Often there are times - the rainy afternoons, the frustrated evenings, the end of long stagnant weeks or months- when there is just that honest consoling sound we are drawn to. For people this can be anything from Black Flag to Britney Spears, but I think you could guess neither of those examples do much for me in any situation. For me this musical voice is that of John Prine. Coming from the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago during the urban folk revival of the 1960's historically speaking he sits alongside such historic figures as Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Tom Rush, Phil Ochs and many others.
I remember the first time I heard John Prine. It was on a two disc anthology that is still in my mothers car. The first time I heard it I thought it was a type of cliche Americana. An overly simple old-timey sound that would never really garner too much respect in my ears. It was about sometime last year when I gave him a second chance. By this time I was a more seasoned appreciator of folk and bluegrass, and in my second listening instead of finding pedestrian melodies and typical progressions I found something else.
Though the melodic material is not much that warrants accolades; between the deft guitar picking (see Souvenirs), softhearted lyrics, and honest performances John Prine has become one of my favorite folk voices. I find his sound is both tender yet coarse enough to make the music feel approachable and not lofted in production, pop sentiment, or lyrical abstraction. I love his sound and the songs he writes. I find it funny that I didn't appreciate it at first, but that is one of the mysteries of taste and critical intuition, that as I have gotten older I would say the standards for what I listen to have not been lowered but I find myself asking different things from my music. I think when I was younger I was probably (as often happens in youth) I had preconceived notions of what music I listened to was supposed to sound like or do to me (think of how you as a child thought of vegetables, and if you don't like vegetables these days you better chickity check yo-self before you wreck your self, for real), asking for melodies to take me somewhere exciting and new Now, with Prine at least, I ask for his music to take me to something consoling and familiar. Perhaps its the accumulation of memory, or a newfound appreciation of the past. Either way John Prine is one of those many artists that I have grown to love, and as usual I am glad I looked past my youthful dispersions and gave him another chance.
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