Plague Journal (21): "But empty pop bottles was all we would kill"

Well, how quickly the virus has slapped down my "tentative optimism" of yesterday morning. The U.S. endured its most deadly day yet, with upwards of 2000 people succumbing. 

Meanwhile, the news came last night that John Prine was one of its victims. John was certainly one of my songwriting heroes. I consider him a great poet with a unique but utterly authentic voice. As I said on Facebook last night, 

He didn't have a pretentious bone in his body. He wrote simple songs with humor that had a kind of sneaky wisdom about them. He kept on writing great songs through the years, right to the end. They were full of love and irony and deep understanding. He loved but had no illusions about America. Through all his songs there runs a strain of sorrow for what slips away, and a commitment to never forget.

 Many of John's songs seem to speak for and represent a world that is lost or nearly lost. This is not exactly nostalgia, but a kind of empathy for the little guy and gal and for their world. He addresses that theme most directly in "Souvenirs" and of course "Paradise," but really it runs through almost all of his songs. 

I am going to share two of these songs here. The first, the aforementioned "Paradise." Many performers have covered this one over the years, but here is Prine's original recording:

And this one just happens to be something I discovered last night while looking for Prine songs.