John Prine

This was a tough one to take. He’d held out for a very long time, and perhaps I felt glimmers of “no news is good news” hope. But the news hit late last night…

I was late to the Prine party, purchasing the Rhino “Great Days” anthology in the early 90s. But then again, perhaps not.

During my junior high and early high school years in southeastern Connecticut, the station to listen to was WPLR-FM (99.1 “Rock Yours In Quad”), whose signal floated eastward over Long Island Sound when their Hartford competitor, WHCN, was challenged by the Connecticut hills. The evening DJ, “Stone Man” (or “Stoneman”), would sign off every night with his words of wisdom:

“Whatever you’re doing, have fun doing it. If it’s just a little bit illegal, don’t you get caught.” Followed by the chorus of “Illegal Smile” (with “kill” blorped over by a guy saying, I think, “warning!”).

“Great Days” was a revelation. Songs that spoke hard truths, but also hugged you just as hard. For a span of months those two CDs were in constant, then regular, rotation. It’s on my Desert Island shortlist, never to be removed.

I think I can honestly say this about no other artist: Ask me, “What’s your favorite song of his?” and I’ll answer, “The last one I heard.” Some I prefer to others, of course, but for my money there’s not a bad one in the basket.

But among my very favorites is a song Prine did not write. It’s Rolly Salley’s “Killing the Blues,” and I think it’s the upbeat, gospel-infused performance coupled with the self-effacing Prine lyrical delivery that made me prick up my ears and fall in love with the song.

If my wishes are honored, it will be performed at my final send-off (but more in the style of Chris Smither’s fine cover).

Thanks Mr. Prine. You were in heaven before you died.