04/08/2020 Spring without John Prine
We had gigs cancel in March and April and thought maybe May would still work out. Jan and I came home early from a run in the Northeast and dug ourselves in. It was too early to think about the summer. Jan’s brother in law Wayne Avery,a fine musician, died after a long illness. We were sad that we couldn’t be with his family now, but glad that we’d had a visit on his 70th birthday in December. Still, with food in the pantry and a some savings stashed away, I figured we’d be ok. John Prine got the Covid bug and went on a ventilator, but we didn’t want to look at that too closely or think too hard about it. Word came down that our friend Andy Statman and his wife had survived it. We planted a garden, and some sprouts came up early this week. We listened to a lot of Bill Withers and John Prine. It might all work out.
OK, so on Tuesday June bookings fell through. Until then, there was some chance, some small possibility; some hope against the prevailing trend that things might kind of flip back into place. And then yesterday John Prine died.
I had John’s first record in my freshman in college dorm room. A year later I started trying to make my living as a singer, and his songs were on my set list. I talked to him one time at festival backstage about Steve Goodman. Then in the early 90’s, I was visiting Nashville and was staying with a friend who lived down the street from him. John’s mother’s was living with him then and it was her birthday, so we were invited over for cake and ice cream. After I moved to Nashville, I’d see him at Kroger early in the morning after running my kids to school. I’d see him at places that served country soul food. Above his signature on the wall of the Copper Kettle he wrote, “Meatloaf Tuesday.” I got to record on duets he sang with Mac Wiseman and with Kathy Mattea. He snuck into the back door of the Station Inn one night and sat to the side, said he’d never seen Hot Rize before, but I think he really came to see Red Knuckles and the Trailblazers. John was always the same regular guy who just happened to be a great poet of his time.
Getting to know Bill Withers a little through the West Virginia Music Hall of Fame was a similar thing. Here was a giant of the pop music world, reaching down to shake Little Jimmy Dickens hand. He kept coming back to WV after his induction, meeting old and new friends at Hall of Fame events. . Late one night at a reception following an induction ceremony, he was drinking moonshine and resisting his wife’s call for them to leave. Another time, post ceremony, he yelled to Jan and I to ride with him back to the hotel in a limo with him and his wife Marcia. Hillbillies in a stretch limousine.
I like to think John and Bill and Wayne are up in heaven on an orientation tour with Mose Allison as their guide. But as reality stares us in the face, it’s best to sing their words and keep their souls alive here among the living.
I’ve been on the folk and bluegrass trail for 45 years, and the Telluride Bluegrass festival has been, for nearly all those years, something to count on. It’s a yearly high point, a full-on summer launch, the weekend when you’d bring new songs and debut a new concept in your presentation. Everything anticipated and then followed it. In my world, it set the tone for the whole year. But Telluride 2020 has been cancelled and the signal is something to behold. The Father’s Day Bluegrass festival in Grass Valley CA, the same weekend as Telluride Bluegrass, also cancelled officially today. My band and I were going to play both events. I’m just processing this now because finally I have to.
Every weekend through the summer there are such events, and there are whole societies that form at them over the years. People camp in the same spaces and celebrate their own traditions. One guy brings oysters maybe, another has a special cocktail for a certain night. From Camp Run amuck at Telluride in June, to the Out of Control Camp at Winfield in September, the summer held various gatherings of unofficial clans, all now likely to cancel. I mean, when the summer Olympics cancelled, I sorta knew the bigger events on my horizon were going to cancel as well. But I couldn’t really take that completely into my mind. Now it’s so real, and surreal.
We’re really all in the same straights. The world and how it works for modern day humans anyway is on hold, and we’ll try to maintain as long as we can until things change. Things will change and so will we, though we don’t really know how or into what exactly. The one thing we can and should feel is we’re in it together. Let’s all grab that and take this time to study it, reflect on it, and since it’s going to be a while, just be in it. I like what the Queen said in her speech about “quiet, good humored resolve” and “fellow feeling”.
How about making a record during this time off? Well, let’s see if we can keep virus free and let’s wait until we can document if our collaborators are also virus free before we start. So I guess it’s best to hunker down and write some songs. Jan and I plan to sing through the computer on Mother’s Day.
We may get to a point where we wear badges that say we have been tested and I suppose they will say if we’re infected or not. People will figure out how much toilet paper they really need. (My dad, who lived through the 1918 flu, the Great Depression, and WWII, used to talk about a sign he’d see by toilet paper rolls that said, “If three sheets will do, why not two?”) A lot of us will learn new recipes. We’re going to trim away whatever unnecessary expenses we can. Some of us will be afraid of the unknown and of others, and we know that fear can lead to hate and to rash behavior. I sit in a pretty secure place compared to a lot of people. I feel and worry for those who have no savings, who have little or no income. I feel such sadness for those who are sick, and for their families and friends.
Spring is a wonderful trend. On my corner, which happens to be on a known east to west short cut, there’s hardly any traffic anymore. There’s a bunny nest in the mint garden. We’ve been watching the mom come and go since Jan noticed the little baby rabbits, eyes still closed, below a tight cluster of pine mulch and bunny fur. We’re watching the birds from the back porch and getting to know the various male and female couples, and three male cardinals dancing around to impress a female. I don’t know many of the people on my street but I’m starting to recognize more faces and the pets that walk along with them. Lastly, I have to say I’m one of the lucky ones because I have my sweetheart here with me and I know we can help each other through this. See ya sometime soon I hope.
-Tim