiting this over the last few days has been another revelation to me, just like it was the first time I heard it.

Just like it was the first time I heard Johnny Cash.