For John Prine

Every day, during this time of distorted time, I’ve been taking a bike ride up and down the inclines of my mostly deserted neighborhood, criss-crossing streets until I get my heart rate up for about 45 minutes, which translates to an elpees worth of tunes. Today, I listened to an assortment of John Prine, my version of praying I guess. I rode, and I harmonized (nobody around to hear, and so what anyway). When I was a young man, I built a shrine (in my mind) to Dylan, Neil, and Van, but after my ride today, I realize John Prine might be the best of all of them, and maybe the best lyricist ever. I started the ride with nostalgia and ended it in tears. 

In the fall of my first year at University of Kentucky, in 1975, in a mostly empty dormitory, before the campus started to fill, I met my friend, Keith Holland. I’ve written about this experience in other ramblings, about the records he turned me on to, namely 1969: The Velvet Underground Live and Patti Smith’s Hey Joe/Piss Factory 45, essential records that helped me become who I became as a person and musician. Another record that fall, the memory of which eluded me until today, was John Prine’s first record. The song that struck the deepest was Sam Stone, the tale of the drug-addicted veteran. That chorus that starts with, “There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes,” is a line I sing in my head almost every day. Yeah, that’s weird, I know, but there is a yard in my neighborhood that has a sink hole (due to an old pump from the unincorporated days of this area), and the very old man (shirt off in the summer), who every day drags branches, leaves and grass cuttings over it to try to fill it in a sisyphean task, impresses me as someone like Sam Stone. “Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose” That line and Patti’s Gloria intro came at me in the same dorm room. 

That’s what I was singing along with today, but also “Angel From Montgomery”, “In Spite of Ourselves” (w/ Iris Dement), and “When I Get to Heaven”. That’s the one that had me in tears. From the last record, just two years ago:

Yeah, when I get to heaven, I’m gonna take that wristwatch off my arm

What are you gonna do with the time after you bought the farm?

And then I’m gonna go find my mom and dad, and good old brother, Doug

Well I bet him and cousin Jackie are still cuttin’ up a rug

I wanna see all my mama’s sisters, ‘cause that’s where all the love starts

I miss ‘em all like crazy, bless their little hearts

And I’ll always remember these words my daddy said

He said, “Buddy, when you’re dead, you’re a dead pecker-head”

I hope to prove him wrong, that is, when I get to heaven

So, yeah everybody. Here’s to you and yours. To your aunts and uncles, moms and dads, your kids, spouses and friends. And here’s to John Prine, with his vodka and ginger ale. 

The last song as I pulled my bike into the driveway. “Long Monday”

Gonna be a long Monday

Sittin’ all alone on a mountain

By a river that has no end

Gonna be a long Monday

Stuck like the tick of a clock

That’s come unwound again

Jesus Christ, life’s funny.