Listen, for reasons that transcend both you and me, J. R. Cash holds, and will always hold, a deep-rooted seed of importance with me (and my Midwestern upbringing). Bruce McCulloch put it accurately when he said that Greatest Hits albums were for housewives and little girls, BUT, I must state that a little gathering of the goods, if you will, is nothing of an ill-comprised representation of one’s output. Are there better albums of Mr. Cash’s to be had? Shame on you for asking. Does this one hold sentimental value far more than any top 40 single on the bullshit charts? You bet your ass! I’ll be as gone as a wild goose in winter…and I welcome you all to join me.
RIP J. R. Cash.