A John Prine Christmas

A Christmas Review

I can't say for certain, but as far as my hearts concerned John Prine was my father's favorite musician. My father grew up in a hard blue collar home in Southern Minnesota. He worked on his grandfather's farm, played football, drove dirt road trucks, and dicked around with guns out in the woods. In high school, he started listening to another Midwestern boy, a Chicago singer/songwriter named John Prine. Records, cassettes, and eventually CDs were purchased, giving John that special spotlight on my Father's stereo; sharing regular rotations with the like of Willie Nelson, Jerry Jeff Walker, Michael Martin Murphey, and Bob Dylan. Being the eldest son in a family of ten kids, my fathers brothers and sisters were soon baptised in the wit, humor, and challenging honesty of John Prine's tales calling behind my father's old bedroom or booming from his truck radio. Before long they were disciples too, and as they grew their kids, my father's nieces and nephews, became followers knowing the lyrics to all the Prine essentials.

Before I discovered Metallica, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Motorhead, or worshipped at the alter of Willie Nelson, there was John Prine. While I can't remember the first time I heard 'Sam Stone', 'Saddle in the Rain,' or 'Sweet Revenge', I do remember the day my father purchased John Prine: Anthology; the greatest record ever compiled. I actually remember the second and third time he purchased the album as well, the CD had a way of disappearing when family members were around. That CD is legendary amongst my brothers and I. Once on a trip to Elysian, MN, from Lawton, OK to attend my uncle's wedding, we listened to nothing but Anthology on the 12 hour ride there and nothing but Anthology on the 12 hour ride back; when disc 1 was done you simply put in disc 2.

Over the years my John Prine stock grew, with new albums and listen after listen. Hard pressed by an assasins blade, I'm fairly confident I could Anthology note for note. Heading towards 25, I've even seen John Prine twice in concert now; once with my brothers, and once with my fiance. My father was suppose to attend the show with my brothers, but he got drunk the day before and called into work, meaning he couldn't miss work as planned to see the concert. He was a bastard somtimes, I still made him pay for his ticket and lied about trying to scalp it.

When I hear John Prine I can't help but think of my father; all those yeares, all those moments they exist on the same wave lenght. Sadly my father died last October. As a family we said goodbye together, his brothers, his sisters, his nephews, his nieces, his friends, his sons and listened to John Prine trying not to cry.

Today they say, is Christmas day and I'm lying here alone on my couch waiting to go to work. There's no gift under the tree with his name on it anymore. I won't get that Christmas phone call this year, hear his laugh, or take him for a ride in the passenger seat. No, it's all gone except John Prine singing Christmas songs on my stereo.