A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
John Prine, a writer whose songs often resembled vivid short stories, died Tuesday, April 7, 2020 in Nashville from complications related to COVID-19. Here, Daniel Burston, a regular contributor to Vox Populi, reminisces about Prine and his songs.
I was merely 18 years old when I had the privilege of hearing John Prine perform live one hot summer’s night at the (now defunct) Wheatsheaf Tavern at the corner of King St. and Spadina Rd. in Toronto, 1970. Yes, I was a little bit tipsy at the time – well, perhaps more than just a little. But he performed most of the songs from his self-titled debut album with merely a bass and a keyboard accompanying him. I’ll never forget that evening. I was completely blown away.
Unlike another iconic performer, his good friend (and fellow Chicago Cubs fan) Steve Goodman, Prine was not a folk-guitar virtuoso. No. But he was a poet and lyricist of exceptional sensitivity and skill, who evoked deep and subtle emotions in starkly simple language. Lesser songsmiths like Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen were darker or more elliptical than he, leaving listeners struggling to puzzle them out, or imagining that their frequent lapses into inscrutability – which were obviously intentional, and often quite annoying – betokened a certain profundity. And in fairness, I suppose, it did occasionally. But even when his lyrics didn’t make sense, you knew exactly what he meant, and they lacked his irreverence and puckish sense of humor, which had a way of transforming seemingly senseless verse into joyful expressions of compassion, joie de vivre and resilience. And even when he retreated into himself on stage – as all musicians who perform frequently must do, occasionally, in order not to burn out on the concert circuit – it was not because he held his audience in contempt, or because he was afraid of revealing too much of himself, but because his performances always came from the heart, and he wanted to “keep it real”, as we say nowadays.
John Prine was a national treasure, whose songs about love, loss and aging – many written while he was still a relatively young man! – reflect his working class roots. But even so, they have a universal and timeless relevance. Songs like “Hello in There” “Souvenirs”, “Angel from Montgomery” “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness”, are incomparable in their acuity and precision. His duets with other singer-songwriters – Iris Dememt, Nancy Grifith, Emmy Lou Harris, and many, many others – were memorable and moving as few others are. Here’s hoping younger artists continue to listen to and learn from the real granddaddy of Americana, and the master of home spun truths.
God knows, I will miss him.
Copyright 2020 Daniel Burston