[msb-alumni] John Prine, Americana Folksinger, dies at 73 from Coronavirus Complications on April 7, 2020
- From: Steve <pipeguy920@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: <msb-alumni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Thu, 9 Apr 2020 16:44:21 -0400
BlankThe first article is the same as I sent earlier -- but there are others
including the last article -- fifteen essential Prine songs.
Steve
John Prine, 73, Whose Songs Unmasked the Human Condition, Dies. By William
Grimes.
A singer and songwriter with a raspy voice and a gift for offbeat humor, he was
revered by his peers, including Bob Dylan. He died of the coronavirus. This
obituary
is part of a series about people who have died in the coronavirus pandemic.
John Prine, the raspy-voiced country-folk singer whose ingenious lyrics to
songs by
turns poignant, angry and comic made him a favorite of Bob Dylan, Kris
Kristofferson
and others, died on Tuesday in Nashville. He was 73. The cause was
complications of
the coronavirus, his family said.
Mr. Prine underwent cancer surgery in 1998 to remove a tumor in his neck
identified
as squamous cell cancer, which had damaged his vocal cords. In 2013, he had
part of
one lung removed to treat lung cancer. He had been hospitalized since late last
month.
Mr. Prine was a relative unknown in 1970 when Mr. Kristofferson heard him play
one
night at a Chicago club called the Earl of Old Town, dragged there by the
singer-songwriter Steve Goodman. Mr. Kristofferson was performing in Chicago at
the
time at the Quiet Knight.
Mr. Prine treated him to a brief after-hours performance of material that, Mr.
Kristofferson later wrote, "was unlike anything I'd heard before."
A few weeks later, when Mr. Prine was in New York, Mr. Kristofferson invited
him
onstage at the Bitter End in Greenwich Village, where he was appearing with
Carly
Simon, and introduced him to the audience.
"No way somebody this young can be writing so heavy," he said. "John Prine is
so
good, we may have to break his thumbs."
The record executive Jerry Wexler, who was in the audience, signed Mr. Prine to
a
contract with Atlantic Records the next day.
Music writers at the time were eager to crown a successor to Mr. Dylan, and Mr.
Prine, with his nasal, sandpapery voice and literate way with a song, came
ready to
order.
His debut album, called simply "John Prine" and released in 1971, included
songs that
became his signatures. Some gained wider fame after being recorded by other
artists.
They included "Sam Stone," about a drug-addicted war veteran (with the
unforgettable
refrain "There's a hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes"); "Hello in
There,"
a heart-rending evocation of old age and loneliness; and "Angel From
Montgomery," the
hard-luck lament of a middle-aged woman dreaming about a better life, later
made
famous by Bonnie Raitt.
"He's a true folk singer in the best folk tradition, cutting right to the heart
of
things, as pure and simple as rain," Ms. Raitt told Rolling Stone in 1992.
Mr. Dylan, listing his favorite songwriters in a 2009 interview, put Mr. Prine
front
and center. "Prine's stuff is pure Proustian existentialism," he said.
"Midwestern
mind trips to the nth degree. And he writes beautiful songs."
John Prine was born on Oct. 10, 1946, in Maywood, Ill., a working-class suburb
of
Chicago, to William and Verna (Hamm) Prine. His father, a tool-and-die maker at
the
American Can Company, and his mother had moved from the coal town of Paradise,
Ky.,
in the 1930s.
Mr. Prine later wrote a ruefully bitter song titled "Paradise," in which he
sang:
The coal company came with the world's largest shovel
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land Well,
they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man"
John grew up in a country music-loving family. He learned guitar as a young
teenager
from his grandfather and brother and began writing songs. After graduating from
high
school, he worked for the Post Office for two years before being drafted into
the
Army, which sent him to West Germany in charge of the motor pool at his base.
After being discharged, he resumed his mail route, in and around his hometown,
composing songs in his head.
"I always likened the mail route to a library with no books," he wrote on his
website. "I passed the time each day making up these little ditties."
Reluctantly, he took the stage for the first time at an open-mic night at a
small
Chicago club called the Fifth Peg, where his performance met with profound
silence
from the audience.
"They just sat there," Mr. Prine later wrote. "They didn't even applaud, they
just
looked at me."
Then the clapping began.
"It was like I found out all of a sudden that I could communicate deep feelings
and
emotions," he wrote. "And to find that out all at once was amazing."
Not long after, Roger Ebert, the film critic for The Chicago Sun-Times,
wandered into
the club while Mr. Prine was performing. He liked what he heard and wrote Mr.
Prine's
first review, under the headline "Singing Mailman Who Delivers a Powerful
Message in
a Few Words."
"He appears onstage with such modesty he almost seems to be backing into the
spotlight," Mr. Ebert wrote. "He sings rather quietly, and his guitar work is
good,
but he doesn't show off. He starts slow. But after a song or two, even the
drunks in
the room begin to listen to his lyrics. And then he has you."
Mr. Prine had a particular gift for offbeat humor, reflected in songs like
"Jesus,
the Missing Years," "Some Humans Ain't Human," "Sabu Visits the Twin Cities
Alone"
and the antiwar screed "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore."
"I guess what I always found funny was the human condition," he told the
British
newspaper The Daily Telegraph in 2013. "There is a certain comedy and pathos to
trouble and accidents."
After recording several albums for Atlantic and Asylum, he started his own
label, Oh
Boy Records, in 1984. He never had a hit record, but he commanded a loyal
audience
that ensured steady if modest sales for his albums and a durable concert career.
In 1992, his album "The Missing Years," with guest appearances by Bruce
Springsteen,
Tom Petty and other artists, won a Grammy Award for best contemporary folk
recording.
He received a second Grammy in the same category in 2006 for the album "Fair
and
Square."
Mr. Prine, who lived in Nashville, was divorced twice. He is survived by his
wife,
Fiona Whelan Prine, a native of Ireland whom he married in 1996; three sons,
Jody,
Jack and Tommy; two brothers, Dave and Billy; and three grandchildren.
In 2017, Mr. Prine published "John Prine Beyond Words," a collection of lyrics,
guitar chords, commentary and photographs from his own archive.
In 2019, he was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and his album "Tree
of
Forgiveness" was nominated for a Grammy for best Americana album. It was his
19th
album and his first of original material in more than a decade. (The award went
to
Brandi Carlile, for "By the Way, I Forgive You.")
Mr. Prine went on tour in 2018 to promote "Tree of Forgiveness," and after a
two-night stand at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville -- known there as the
mother
church of country music -- Margaret Renkl, a contributing opinion writer for
The New
York Times, wrote, under the headline "American Oracle":
"The mother church of country music, where the seats are scratched-up pews and
the
windows are stained glass, is the place where the new John Prine -- older now,
scarred by cancer surgeries, his voice deeper and full of gravel -- is most
clearly
still the old John Prine: mischievous, delighting in tomfoolery, but also
worried
about the world."
In December, he was chosen to receive a 2020 Grammy for lifetime achievement.
As a songwriter, Mr. Prine was prolific and quick. In the early days, he would
sometimes dash off a song while driving to a club.
"Sometimes, the best ones come together at the exact same time, and it takes
about as
long to write it as it does to sing it," he told the poet Ted Kooser in an
interview
at the Library of Congress in 2005. "They come along like a dream or something,
and
you just got to hurry up and respond to it, because if you mess around, the
song is
liable to pass you by."
*****
Prine's Essential Songs. By Rob Tannenbaum.
He showed how much humor you could put in a song and still be taken seriously.
The
singer and songwriter died of complications of Covid-19 at 73.
John Prine was an Army veteran walking a U.S. Postal Service beat in Chicago
and
writing songs on the side when Kris Kristofferson heard him and helped spread
the
word about Prine's gifts.
Pretty soon, he resigned as a letter carrier; his supervisor snickered, "You'll
be
back."
Nearly 50 years later, this January, he was given a lifetime achievement Grammy
for
his contributions to songwriting. The singing mailman almost always had the
last
laugh.
Prine, who died on Tuesday April 7, 2020, from complications of the
coronavirus, was
legitimately unique. He took familiar blues themes -- my baby left me -- but
filled
them with whimsy and kindness. He liked a saucy lyric, and wrote movingly, in
character, of the quiet lives and loneliness of humdrum people. He seemed like
a Zen
sage and offered an uncynical live-and-let-live morality in his songs, writing
in a
colloquial voice that revealed a love of the way Americans speak. He showed how
much
humor you could put in a song and still be taken seriously. He had less in
common
with any other songwriter than he did with Mark Twain.
He grew up in Maywood, a western suburb of Chicago, and was reared by
working-class
parents from Kentucky, where he often spent summers with relatives and fell in
love
with country music and bluegrass. By 13, he was performing in rural jamborees.
When he debuted in 1971, in his mid-20s, he sounded like an old man already, so
years
later, when he got old and went through two cancer treatments, he still sounded
like
himself.
From his first to his last, he wrote songs that were tender, hilarious, and
wise,
without grandstanding any of these traits.
Here are 15 of the best:
• "Angel From Montgomery" (1971)
'Angel From Montgomery,' -- his best-known song, begins with a little
declarative
startle:
"I am an old woman, named after my mother."
It's an incisive and terrifying look at the dissatisfactions of a bad marriage
and a
woman's sense of being economically trapped in her misery. Bonnie Raitt
recorded it
three years later and uncovered some of the song's dormant melodies.
• "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore" (1971)
Prine self-titled 1971 debut album is a playlist all its own; it has more great
songs
than a lot of respected songwriters have in their entire careers.
The moral stance of this sprightly folk-rock ditty is a response to what he saw
as
sham patriotism during the Nixon years, and it remains relevant:
"Jesus don't like killing/
No matter what the reason's for."
Prine, a former altar boy, stopped playing it live for a number of years, but
when
George W. Bush became president, Prine said, "I thought I'd bring it back."
• "Hello in There" (1971)
Some fans and critics are put off by this song and its slightly lesser
companion,
"Sam Stone," which they see as performative displays of sensitivity toward the
vulnerable, or what we now call virtue signaling.
Yet somehow, we don't ever criticize singers for signaling vices and meanness.
Prine sings in the voice of an old married man with a dead son, who spends his
days
in silence and loneliness, and who at the end of the song, asks people to be
kind to
the elderly.
• "The Frying Pan" (1972)
For his second album, "Diamonds in the Rough," Prine assembled a small, mostly
acoustic band and pursued a front-porch, Appalachian simplicity.
Like a lot of his songs, this one takes a lighthearted view of domestic
complications: A man comes home and discovers his wife has run off with a
traveling
salesman. He cries miserably, recounts what he loved about her
("I miss the way she used to yell at me/
The way she used to cuss and moan"), and full of pride, comes to the wrong
conclusion: Never leave your wife at home.
• "Please Don't Bury Me" (1973)
For people who love Prine's music, there's some small solace in listening to
his
songs about death, which have the same sense of mischief and acceptance as the
ones
about broken marriages.
(Try "Mexican Home" or "He Was in Heaven Before He Died.')
The narrator is dead, and as angels explain to him how it happened, they also
recap
his last wish: to not be dropped into a cold grave, but to be put to practical
use,
as an organ donor:
"I'd druther have 'em cut me up/
And pass me all around."
A kind of recycling anthem from his terrific third album, "Sweet Revenge."
• "You Never Can Tell" (1975)
Almost like an apology, Prine concludes "Common Sense," a grieving, downhearted
album, with an exuberant Chuck Berry cover, one great writer nodding to another.
The Memphis R&B guitarist Steve Cropper produced the record and put together a
crack
horn section, which pushes ahead of some barrelhouse piano. Prine wasn't a
rocker,
but he could rock.
"That's the Way the World Goes Round" (1978)
Prine seemed to have an unlimited ability to expand and vary songwriting
structures
and perspectives. This track, which has been covered by Miranda Lambert and
Norah
Jones, has two verses: In the first, the narrator describes a drunk who "beats
his
old lady with a rubber hose," and in the second, the narrator gets stuck in a
frozen
bathtub (it's hard to explain) and imagines the worst until a sudden sun thaws
him
out.
Both verses illustrate the refrain: that's the way the world goes round. Even
when
circumstances are bad in Prine songs, he favors optimism and acceptance.
• "Iron Ore Betty" (1978)
A lot of Prine songs celebrate physical pleasure: food, dancing and sex, which
he
gallantly prefers to call "making love."
The working-class singer in this soulful, up-tempo shuffle feels unreserved
delight
at having a girlfriend
("We receive our mail in the same mailbox/
And we watch the same TV"),
and wants us to know he and Betty aren't just friends
("I got rug burns on my elbows/
She's got 'em on her knees").
OK guy, we get it.
• "Just Wanna Be With You" (1980)
A stomping number from "Storm Windows" in the style of Chuck Berry, with the
Rolling
Stones sideman Wayne Perkins on guitar. Prine's lyrics don't distinguish
between
reality and absurdity -- they don't clash, they mix -- and here's one more way
to say
you're happy and in love:
"I don't even care what kind of gum I chew."
And another: "Lonely won't be lonesome when we get through."
• "Let's Talk Dirty in Hawaiian" (1986)
Prine had a sideline in novelty songs, which give full voice to his comic
absurdity,
throwaways that are worth saving, including the 1973 semi-hit "Dear Abby," and
this
now-problematic number from "German Afternoons" inspired by a paperback book
called
"Instant Hawaiian."
Prine and his co-writer Fred Koller began making up Hawaiian-sounding nonsense
words
full of sexual innuendo, and Lloyd Green added airport-Tiki-bar bar steel
guitar for
maximum faux authenticity. You can say Prine's loving disposition makes the
song OK,
and you can also say it doesn't.
• "All the Best" (1991)
After five years away, Prine returned with "The Missing Years," a
Grammy-winning
album produced by Howie Epstein, Tom Petty's bass player.
The singer in this gentle, masterly miniature claims to want good things for an
ex-lover, but feelings aren't simple:
"I wish you don't do like I do/
And never fall in love with someone like you" twists the knife.
Now recording for his own label, Oh Boy Records, Prine was about to hit a hot
streak.
"Lake Marie" (1995)
Bob Dylan, who was a huge fan, called the haunted, mysterious "Lake Marie" his
favorite Prine song, and who are we to disagree with Dylan on the topic of
songwriting? Even though Epstein's booming production draws too much attention
to
itself, "Lost Dogs + Mixed Blessings" is full of winners: the simple, loving
ballad
"Day is Done," the rapid-fire doggerel of "We Are the Lonely" and the calm,
ornery
"Quit Hollerin' at Me," where Prine tells his wife that the neighbors "already
think
my name is 'Where in the hell you been?"
• "In Spite of Ourselves" (1999)
Prine was diagnosed with cancer, and doctors removed a tumor from the right
side of
his neck, which took away his already-modest ability to project his voice. But
incredibly, his stolid singing was now perfect for harmonies, and he cut a
duets
album called "In Spite of Ourselves" with female country and Americana singers.
On its one original song, Prine and Iris DeMent trade backhanded compliments
("She thinks all my jokes are corny/
Convict movies make her horny")
that read like a divorce complaint, but turn out to be only pillow talk.
• "Some Humans Ain't Human" (2005)
At seven minutes and three seconds, this track from "Fair and Square" is the
longest
song on any of his studio albums. A cloud of slide guitar keeps this soft waltz
afloat and allows Prine to express his disapproval of, if not contempt for,
so-called
humans who lack empathy for others. There's a couplet that is clearly about
George W.
Bush, and Prine noticed that some audience members were surprised by it.
"I never tried to rub it in anybody's face, but I thought it was pretty clear
that I
wasn't a closet Republican," he told the Houston Press.
• "When I Get to Heaven" (2018)
In 2013, doctors removed the cancerous part of Prine's left lung, which
sidelined and
weakened him.
It's hard now to listen to his final album, "The Tree of Forgiveness," which
was
nominated for three Grammys, and not think that Prine heard the clock ticking
louder.
There's so much tenderness in "Knockin' on Your Screen Door," about a man whose
family left him with only an 8-track tape of George Jones, and in the elegiac,
reassuring parental entreaty "Summer's End."
In the last song, "When I Get to Heaven," Prine describes his ideal afterlife:
a rock
band, a cushy hotel, a girl, a cocktail ("vodka and ginger ale") and "a
cigarette
that's nine miles long."
He removes his watch, and asks, "What are you gonna do with time after you've
bought
the farm?"
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