"Ian Rankin once explained to an interviewer (the head of the Indian Communist Party!) that crime fiction is a way of talking about social inequality. Ron Jacobs applies that same maxim to the Sixties... in his wonderfully noir trilogy of those exhilarating and troubled times. And what Rankin does for Edinburgh, Jacobs amply illuminates for the Movement. Much much more than ripping yarns (though they are that too), from a master who's been there, done that, and lived to tell a tale or two."

--Ramsey Kanaan, Publisher PM Press/noir enthusiast

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Remembering John Prine

In 1972 I bought John Prine's first album at the Post Exchange in Frankfurt am Main, Germany. I played the album over and over again. I played three of the songs even more than the rest--Illegal Smile, Sam Stone, and Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore.  Those three reflected my particular take on the world at the time.  Sardonic humor, hatred of the US war machine and a determination not to end up like Sam Stone with a hole in my arm where all the money goes because I had to fight and kill in Vietnam. I graduated from high school the following year and went off to college.  I remember playing Bette Midler’s version of Prine’s “Hello in There” for a guy in my dorm.  At first he made fun of it and then he borrowed the record.  The song about lonely old people reminded him of his grandparents, he said.  I recorded the Prine record for that city boy from the Bronx and he thanked me profusely.
In 1974 I was living in Maryland at my parents and working as a short order cook in the town they lived in.  John Prine was one of the musicians playing at a folk festival in Wolf Trap, VA.  Some friends of mine from high school asked me if I wanted to go.  They had a car.  I didn’t drive.  The three of us went to the festival along with the younger sister of one of them and her friend.  We also had a case of beer and I had some weed.  The main concerts didn’t begin until early evening, but the rest of the day was filled up with workshops put on by some of the artists playing at the festival.  John Prine was one of them.  Both of my friends were pretty good guitarists and we all like John Prine’s music, even though he only had the one album out then.  So we took our beer and headed to his workshop.  We were the only people there at the beginning.   My friends took out their guitars and started playing with John.  A song or two later, we all cracked a can of beer and began drinking.  It turned into quite a workshop.  Prine was friendly, easygoing and thirsty.
As the years went by, Prine recorded numerous albums and I bought most of them. I saw him play at the Philly Folk Fest, a club in DC, and at a couple other festivals in the 1970s and 1980s.  Two of his biggest fans must include one of my younger brothers and a former brother-in-law.  His songs can be haunting, humorous, harrowing and happy—sometimes all at once. I hate to see him go.

1 comment:

Jonathan said...

Here's my remembrance bro.
John Prine - I am a mess. He’s been a part of my life for 30 years. Fortunately, even after his death, his songs make things all better. He left us, in my opinion, way too soon. I was first exposed to his music in my tweens by a former brother in law. It struck chord with me. But it wasn’t until I was 14, on a campout with my brothers, that I really started to listen. His songs were beautiful - a little country, a little folk, a little humor, and a lot of wonderful stories. I don’t remember not listening to him. There have been a few artists who have shaped my life in multiple genres of music, a few who hit me pretty hard - Guru, Mike D, David Bowie, Johnny Cash, to name a few - but nothing quite like John. He, or his voice rather, have been my pick me up, my diffuser, my drunken joy and my sober joy. He’s been there with me through all of it. He and Bruce Springsteen take me to places that are all good. I never get tired of listening to John. I only got to enjoy his music live once, but every time I listen (and sing along) I feel like he’s in the room, feeling the sadness, loneliness, drunkenness, or happiness (or a mix of all four) right there with me. I feel like he had so many more stories and songs to share with us. He beat cancer, got his voice back, and continued to record and tour. I know I’m not alone, just chatting with my brothers and sisters and he was a big part of their musical life as well. RIP John, you made an impact on me and will continue to lift my spirits.