Sunday with Johnny Cash

Summary

The text describes the author's family tradition of listening to Johnny Cash on Sundays during the 1970s, a ritual that was part of a larger weekly routine involving family, food, and music.

Abstract

Sundays in the author's childhood home were marked by the distinct presence of Johnny Cash's music, which played on a large radiogram in the living room. This music was a backdrop to the family's Sunday activities, which included cooking a traditional roast dinner, attending church, and enjoying the limited entertainment options of the era. The radiogram, a piece of furniture as much as an entertainment device, was central to these musical afternoons, requiring careful handling to play records. The author's parents, despite occasional tension, shared a love for country and western music, with Johnny Cash being a particular favorite. The ritual of playing music, particularly Cash's, was a cherished part of the family's Sunday routine, contributing to the nostalgic atmosphere of the day.

Opinions

The author views the radiogram as an important and respected piece of furniture in their household, integral to their musical experiences.
There is a sense of nostalgia for the way music was consumed in the past, with the physicality of records and the care taken in playing them contrasting with today's digital music consumption.
The author suggests that the imperfections of playing records, such as multiple records dropping at once or the sound distorting, added character to the music-listening experience.
The author implies that the tension between their parents due to timing and roles on Sundays was a regular part of the Sunday routine, as was the music that played during these moments.
Johnny Cash's music is portrayed as having a significant emotional impact, with its "heartbreaking melodies" being a defining feature of the author's Sundays.

Sunday with Johnny Cash

Sundays were Johnny Cash days

In the 70’s playing music involved harnessing a large piece of furniture, notably a radiogram. An unweildly piece of furniture that played music via the radio and record player contained within its polished wood exterior. It took up lots of space and in many houses like ours, it had pride of place

Ours stood under a window in our living room framed by two upright tapestry armchairs. It was made of a pale wood and had all the dials of a radio along the top between the in built speakers. To access the record player you had to lift the heavy lid. Inside was the turntable, and a space to keep records. The record player had the ability to stack up to 6 records one above the other. The idea being that when the first record had finished playing, the next one would immediately drop down and begin playing. A forerunner of the way music is played continually on our devices today. Mostly it was never quite as seamless as that, and either more than one record would drop or the record that did drop would then slip so that the sound was distorted and interrupted.

Our radiogram was not used every day. BBC Radio 2 or BBC Radio Norfolk were usually on in our house. Records and the radiogram were mostly saved for weekends when playing music was a ritual and an event.

Ours was a traditional household, on Sundays my mum would cook a Sunday roast, usually after she arrived home from church. An apron tied around her Sunday best. Roast chicken or pork, or if we were lucky, our favourite roast lamb. Dad would mostly carve, usually after he had got home later than planned from the pub.

Apart from the tension between Mum and Dad because of Dad’s lateness, an accompaniment to both these activities was the country and western music they both enjoyed.

My parents had an eclectic collection of LP’s. Andy Williams, The Beatles, Dolly Parton, Manfred Mann, Jim Reeves and a collection of bagpipe music all graced the turntable at one time or another; but it was Johnny Cash who was king.

In between wielding a carving knife and trying to placate Mum, Dad took on the role of DJ. Carefully removing each record from it’s sleeve, holding it by its smooth edge whilst checking the shiny black surface in minute detail for signs of scratches before lowering it reverentially onto the turntable.

By this time Mum was red faced and glowing from the heat in the kitchen and the tension between them was as taut as the strings on Johnny’s guitar.

Sundays in the 70’s were quiet days, mainly because nothing was open. A big lunch, The Sunday Express newspaper, sport or a western on the telly and sometimes a walk followed by crumpets and homemade cake for tea. These were the basis of our Sundays, but, it was the lilt of Johnny’s heart breaking melodies drifting above the aroma of a hot oven, roasting meat and the familiar smell of lunchtime beer on my dad’s breath and skin which really made up my Sundays.