NEW YORK – Some people, the songs just come out of them. For nearly half a century, they tumbled out of John Prine like nothing.
His songs -- compassionate, funny, sage -- make up an American songbook that would be staggeringly intimidating if it wasn’t so warm and welcoming.
He began -- with a dare at an infamous open mic -- a fully formed songwriter who through calamity and cancer never once wavered in his wry, homespun humanism.
He was, anyone would say, as good as they come. Prine was raised in the blue-color suburbs of Chicago by parents from Western Kentucky.