Tag: John Prine

Ever since I wrote up the John Prine song Paradise (thanks to  halffastcyclingclub) I knew then I had to write up the album. This album is very daunting to write up. If one person listens to it, then my job is done. It is one of the best debut albums I’ve ever heard in rock, pop, country, folk, or anything else. I’m truly ashamed I didn’t dive into John Prine sooner. I knew some of his well-known songs like Dear Abbey, Angel From Montgomery, and a few other songs of his, but it was the song Paradise that totally won me over. Like the old lyric I remember from a long time ago…listening to this album is like taking a trip without leaving the farm. 

John Prine was working as a mailman in Chicago, delivering letters by day and sharpening songs by night. He began playing open mics at the Old Town School of Folk Music, where his storytelling and humor transfixed the audience. One night in 1970, Kris Kristofferson wandered in, heard Prine sing Sam Stone, and reportedly told his record label mates he’d just seen “the best songwriter I’ve ever heard.” That moment changed everything for Prine.

Atlantic Records moved quickly, pairing Prine with producer Arif Mardin, a surprising choice. Mardin, known for polished soul and pop productions. He immediately understood that these songs didn’t need a big production. Sessions were kept deliberately restrained, focusing on clarity and feel rather than polish. Many of the songs were already road-tested long before they were recorded. Hello In There, Sam Stone, and Paradise had been perfected in coffeehouses and small clubs

At 24 years old, he plays thirteen songs that feel lived in, warm, sly, funny, haunted, and most importantly, human. There is one thing I found out about this album. On first listen, I thought it was charming. On the tenth, it is devastating. On the twentieth, it feels like a friend you have known your whole life, and I’m not exaggerating.

Right from the opener Illegal Smile, Prine is already telling you “Last time I checked my bankroll, it was gettin’ thin, Sometimes it seems like the bottom is the only place I’ve been”. Then comes Spanish Pipedream, which practically bursts out of the speakers, preaching the joys of ditching society’s noise. blowing up your TV, and finding your own piece of mind. But the album’s heart and soul song runs deeper. Sam Stone, with its unforgettable line “there’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes,” still lands like a gut punch.

And then, of course, there is Angel from Montgomery. If Prine had written only that one song, he would still have ended up on songwriter Mount Rushmore. I won’t go over every song, but if you like great lyrics and great melodies, this is the album for you. Google the lyrics on this fine Sunday and sing along with John Prine. It will be a beautiful Sunday…trust me on that. My personal favorites? Paradise, Sam Stone, Illegal Smile, Angel from Montgomery, and…ah, just listen to them all.

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

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes
And Jesus Christ died for nothin’, I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears
Don’t stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmm

Sam Stone’s welcome home
Didn’t last too long
He went to work when he’d spent his last dime
And soon he took to stealin’
When he got that empty feelin’
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime
And the gold rolled through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose
While the kids ran around wearin’ other people’s clothes

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes
And Jesus Christ died for nothin’, I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears
Don’t stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmm

Sam Stone was alone
When he popped his last balloon
Climbing walls while sittin’ in a chair
Well, he played his last request
While the room smelled just like death
With an overdose hoverin’ in the air

But life had lost its fun
And there was nothin’ to be done
But trade his house that he bought on the G.I. Bill
For a flag draped casket on a local heroes’ hill

There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes
And, Jesus Christ died for nothin’, I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears
Don’t stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios
Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmm
Hmm
Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm