Stories from the Edge of Music #47: JOHN PRINE (Pt. 1)
The death of John Prine nearly five years ago was a tragic loss. The good thing is that his music is more popular than ever; the worst thing is that there won’t be any more John Prine songs.
I’ve been writing Stories from the Edge of Music for almost two years now, and I’ve never done this before — given you a piece from another writer’s Substack. I knew I’d be writing about John Prine and while I was doing my semi-diligent research I came across the piece that follows. It was written in April 2024 by Mike Plume, a first-rate songwriter and a friend. I asked if I could pass it on to my readers, and he readily agreed. Mike’s from Edmonton but spent many years in Nashville; he now lives in Toronto with his wife Jenny Orenstein (herself a fine singer) and their daughter Ruby.
Two more points:
1) Please check Mike's Substack (titled The Way I Remember It) and subscribe to it. It’s brilliant. Here’s the link:
2) Stories of my own acquaintanceship with John will be part of my first post in the New Year. We had known each other since 1972.
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LAST THOUGHT ON JOHN PRINE
If heartaches were commercials, we'd all be on TV…
By MIKE PLUME
And I smiled on the Wabash the last time I passed it.
Yes, I gave her a wink from the passenger side.
My foot fell asleep as I swallowed my candy,
Knowing he was in Heaven before he died
I remember...
I was playing a pub gig in Edmonton's west end back in September of 1989.
I was on a set break when a guy sat down beside me at the bar and started talking about singer-songwriters.
I had just started my education on the subject.
I had Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits, Highway 61 Revisited, and that was about it.
Even though I was a massive fan of Springsteen, Mellencamp, Steve Earle, Bob Seger, and others, it didn’t dawn on me that any of them would be considered a “singer-songwriter.”
Not sure why…
Anyway, trying to be cool, I told him I was a big Dylan fan.
He asked me if I could play any John Prine songs.
At that point in my life, I'd never even heard a John Prine song, let alone played one.
"You mean you never heard, ‘Please Don't Bury Me!?!’”
"No, man. It doesn't ring a bell…"
"Oh man, you'd love him! Check this out!"
He takes a swig of beer and sings…
Woke up this morning, put on my slippers,
Walked in the kitchen and died.
And oh, what a feeling when my soul went through the ceiling
And on up into Heaven, I did ride.
When I got there, they did say, ‘John, it happened this a-way.
You slipped upon the floor and hit your head.’
And all the angels say, just before you passed away,
These were the very last words that you said.
You said, ‘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…’
And with that, I was hooked. I was a John Prine fan and hadn't even heard a note yet.
The line about how the deaf could have the dying man’s ears if they didn’t mind the size struck me as so funny.
It still does.
”Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather be deaf than to walk around looking like a Volkswagen with the doors open… Thanks anyway…”
Then he sang a verse of a song about a Vietnam Vet called Sam Stone.
Sam Stone came home
To his wife and family
After serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served
Had shattered all his nerves
And left a little shrapnel in his knee.
But the morphine eased the pain
And the grass grew ’round his brain
And gave him all the confidence he lacked
With a purple heart and a monkey on his back…
I couldn't believe someone could write something like that.
Then, he trotted out a verse of Dear Abby.
Dear Abby, Dear Abby, my fountain pen leaks.
My wife hollers at me and my kids are all freaks.
Every side I get up on is the wrong side of bed.
If it weren't so expensive, I'd wish I were dead.
Signed, Unhappy…
How could I not have heard of this guy, John Prine, before?
It made no sense.
It don't make much sense
That common sense
Don't make no sense no more…
The next morning, I went to HMV at West Edmonton Mall and bought John Prine's greatest hits album, called Prime Prine.
I learned every song on that record.
I started playing them at my gigs.
“Sam Stone.”
“Please Don't Bury Me.”
“Grandpa Was A Carpenter.”
“Souvenirs.”
“Dear Abby.”
Over the next couple of years, I bought every John Prine album I could get my hands on.
In February 1992, I was wandering around the HMV at WestEd again and noticed on the new-release wall an album by John Prine called The Missing Years.
It was the first new John Prine album I had ever bought.
I was finally "all caught up" on my Prine education.
Later that day, I went to see the movie Falling From Grace.
Written, starring, and directed by John Mellencamp.
Playing Mellencamp's brother-in-law was none other than John Prine.
James Dean went out to Hollywood and put his picture in a picture show…
In September 1992, I spent a month in Dallas, Texas.
I was going out for dinner downtown with some friends.
We were sitting at a light on Elm Street when I noticed a bunch of people milling around in front of an old theatre.
I read the marquee.
"JOHN PRINE - TONIGHT - 8 PM!!!"
"Guys, I gotta get out here. I'll meet you back at yer place later. John Prine's playing!"
I'm sure they thought I was crazy as I slammed the car door and walked up to the ticket booth.
"John Prine, with special guest Iris Dement!"
I'd never heard of her before, but by the end of her first song, I was a lifelong fan.
She played a thirty-minute set.
Everyone loved her.
After the intermission, Prine walked out onto the stage.
I'd never seen anyone so at ease.
He lit a cigarette, leaned into the microphone, and said, “Because I can…”
Everyone laughed.
He'd tell the funniest, craziest stories.
“I got an unusual Christmas present a couple years back. I got a divorce for Christmas.”
Everyone laughed.
“So I went out and bought myself an electric train, and me and this friend of mine nailed it to the dining room table…”
Everyone laughed.
“Just ‘cause we could…”
Everyone HOWLED.
Sometimes, his stories would be longer than the song he was telling the story about.
My eyes leaked for the entire show.
I'll never forget that night.
Memories they can't be boughten
They can't be won at carnivals for free.
Well, it took me years to get those souvenirs,
And I don't know how they slipped away from me…
In August 1997, I was playing at the Edmonton Folk Music Festival.
So was John Prine.
(For the record, our names were side by side on the posters and t-shirts!)
On Sunday afternoon, I was walking along, minding my own business, when I saw someone I recognized standing in the middle of the crowd.
People walking around him.
People walking past him.
He looked lost.
He looked at me.
It was Prine.
Hey, look, Ma, here comes the Elephant Boy!
Bundled all up in his corduroy.
Heading down south towards Illinois
From the jungles of East St Paul…
"Hey, ahhh… Do you know where Stage 5 is? My buddy Iris is singing over there, and I wanna go listen to her."
"Yeah, man, I'm heading that way right now! Let’s go!!!”
We started walking…
He lit a cigarette.
I lit a cigarette.
You know, just because we could…
"Mr. Prine, I'm so excited to see you play tonight!"
"Call me John. Otherwise, I'll think I'm in trouble."
"Yes, sir. My name's Mike."
"It's nice to meet you, Mike. Boy, you sure can't beat this festival site, can you?"
"No, sir. It's really something, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is."
We walked and talked like long-lost pals.
As we were making our way to Stage 5, we could hear someone with an English accent hosting an event on Stage 4.
John says, "Hey, that sounds like my buddy Dick Flohil."
I couldn't believe that John Prine and I had a mutual friend.
Except, to me, he was Richard Flohil.
He still is.
Prine's show was the last show of the weekend.
My eyes leaked the whole time.
In 2001, I was living in Nashville.
One Friday night, Jenny and I were at Blockbuster Video in Green Hills.
Standing next to us, at the new-release wall, was, you guessed it...
John Prine.
He was there with his two younger boys, who would've been around 6 and 7 years old at the time.
They were renting Shrek or Monsters, Inc. or something like that.
This time, he didn't look lost, so I left him alone.
He paid for the movies, and then he and his boys waved and said goodbye to the guy working behind the counter as they walked out the door.
Smiles and waves all around.
Kiss a little baby,
Give the world a smile.
And if you take an inch,
Then you give 'em back a mile…
They piled into a ragtop Cadillac with the top-down and drove off into the night.
Roll credits.
Fade to black.
The end.
Epilogue:
I saw Prine one more time.
In December 2018, I flew to Toronto to see him on his Tree Of Forgiveness tour.
My eyes leaked for the entire show.
The last song was “Lake Marie.”
While the band played the outro, John put his guitar down on the floor and danced off the stage.
It was the craziest, most joyful dance I’d ever seen.
I remember thinking, "I may never get to see this again."
Aah, baby, we gotta go now…
John Prine
October 10, 1946 - April 07, 2020
Yeah, when I get to heaven
I'm gonna take that wristwatch off my arm
What are you gonna do with time
After you've bought the farm?
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AT THE YEAR’S END, SOME ARTISTS I’VE “DISCOVERED”
I didn’t “discover" any of these artists, in the sense that I worked to help set them on the road to popularity, fame and riches; I “found” them, sometimes better late than never. And they brightened my ears and my heart — and if you don't know them, you should find them too.
Yes, this short list is Toronto-centric, because that's where these artists are based and where I work. But my guess is that they will sooner or later — with luck and hard work, and if they really want it — earn national reputations. In no particular order:
With a handful of exceptions, I’ve never been a fan of introspective women singer songwriters, but Victoria Carr fascinates me. The former rhythm guitar player and backup singer with the oddly named Wilderness of Manitoba, she's starting a solo career while the band is on hiatus. Her songs have a warmth and an aura of kindness that’s entrancing. She played a sold-out show at The Burdock a few weeks ago (I suspect to her surprise); she obviously has a fan base, and she'll upgrade to the Rivoli on Queen Street for a show at the beginning of spring.
Well, the fact is that you don’t expect the young daughter of Vietnamese refugees to Canada to sing country music — let alone with original songs and powerhouse energy. I first heard her at a country music club, pre-pandemic. It was straight-ahead no-frills country, with many cover songs, but there wasn’t anything particularly special or original, although the dancers loved it. Last summer, my friend Kerry Clarke booked her at the Calgary Folk Festival, where Nicolette was confident and country-wise. And then a bit over a month ago, I saw her at the Monarch, a cool joint in Toronto’s Little Italy. Original songs — and a steamy, LOUD power rock and roll show it was, even though some of the songs were supercharged country covers. My friend Sandy Pandya manages Nicolette, who is already playing dates in the U.S. — this is an artist on her way.
After a lifetime of music, I’ve finally figured out that one of the major elements that brings me on board is joyfulness. That said, you don't expect to find joy, laughter, and happy energy in a power rock trio. But MIP (her name comes from her initials) is a onetime folkie who knows exactly how to generate happiness while playing some of the loudest rock and roll I’ve heard all year. She’s originally from Smithers, British Columbia, but she’s been flying under the radar in Toronto for eight years. In 2025, she’s going to make a major push to get the recognition she richly deserves. Look out for her!
I'm not sure how to describe Nyssa — a one-woman dervish with wonderful songs, a load of joyfulness, and an “art rock” approach to her music. Signed to Shauna de Cartier’s Six Shooter label, her first single was “Everybody’s Breaking Up” — if Canadian radio wasn’t so hidebound and boring, it would have been a hit. Alas, Nyssa has moved to England, and I hope she finds success there — and I hope I‘ll see her if I get to the U.K. in May.
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IT’S GOING TO BE A DANGEROUS NEW YEAR
Each year, I send this video to folk I know. It’s a punky version of a Alfred Lord Tennyson poem, written well over 150 years ago — but completely pertinent today. May the gods bless Alana Levandoski for this amazing one-woman video, and I urge you to take the time to watch it.
It’s a welcome to 2025, and to every new year since Tennyson wrote it. With Trump about to wreak havoc, and PeePee in the wings here at home, it’s hard to feel optimistic.
That said, ring out wild bells. A New Year is here...
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A FINAL WORD
Apparently thee are 299 music Substacks, and this one is ranked at #92. I don’t really know what that means, but it does make me feel a bit warm and fuzzy.
More John Prine next time. And hopefully more subscribers (especially paid ones!). By mid-year I hope to have 900 folk reading this stuff and perhaps 100 of them will contribute to the cost off my morning coffee.
Happy New Year, people! Thank you for being here!
Oh wow Richard, I’m overjoyed I found this article. It came about like this:
Just a few minutes ago, some young whippersnapper on Substack asked me who my favourite songwriter was, so I told him it was John Prine. I’m not a religious man, but with that small comment I felt I was doing God’s work.
Anyhow, writing down John Prine’s name, I thought I’d do a search on Substack to see if there were any articles about John Prine and I came across this one, your repost of Mike Plume's beautiful article. I opened my phone and picked my John Prine playlist, slipped on the earphones, pressed play, and read the article. My eyes leaked the whole time.