Small Town: In A Town This Size

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There are a number of things that I like about John Prine.

There's the cynical lyrics about things that should be so damn serious but that he manages to cut to shreds; there's the simplicity of the song structure (yeah, most popular music is I-IV-V) but he makes a lot of that; and then there's his guitar chops - nothing outrageous, but mighty solid. This song is so typical of John Prine's guitar - just about crystal clear - nothing crazy but perfectly there.

For Valentines' day:

You cant steal a kiss
In a place like this
How the rumors do fly
In a town this size

Martial: John Prine and Merle Haggard

Purchase: John Prine: Sam Stone
Purchase: Merle Haggard: A Soldier’s Last Letter

I’m taking a bit of creative liberty on our theme - martial - to talk about two songs concerning the military experience.

One song strikes me as poetic than musical, in the way it deals in stark imagery to show the aftermath of war and the kinds of wounds that don’t heal. The other is a bit of old-style country balladeering that unfortunately plays on cringe-inducing cliché and motif in a way that only country music can. A little on that idea before we get started. Sometimes, country music can be lazy—silly tropes repeated to the point that the simple use of an easily recognizable image stands blatantly for a resounding and universal symbol. Think about all the times you’ve heard the mention of American flags, mom, apple pie, Jesus and fast cars. I mean used seriously, without the requisite irony. A lot of country artists get away with lyrical murder, mining the same worn out themes and images – yet people fall for it, think formula makes for value. But, I guess people make John Grisham a bestseller, too, so when we look at music, sadly, quality is not the standout arbiter of quality.

But, this is not the case with John Prine, the old-soul minstrel and bard of American music. From his withered voice, to his minor key arrangements, Prine reminds me of troubadour of old, singing to tell a story, using words and story with the musical accompaniment as an afterthought. Let’s say this: Prine’s influence as a songwriter is beyond measure. Does he need a great voice, when the hand of God moves his pen? Probably not.  

Sam Stone is a song about a veteran returning from an overseas war who comes back to his family with “shattered nerves” and “shrapnel in his knee.” Our soldier, Sam Stone, with a “Purple Heart and a monkey on his back”, turns to drugs to ease his pain. What we have is a story, told through the bleak imagery of isolation, emptiness and the lingering odd sensation of how one sees the world when they are high. What is most striking is the underlying idea that even though the battlefield is nowhere near, our protagonist is still in dangerous proximity to death. In reality, Sam Stone left one war behind and came home to another one, and it is this war with his own demons that finally kills him and leaves his family broken and abandoned.

Prine has always been interesting to me: his voice can be grating. I imagine a lot of people who don’t know Prine would be inclined to turn him off, much like they would hearing Dylan’s distinctive delivery. But, lyrically, he is unrivaled. Reading Prine is like delving into a modern Whitman, sans the listing and cataloging. This is the writer of the everyman, vulnerable to the failings of the human heart, of age and distress, of societies’ brutish business and the dangers found lurking in the landscape of our everyday world. His melodies are lush, complicated and complex, building from a simple phrase and growing outward to gorgeously orchestrated compositions. Deceptively simple. Subtle. Beautiful. John Prine’s music works in ways that is rare – more than songs, carrying the emotional weight of a poem.

Now, let’s move on to the other song. I feel a little ashamed calling any song by the great Merle Haggard cheesy, but A Soldier’s Last Letter is a classic, but it’s also classic silliness. Penned in the epistolary form, A Soldier’s Last Letter is just that: a last letter written from the battlefield, from a soon to be dead soldier to his mother. The first two stanzas deal in the classic motifs of duty and remembrance, while the second half of the song details the mother’s reaction to the letter, reading it long after her darling boy, the one she used to yell at for coming home with mud on his shoes, has been killed. It’s a pretty song, I suppose, but what gets me is the way it ends: the mother, distraught at the loss of her son, goes down on her knees to pray. She prays the God will watch over all the other sons, but she also prays: “…dear God, keep America free.”

It strikes me as odd that a song like A Soldier’s Last Letter is considered a classic. It is classic only in playing on the same silly tropes so many patriotic songs use: mom, freedom… It starts off interestingly – but to think a mother, in the immediate wake of learning her son is gone, still finds it in her heart to pray to keep America free? It’s the kind of song that evokes lots of cheers and chanting – patriotism, especially in a country song, is a notion vulnerable to misuse and to childish sentiment. You think about performers that bandy about the stars and stripes as part of their image rather than the hard fought and contentious concept that democracy and freedom really is, and conception gets muddy. Merle Haggard speaks to freedom, hard living and independent, rugged individualism. That’s great. That probably is American. But then what about some 10-cent jackass like Toby Keith, and his knee jerk patriotism, or Eric Church (who I do like, but I think his metaphors are bargain basement cheap) and you can see a difference. Perhaps country music has to delve into those overused ideas—it could be an essential part of the genre, just like something jumping out of the shadows is key to horror films. I don’t know.

I reluctantly use The Hag as a bad example - a silly song in an otherwise pretty great catalog - of what is frustrating in country music. I listen to a lot of modern country, by virtue of Spotify (I get to listen, rather than buy, so it’s easier than ever to get a feel for what is trending). And, I’ve been really bothered by how shallow a lot of it is - and how bad songwriting is so easily considered “good.” Merle isn’t a bad songwriter, by any stretch, though I have always hated Okie from Muskogee, and the conservative, asinine divisiveness of that song and the point it tries to make in attacking one set of values in favor of another, equally oddball set. But, it’s an old song now,  a relic of an era.

So much of today’s country music comes off as lazy—overused clichés meant evoke the most predictable response. I guess those easily recognized values are best to create mass appeal. But, when you look at great writers and how they don’t ever achieve the status that so many lousy ones do, it can be frustrating. And make for some bad music.

Elected Officials: Grandpa Was A Carpenter

John Prine: YouTube version of Grandpa Was A Carpenter
John Prine: [download it @ Amazon]

A few weeks back, we were looking at Leonard Cohen, and most of our posts noted how dismal we felt when we listened to his music. In addition to Tom Waits, the third musician I would categorize as representative of “bleak” would be John Prine, but for reasons I cannot explain, I much prefer Prine’s negative outlook to that of the other two. Several of his songs deal with political issues of the day: the Vietnam war comes to mind.

It must be Prine's way with his lyrics that attracts me. In "Grandpa Was A Carpenter", Prine gets me thinking about the pendulum effect: over time, parties, individuals and corporation find themselves faced with the need to adjust their stance, and end up swinging away from their extreme positions. This need for realignment is what the Republican party seems to be debating in the wake of their defeat this week.

Grandpa Was A Carpenter includes in the lyrics, references to Presidents Eisenhower and Lincoln as candidates of the Republican party: “… [grandpa] voted for Eisenhower ‘cause Lincoln won the war…”

Now, it is hard to picture fully the mentality of the populace in either of these times: just what did the Republican party represent to voters then? Could it be that even with 100 years separating these two candidates, the GOP stood for the exact same set of values?

There are several versions of John Prine playing the song at YouTube, but I chose this one because of the treble: I like my music crisp, and even if the sound quality of this version fades in places, you’ll have to admit that the  guitars are “sharp”.

Hello: Hello in There

John Prine: Hello in There

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"Hello in There" features some of the most poignant lyrics John Prine ever wrote -- and that's saying something, considering he's got a catalog of lump-in-the-throat songs -- "Sam Stone," "Six O'Clock News" and "Souvenirs" among them.

Prine earned an early reputation for being able to write "old." "He was unlike anyone I'd ever seen," Kris Kristofferson said. "Such a young kid and yet he's writing songs like 'Hello in There.'" Most of the song's narrative is told from the perspective of an aging factory worker. He's retired, the kids have scattered to the winds, he doesn't have much left to say to his wife or his friends. The tune shuffles along, as if in time to the gait of the aging protagonist.

"Hello in There" seems to be building toward a rebuke of its narrator for (to borrow a phrase from a Townes van Zandt song from around the same time) waiting around to die. That wouldn't be surprising, given that Prine wasn't even 24 when he composed "Hello in There," at the height of the 1960s youth culture. But, that's not the direction he takes the song. "Old trees just grow stronger, and old rivers grow wilder every day," he observes with sadness. Yet, "old people just grow lonesome." For the song's coda, Prine steps out of character and admonishes his peers not to pity or ignore the elderly. "Don't just pass them by and stare, as if you didn't care. Say 'hello in there.'"

The song, which was later covered by Bette Midler, Joan Baez and others, appeared on Prine's incredible 1970 debut album. But, the version posted here is a re-recording from Souvenirs, released 30 years later. Prine's singing on the original recording lacks some of the vocal finesse he developed over his career. In middle age, Prine brings fresh perspective to the song. He still offers up the lesson to those who too quickly dismiss their parents. But, in his performance, you can also sense Prine's realization that he's closer in age to the main character in "Hello in There" than he is to the songwriter who composed it.

Gender Benders: Angel From Montgomery

John Prine: Angel From Montgomery

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I am an old woman..., Prine begins, in that weary, gravelly voice, and you accept it, and move on, granting the songwriter the innate privilege of the narrative voice. Or not: perhaps you have heard Bonnie Raitt's 1974 cover first, and the dissonance is jarring.

No matter. Prine wrote it, and dared make it the centerpiece of the second side of his 1971 debut; his is the quintessential gender bender. That the version here is from Souvenirs, his late-career remake of his own canon, only gives it the gravitas of age it richly deserves, even as it acknowledges our mutual familiarity with Raitt's classic take.

Oh, Mama: Pistol Packin’ Mama

The Andrews Sisters w/ Bing Crosby: Pistol Packin‘ Mama

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I don’t like crooners. That whole style of music just leaves me cold. So I feel very strange posting Bing Crosby. But man, does this swing!

You might say that Crosby and The Andrews Sisters formed a supergroup during the swing era. They cut enough sides together to see release in these days as a full-length CD. They released Pistol Packin’ Mama in September of 1943. The original version had been a hit on the country charts for Al Dexter earlier that year.

Since then, the song has been covered in almost as many ways as there have been musical styles. Frank Sinatra did it. Gene Vincent recorded an ill-advised rockabilly version. There is an instrumental jazz version by Albert Ammons. But almost nothing compares with this version. So the last thing I would ever have expected was a killer version by John Prine. Mac Wiseman is Prine’s partner in this, and also deserves credit.

John Prine and Mac Wiseman: Pistol Packin‘ Mama

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Drugs: Illegal Smile

John Prine: Illegal Smile
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John Prine: Illegal Smile (live '97)
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Serena Ryder: Illegal Smile
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We've posted plenty of Prine here on Star Maker Machine since our inception, but mere popularity is no reason to ignore the potent works of this prolific singer-songwriter.

Illegal Smile grounds itself in the premise of drugs as escape, much like the previously-posted Prine tune Sam Stone; both originally appeared on his debut self-titled album in 1971. But where Sam Stone's Vietnam vet drowns his future and family in morphine, Illegal Smile is a wry, lighthearted poke at the blues, flavored with more half-baked chagrin than true demons.

It's easy to imagine a man turning to happydrugs for a mere cheerful pick-me-up after losing a staring contest with his oatmeal, and chasing a rainbow into a dead end. Easy to defend, too. Listen to the sing-along he recorded 26 years after releasing the original; you can still hear Prine grinning throughout. And Canadian songstress Serena Ryder's laughing in-studio cover never goes dark, either.

Never heard Prine's "other" drug song? For comparison's sake, check out Ted's take on Sam Stone, including an oddball soul take from Swamp Dogg, Prine's original, and a sweet cover from Laura Cantrell.

Leftovers (Adjective Noun): Sweet Revenge

John Prine: Sweet Revenge

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Just thought I’d add one more song to the theme I’ve enjoyed the most here at SMM. Adjective Noun leaves the door open for many choices, so instead of searching for songs to fit the theme, you can search some of your favorite artists and see which of their tunes follow the specified grammatical formula. Boyhowdy, if you’re reading… let’s do more.

The title track from John Prine’s third album in as many years since his introduction is simply terrific. And that is his greatest appeal. He can make a phrase that is clever is hell seem like second nature conversation. You always feel as if John is speaking directly to you. This personal flavor creates warm, sincere music that transcends genre and remains relevant in today’s music world.

Silly Songs: In Spite of Ourselves

John Prine: In Spite of Ourselves

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The only self-written track from John Prine’s 1999 Duet/Covers album by the same name, In Spite of Ourselves is an honest, brash tune about a pair of lovers who know each other all too well at this point. Iris Dement supplies the female part for this song and a few others from the album. John gets help from Lucinda Williams, Trisha Yearwood, Emmylou Harris, and Patty Loveless (among others) to round out the rest of the disc.

Even when John’s songs inspire a chuckle or two, they still feel like real songs – and not just jokes set to music. He’s got many that could fit this theme, but this one makes me laugh more than any other.

“She don't like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin' her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She's my baby
I'm her honey
I'm never gonna let her go

He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin' my undies
He ain't too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it's oxygen
He's my baby
And I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go”

Johns: John Prine

John Prine: Quit Hollerin' At Me

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John Prine: Sam Stone

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We've posted several John Prine classics here at Star Maker Machine in the few months since this wonderful collaborative took root, and with good reason: this John knows how to rock the weariness, saving his strength for just the right moment, the perfect sighing phrase, the delicate guitar solo.

As a cover collector, I hear Prine's songbook plenty; no matter who sings it, something of the outsider's awe that characterizes his narrative explorations of topics from love lost to heroin addiction always shines through. But John Prine's power is in his performance, not solely his songcraft; his own take on his work deserves respect and careful listening. Here's one of my favorite live cuts from a decade back, and a much quieter but no less powerful piece from September 2001; though Prine on record makes for some incredible, precious folkpop, his blueswork has been stuck in my brain recently.

As a bonus, head back to this old post about Angel From Montgomery to hear the original songwriter with one of his most famous songs, though most people know it through the work of blueswoman Bonnie Raitt. Something about that emotion Prine brings to the first line -- the way we are immediately confronted with the rough, masculine voice claiming that he is an old woman; the way we accept it anyway -- says everything about Prine: who he is, what he can do, and why we should care.

Heaven Week: Angel From Montgomery

Bonnie Raitt: Angel From Montgomery

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Bonnie Raitt w/ John Prine: Angel From Montgomery

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Call it overplayed. Call it sappy seventies lite on the radio dial. But back before Bonnie Raitt's voice had been ravaged by alcohol, she was a Boston-based bluesfolk singer and guitarist who looked like she could soar to the Heavens herself, and with a voice to match.

Raitt's first three albums are gorgeous and flawed. Her fourth, 1974 release Streetlights, was a marked shift towards mainstream pop consistency. You could already hear a rasp and rattle in there, if you listened closely, but the production served her changing tone well. By the time she released her live duet with original songwriter John Prine, her voice was as broken as his, in its own way. And being a fan of Bonnie Raitt meant something else entirely.

The idea of angel as saving grace has always appealed to me -- and this is, ultimately, a song of longing framed around the titular savior, though Prine's narrator is so desperate, she would just as easily accept an old rodeo poster as evidence of meaning. But I think this song gets so much more poignant when you consider the ravages of time and pop music on Bonnie Raitt's voice. Listening to her "original" take on this song now gives me chills, while more recent live versions -- including this one with Prine, which was first released, oddly enough, on a Steve Goodman tribute album -- while powerful in their own right, seem nostalgic by comparison.

Just for fun, here's Prine's solo acoustic take, too. I love the way his torn, yearning voice leans into the angelic chime and rise of the mandolin. Here's a guy whose voice got graveled up as he aged, too. In his case, however, there wasn't as far to fall.

John Prine: Angel From Montgomery

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Heaven Week: Everybody

John Prine: Everybody

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There was a comment made somewhere during Hell Week that Satan had all the best music. Now, I admit that last week was awesome here at SMM. But I'm an optimist at heart, and I'm hoping that this week we can all prove that the folks on the brighter side of the eternities will be rockin' just as hard as their burning and tortured counter parts down below.

This is one of my favorite John Prine songs, off of the excellent Diamonds In The Rough album. Prine meets Jesus out on the ocean and gets some valuable words of wisdom from Him. Listen in to hear what He had to say, my brothers and sisters!

History: Jesus Christ's missing years?

John Prine: Jesus, The Missing Years

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Historical truth, I’ll leave it to the historians and scholars to figure out. It seems everything we were taught in grammar school and latter has all run amuck with revisionists, politicians and religious leaders meddling or clarifying the truth (some of it, justifiably needed revision). Which leads all of us scrambling for not only the so-called real non-fiction, but figuring out everything we’ve been taught, all of our lives. I for one, was raised on the Catholic Church and Walt Disney, which explains why I’m so fecked up! I’ve also been healing those scars for many years, partly with the help of classic songwriters to guide my way. Sometimes a tear will fall, but mostly the crack of a smile. This of course, all leads us to my selection here for History week:

John Prine’s classic re-telling of Jesus Christ in, Jesus, The Missing Years. Taken from John’s 1991 comeback album The Missing Years, which not only became his biggest seller to date, but a critical and commercial success as well. In the text of the song we have John taking a very humorous turn on filling in the blanks of Jesus Christ’s life: 18 years that have never been accounted for in Biblical text. Prine’s clever use of juxtaposing those years with your average American baby boomer, leads the listener on a wild ride a mischievous fun and a hilarious re-telling of historical events. A Mr. Jay Jones wrote a far more in depth, thought provoking piece about the song, here. Enjoy!

City Songs: Milwaukee Here We Come

John Prine w/ Melba Montgomery , Milwaukee Here I Come

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Girl convinces boy to run away with her to Nashville. Upon arrival, boy loses girl to the Grand Ole Opry scene. Boy says he's heading back to Milwaukee until she decides which one she really wants: those opry stars, or him. Now give the poor, doomed fool the first verse, so we don't realize until the last minute or so that she was only using him to get to Ernest Tubb (though she'll settle for Lester Flatt, in a pinch); add a hopeful title and an upbeat countrified performance, set John Prine's broken twang against Melba Montgomery's aging but still perky country harmony, and you've got all the ingredients for the perfect honky-tonk tragedy.

From Prine's wonderfully consistent album of lighthearted classic country songs about infidelity, each one a duet with one of his favorite female folk and alt-country artists (Iris DeMent, Lucinda Williams, Connie Smith, Emmylou Harris, and more).