The Year in Review

1. Sunset, approx. 4:35 p.m. Nov. 18 Not just any sunset, mind you—a savage Van Gogh stippling of storm clouds and sunlight that streaked the sky with fire and bruises. Through the plate-glass window of a 100 Oaks superstore, it looked like an advancing tidal wave of flame—a reckoning. Outside, shoppers stood stopped in their tracks, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as reflecting puddles on the asphalt smoldered like magma. When I tried to call people to tell them to look, the phones were down. Sometimes nature sends us a message if it thinks we aren’t paying attention. Such a sky does not happen by accident. I still wonder what it means.

Michael McCall

Johnny Cash, video for “Hurt,” directed by Mark Romanek The Man in Black had been writing his epitaph for years before his death Sept. 12. The song choices on his final albums continually spoke of salvation and contrition, of death and decay, of a life both glorious and full of sin. As if on cue, his final artistic statement surveyed his life and his difficult final years with unblinking honesty. His unexpected cover of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” had been a highlight of 2002’s American IV: The Man Comes Around; director Mark Romanek’s artful video juxtaposed the vitality of Cash’s life with the erosion that comes with age, making it the perfect swan song to his outsized career.

Unlike most of Cash’s obituaries, the video didn’t concentrate on his hell-raising side. The images in “Hurt” commemorated all of his touchstones: family, faith, farming, reflection, identification with the poor and dispossessed—and, yes, his dark, wild spirit. They also reiterated the reason Cash is so idolized: He delved into the most tender areas of humanity and bravely revealed his flaws while maintaining his dignity and pride. Meanwhile, the large Cash-Carter clan—reeling from losing its matriarch, patriarch and one of many dark sheep within a matter of months—persevered through funerals, award shows and televised memorials with a togetherness that didn’t hide their hurt or dent their pride. The image of the extended family standing on the stage of Ryman Auditorium at the end of a tribute concert, hugging and crying and linking arms and pressing on, is one just as indelible as those depicted in the video of “Hurt.”

Shelby Lynne, Identity Crisis (Capitol)/ Annie Lennox, Bare (J) Two bold, enigmatic artists with amazingly expressive voices and guarded public personas open up to create the most personal, most emotional collections of their careers. Lynne’s is a stripped-down affair that draws on all manner of Southern roots music, including R&B, blues, gospel, country and roadhouse rock. Lennox’s album is a lush, carefully arranged set full of tender, aching beauty. Both delve into pain and heartbreak with a directness that presents a potent question: Why does love have to be so damn hard?

Adrian Nicole LeBlanc, Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble and Coming of Age in the Bronx (Simon & Schuster)/Charles Bowden, Down By the River: Drugs, Money, Murder and Family (Simon & Schuster) Two outstanding examples of investigative reporting set in opposite poles of America—one in a rough part of New York City, the other in El Paso, Mexico and along the Mexican-American border. Both portray a single family and their extended relationships to take a hard look at aspects of U.S. society the media usually ignores—or rarely represents with such honesty and depth. The stories focus on personal ambition, illegal drugs, crime, murder, governmental corruption and riches-to-ruins rides. In one telling turn, the family mired in poverty and lack of opportunity ends up being the one to offer hope that an individual can pull him- or herself from the chaos of a community spinning out of control. The triumph of both books lies in how they expose a reality that won’t be televised.