If my memory is correct—which it rarely is these days—the first
John Prine song I ever heard was “Paradise,” possibly performed by a local
singer in a nightclub in Hagerstown, Md., or maybe played for me by some
friends I worked with in Parkersburg, W.Va. In either case, it inspired me to
go out and buy his 1971 self-titled album, “John Prine.”
I bought other records of his and listened to them
periodically over the years. I even made a John Prine mix tape to play in my
car on one of my 45-minute one-way commutes to work. Many people consider John
to have been one of the country’s greatest song writers. The diversity of his
work was remarkable and the quality of it was unquestioned in my mind.
John wrote songs that made me laugh, such as:
“The Accident”
It was a four way stop dilemma
We all arrived the same time
I yielded to the man to the right
of me
And he yielded it right back to
mine
Well, the yield went around and
around and around
Till Pamela finally tried
Just then the man in the light
blue sedan
Hit Pamela's passenger side
“Linda Goes to Mars”
Oh my stars! My
Linda's gone to Mars
Well I wish she
wouldn't leave me here alone
Oh my stars! My
Linda's gone to Mars
Well, I wonder if
she'd bring me something home.
“Dear Abby”
Dear Abby, Dear
Abby
Well I never
thought
That me and my
girlfriend would ever get caught
We were sitting in
the back seat just shooting the breeze
With her hair up
in curlers and her pants to her knees
Signed, Just Married
Just Married, Just
Married
You have no
complaint
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
Signed, Dear Abby
And “That’s the Way
That the World Goes Round,” in which he substituted the words “happy
enchilada” for “half an inch of water” because a fan misunderstood the lyric.
That's the way that the world goes
'round.
You're up one day and the next
you're down.
It's a happy enchilada and you
think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes
'round.
He also wrote songs that made me cry, like “Sam Stone” and “Hello in There.”
You know that old trees just grow
stronger
And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry
day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say,
"Hello in there, hello"
The song “Paradise” made me angry.
And daddy won't you take me back
to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where
Paradise lay
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're
too late in asking
Mister Peabody's coal train has
hauled it away
And songs like “Angel from Montgomery,” “Donald and Lydia”
and “Grandpa Was a Carpenter” brought John’s cast of creative and colorful characters
to life.
John Prine wrote a lot of songs, some of which I don’t know,
but all of them have one thing in common: Every song of his that I ever heard
stirred some strong emotion in me, whether it was joy, sadness, anger, empathy or
understanding. I can’t say that about every song writer who passed
into and out of my life.
I learned recently that a lot of people didn’t know John
Prine, which really doesn’t surprise me. He was kind of an acquired taste—one part
folk, one part rock and two parts country—but I’d suggest, now that we’re all
staying home and hiding from the COVID virus with little else to do, that you
google up some of his music and give John Prine a listen. You might find, like
I did, that he was one of a kind, a great song writer with a vivid imagination
and a sense of humor to match.
His death this week has saddened me, but the consolation
comes in the fact that his music will always live on. Thanks, John. Rest in
peace.
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