Remembering John Prine

Six years ago this month, the great songwriter John Prine died from COVID complications. The world lost a quirky, talented musician, and I lost the man who significantly contributed to the soundtrack of my adult life.

John's first album was released in 1971 with the Vietnam War lingering and Richard Nixon in the White House. I had my own unrest that year as I dropped out of college in search of myself. It seemed like the thing to do in the early 1970s. Instead of classes and textbooks, I spent my time and money on records and concerts. I was at a crossroads, uncertain where I was going. The magic of music helped me to see who I was and who I could be.

John's self-titled, first album was jammed with songs, some thought-provoking and others playful. Your Flag Decal Won't Get You into Heaven Anymore was a powerful song aimed at flag-waving Americans who believed they were the only patriots. This song is as true now as it was then. He also shined light on the problem of some soldiers returning home from Vietnam addicted to heroin. In Sam Stone, he wrote, "There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes." Important topics were covered in other songs, such as Kentucky strip-mining (Paradise) and old, lonely folks (Hello in There). However, two songs on this record reminded me to laugh at myself, too. In Spanish Pipedream, a soldier is mesmerized by an exotic dancer, yet he is cautious, "For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve." I didn't know any topless dancers, but I knew some ladies with something up their sleeves. And as I said, I was searching for myself in 1971, and in Dear Abby, the famous advice columnist instructs her readers as follows, not matter what their problems are:

"You are what you are and you ain't what you ain't

So listen up buster and listen up good

Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood."

For the next few years, I finished my college years as a sociology major, had my heart broken, hiked 650 miles of the Appalachian Trail, and moved to Chicago. With John Prine performing regularly around Chicago, I finally saw him in concert at various venues. His calm stage presence and storytelling made each performance seem like he was merely a friend with a guitar, instead of a star. In those years, he still made great folk music with his pal Steve Goodman (Souvenirs), yet a country and western vibe appeared in some songs (Yes I Guess They Oughta Name a Drink After You). By the late 1970s, he added a rock and roll sound as he turned electric with a band called Famous Potatoes with John Burns on lead guitar. I sat in the front table when they played at Park West on Armitage in Chicago around 1980, and they blew the room away. Illegal Smile was a fun sing-along, and I assume at least half the crowd had an illegal smile that night.

For the many years which followed the Park West show, I lost track of John Prine's music as I grew busy with work, raising a family, going through a divorce, and rebuilding my life. His music continued, but I was unplugged until the release of his Fair and Square album in 2005. His marriage with Fiona and his being a cancer survivor may have matured him and his music. Or maybe I had matured. The opening song, Glory of True Love, set the tone:

"You can climb the highest mountain

Touch the moon and stars above

But Old Faithful's just a fountain

Compared to the glory of true love."

This album and the ones which followed it brought me back to his concerts throughout the Midwest. In his later years, John's voice was weaker, but he always brought his giant heart to the stage. On April 8, 2020, he died at the age of 73. I heard the news the following day, which was my 70th birthday, probably the saddest birthday I ever had.