Composed Page 20

  The List represents a kind of resolution, of so many seemingly disparate but intimately related themes and struggles in my life, both musical and personal. I had so much fear of exploiting my father, and not doing things on my own, but it was more than that. He cast an obviously large shadow, and it was hard for me to find my own place outside of it, or to be comfortable when the shadow was the first thing people noticed about my life or my work. Dad himself understood my struggle and gave me a lot of room, and a lot of purely parental approval. But the times I did approach the legacy that the list represented, his excitement was unbounded. When “Tennessee Flat-Top Box” became a number one record for me, he was delirious with happiness. In the last few months of his life, I enthusiastically sang all the old Carter Family songs to him when he rested in the afternoons, and I could see it was a tremendous solace, not only because of the songs themselves, but because he saw that I was beginning to say yes. I wish he had been alive to hear The List, and to see me say yes to all of it, and more than that, to revel in it as if it were a secret passed from parent to child, and a key to a particular familial mystery. Now it’s Chelsea’s turn, and John and I wouldn’t be surprised if Jake followed as well, as the next generation of musicians and songwriters in our family to do their own dance with their parents and grandparents, and to listen for the secrets.

  In the fullness of that legacy, I am still first and foremost a songwriter. The curatorial work and the deliberate attention on my voice rather than my words, which happened with The List, has only added to my sense of honor as a songwriter and respect for the art and discipline.

  I have a fear that I have a personal quota, bestowed at birth, of first-rate songs allotted to me, and I worry, after every new song I write, that I have finally reached that magic number. So, inevitably, mixed with the satisfaction of accomplishment is anxiety and sadness that this might be the end. The uncertainty is vexing, but it keeps me humble. I am always a beginner, again and again. I work, even when I worry.

  I sing to the six percent, and they are me. I am not a pane of glass. There is light and it is always available. Much of it comes through music; at least half. And it turns out that a lonely road is a bodyguard.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would not have written this book without the encouragement and faith of my editor, Rick Kot. Thank you, Rick, for asking me to do this more than a decade ago. Many thanks also to Laura Tisdel, assistant to Rick Kot, and a wonderful and deeply organized woman, and to my fabulous and long-suffering agent, Merrilee Heifetz, at Writers House. Grateful acknowledgment, always, to the teams of dedicated people at Viking and Manhattan Records, and thank you also to Christian Oth and to Anita Merk.

  Thank you to Danny Kahn, my manager, who has envisioned great things for me when I lacked imagination to see them for myself, and who has taken nearly every step I’ve taken since then with unfailing cheer.

  I owe special thanks to my family, for allowing me to depict them from my own myopic perspective. It is incredibly generous, and I am very grateful to John, Kathy, Cindy, Tara, John Carter, Hannah, Caitlin, Chelsea, Carrie, and Jake, as well as Sylvia, Dick, and Rodney.

  Gratitude goes to my friends who keep coming to see me perform, who come for tea, and who make great allowances for my schedule in our friendships, and especially the writers who offered me extra encouragement and support: Adriana Trigiani and Joe Henry for their inspiration and cheerleading, Kurt Andersen and Anne Kreamer for very particular advice, Wesley Stace and Bill Flanagan for the general love, and a special bow to George Kalogerakis, who keeps asking me to write things for him. Some of those things ended up in this book.

  Tim McHenry, the director of programming at the Rubin Museum of Art, in Manhattan, has given me the great gift of allowing me to write and perform ten shows for the museum. It has offered me a unique forum to expand on a lot of musical ideas. Thank you, Tim.

  I owe a tremendous debt to the superb musicians I have worked with over the years. I have learned so much from them. I have become not just a better musician, but a better person by being in the presence of those who use the available light of music as currency in the world. Many thanks to my vocal coaches, Marge Rivingston and William Riley.

  I owe peripheral, but essential, thanks to the team of doctors who have taken care of me in the last few years, and who have brought me back to health: Dr. Norman Latov, Dr. Guy McKhann II, Dr. Eric Heyer, Dr. Lila Nachtigall, Dr. Barry Cohen, and Dr. Michael Weinberger. Thanks also to Dr. Jim Davis, who gave advice and referrals, and to Nolan Baer, Shellie Goldstein, and Evan Johnson for extraneous body and soul maintenance.

  I wish I could thank my mother and father, for so many things I didn’t have enough awareness or detachment to appreciate: thousands of acts of service and love, tolerance and support. I think of them every day.

  Most especially, I thank John. He always pushes me to tell more, write it down, own it, share it. I’m so grateful that he does.

  More to come.

  FRONTISPIECE CAPTIONS

  Row 1: Johnny and Vivian Cash; Rosanne, age seven

  Row 2: Johnny with Rosanne (top left), Cindy, and Kathy, circa 1959; Vivian holding Tara, with Kathy (right), Cindy (middle), and Rosanne (left), circa 1962

  Row 3: John Leventhal at home, 2009; Johnny Cash walks his daughter down the aisle, 1995; Rosanne in performance under a full moon, Germany, 2008

  Row 4: John and Rosanne, Guana Island, 2008; Rosanne’s five children at Caitlin’s wedding, from left to right: Chelsea, Jake, Caitlin, Carrie, and Hannah