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“The Heel” by June Carter Cash, 1961- Written by Leo Ferre, Albert Beach, Willard Robison

He’ll promise her most anything a sable coat a diamond ring
And she’ll find out when it’s too late and all she’ll get will be the gate
But while the dawn’s a distant thing in his embrace her heart will sing
Her dizzy head will spin with lies
And all too soon a woman cries
That dirty low down heel

The neon lights that flash below ignite my room with devil glow
And in the gloom I hear a laugh that’s coming from his photograph
I ring my hands and walk the floor and swear to even up the score
For where a kitten cries tonight a panther waits to claw and bite
That dirty low down heel

I dare not play my radio one more complaint and out I go
I’m sick of playing solitaire the ace of spades is everywhere
There’ll be no sleep for me tonight the sheep I count are never white
They all turn out to be jet black and whose the leader of the pack
The heel

At dawn I know he’ll stagger in demanding coffee black as sin and
As I pour it from the tin ill slip a little powder in
He’ll ring his hands and start to cry and cross his heart and hope to die and mumble
I know how you feel but I’ve been on a business deal
The heel

But as the pot begins to perk I know my plan will never work and as he starts to drink it up
I’ll take his hand and break the cup
It’s only jealousy I know that’s brought my thinking down so low
Why must I just sit here and grieve
Why don’t I just pack up and leave
That dirty low down heel

But now he’s really on the stairs I try to act like I don’t care
For in my hearts arithmetic I find it takes two heels to click
We’re in our world of love and hate where it will end is up to fate
And I’ll let him have his little fling and be the chewing gum that clings
To that dirty low down heel

That low down lovable heel

In both songs the narration is steeped in the emotion; these women are full voiced victims, not begging for your pity, but insisting that you listen to their story. Neither song implicitly suggests a murder is about to take place, but their ominous tones suggest deep, realistic pain. The shock of the betrayal and the subsequent feelings are happening as you listen – it feels like the build up to a horror film! Both also have the clever turns of phrase I’ve come to depend on from my favorite murder ballads. Give me heavy hitting word play over a thinly veiled euphemism any day!

“The Box That It Came In” makes me want to hate-slowdance someone. The initial guitar lick is like someone sitting down, exhausted, leaning back in her chair saying “have I got a story for you!” As far as lyrics go, there’s not much complexity there, but dang if it doesn’t say enough, and if Wanda doesn’t sell it. The song comes in at barely over two minutes! This bare-bones approach leaves no time for silly soloing; just the shock, the pain, the fantasy. Wobbling guitar gives a dreamy glow on the edges and you’re out, wanting more.

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