Many people have never heard of John Prine, and two years ago I had not either. He died on April 7, 2020, of COVID, in Nashville, Tennessee.
He was a song writer and performer in the compelling and quirky tradition of other upper midwestern artists like Carl Sandberg, Shel Silverstein, and Bob Dylan.
His most famous songs are “Angel from Montgomery” (which many others have covered), “Paradise” (about the family place of origin in western Kentucky), and “Sam Stone” (the lyrics that first put him on the musical map).
When he died, many couples—married and otherwise—posted video versions of “In Spite of Ourselves.” It turned into a national tribute to the humble man from Chicago. It would be a good choice to open a public sing-along, with some person singing the verse and the crowd joining in on the chorus:
In spite of ourselves we’ll end up a’sittin’ on a rainbow.
Against all odds, honey, we’re the big door prize.
We’re gonna spite our noses right off of our faces.
There won’t be nothin’ but big old hearts dancin’ in our eyes.
We certainly could sing this next song, written before he was discovered by Kris Kristofferson and the late Roger Ebert. It is a 1970 parody on American patriotism entitled “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore.” The chorus goes like this:
But your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven any more.
They’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war.
Now Jesus don’t like killin’ no matter what the reason’s for,
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven any more.
This mashup of commentary and comedy is a hallmark of Prine’s imagination. It is also the sort of style that will make the sing-along something more than a goodtime get-together.
He wrote several about death, including two we should sing in such a setting as I imagine. The first is the crazy song “Please Don’t Bury Me Down in the Cold, Cold, Ground.” It sounds serious but it is outright hilarious, full of advice about where to send the various parts of his recently deceased body. The chorus goes like this:
Please don’t bury me down in that cold, cold ground.
No, I’d druther have ’em cut me up and pass me all around.
Throw my brain in a hurricane and the blind can have my eyes.
And the deaf can take both of my ears, if they don’t mind the size.
Equally funny is the song, “When I Get to Heaven.” It is spoken-word, of sorts, except when it comes to the chorus. That’s when we would all join in and sing:
And then I’m gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale.
Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
‘Cause this old man is goin’ to town!
We could not have a genuine John Prine self-style concert without singing the song inspired by an English language newspaper he once picked up while touring Italy. There he read the ubiquitous column Dear Abby which he took as the title of song. The chorus carries some down-home common sense in the form of advice to, in this first verse, a man named Bewildered:
Bewildered, bewildered 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.
Other letters reviewed in the song came from Unhappy, Noise Maker, and Just Married. But the advice to each was the same: You are what you are and you ain’t what you ain’t. Not bad.
There is a serious side to John Prine, one not covered over with humor. “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness” is one of the best. And the crowd could join in this easy-to-learn chorus:
So what in the world’s come over you?
And what in heaven’s name have you done?
You’ve broken the speed of the sound of loneliness.
You’re out there running just to be on the run.
And there is a sweet side to John Prine, especially evidenced by this romantic ballad, inspired by the neighborhood dance floor. As the chorus presents itself only twice, we would need to sing it through two or three times.
I want to dance with you, twirl you all around the floor.
That’s what they invented dancing for. I just want to dance with you.
I want to dance with you, hold you in my arms once more.
That’s what they invented dancing for. I just want to dance with you.
Surely a final song for such a memorable event might be “Glory of True Love.” The lyrics of verse and chorus justify printing just a bit more than those above (as well as singing it through more than once).
Oh, the glory of true love is a wild and precious thing.
It don’t grow on old magnolias or only blossom in the spring.
No, the glory of true love is it will last your whole life through;
Never will go out of fashion, always will look good on you.
You can climb the highest mountain, touch the moon and stars above.
But Old Faithful’s just a fountain compared to the glory of true love.
Sounds like a good time, doesn’t it? All we need is at least one talented singer, a venue where, in honor of John Prine, we could drink and smoke, and a couple dozen good-hearted, music-loving folk.
(March 2022)
