Been thinking about John Prine a lot since reports surfaced that he had contracted COVID-19. I saw him a couple of times when he opened for Bonnie Raitt back in the early ‘90s, and only recently realized that we’ve probably been driving past his childhood home on 1st Avenue in Maywood all these years.
I was always fond of his work, but I’ve listened a lot more to his songs the past few weeks, and understand more deeply how much we’ve lost. This Rolling Stone piece captures the down-to-earth sweetness that clearly defined his music.
Time for a vodka and ginger ale. And maybe an ice cream cone.