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vrgamertc · 4 years

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John Prine was an Army veteran walking a U.S. Postal Service beat in Chicago and writing songs on the side when Kris Kristofferson heard him and helped spread the word about Prine’s gifts. Pretty soon, he resigned as a letter carrier; his supervisor snickered, “You’ll be back.” Nearly 50 years later, this January, he was given a lifetime achievement Grammy for his contributions to songwriting. The singing mailman almost always had the last laugh.

Prine, who died on Tuesday from complications of the coronavirus, was legitimately unique. He took familiar blues themes — my baby left me — but filled them with whimsy and kindness. He liked a saucy lyric, and wrote movingly, in character, of the quiet lives and loneliness of humdrum people. He seemed like a Zen sage and offered an uncynical live-and-let-live morality in his songs, writing in a colloquial voice that revealed a love of the way Americans speak. He showed how much humor you could put in a song and still be taken seriously. He had less in common with any other songwriter than he did with Mark Twain.

He grew up in Maywood, a western suburb of Chicago, and was reared by working-class parents from Kentucky, where he often spent summers with relatives and fell in love with country music and bluegrass. By 13, he was performing in rural jamborees. When he debuted in 1971, in his mid-20s, he sounded like an old man already, so years later, when he got old and went through two cancer treatments, he still sounded like himself. From his first to his last, he wrote songs that were tender, hilarious, and wise, without grandstanding any of these traits. Here are 15 of the best.

‘Angel From Montgomery’ (1971)

“Angel From Montgomery,” his best-known song, begins with a little declarative startle: “I am an old woman, named after my mother.” It’s an incisive and terrifying look at the dissatisfactions of a bad marriage and a woman’s sense of being economically trapped in her misery. Bonnie Raitt recorded it three years later and uncovered some of the song’s dormant melodies.

‘Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore’ (1971)

Prine’s self-titled 1971 debut album is a playlist all its own; it has more great songs than a lot of respected songwriters have in their entire careers. The moral stance of this sprightly folk-rock ditty is a response to what he saw as sham patriotism during the Nixon years, and it remains relevant: “Jesus don’t like killing/No matter what the reason’s for.” Prine, a former altar boy, stopped playing it live for a number of years, but when George W. Bush became president, Prine said, “I thought I’d bring it back.”

‘Hello in There’ (1971)

Some fans and critics are put off by this song and its slightly lesser companion, “Sam Stone,” which they see as performative displays of sensitivity toward the vulnerable, or what we now call virtue signaling. Yet somehow, we don’t ever criticize singers for signaling vices and meanness. Prine sings in the voice of an old married man with a dead son, who spends his days in silence and loneliness, and who at the end of the song, asks people to be kind to the elderly.

‘The Frying Pan’ (1972)

For his second album, “Diamonds in the Rough,” Prine assembled a small, mostly acoustic band and pursued a front-porch, Appalachian simplicity. Like a lot of his songs, this one takes a lighthearted view of domestic complications: A man comes home and discovers his wife has run off with a traveling salesman. He cries miserably, recounts what he loved about her (“I miss the way she used to yell at me/The way she used to cuss and moan”), and full of pride, comes to the wrong conclusion: Never leave your wife at home.

‘Please Don’t Bury Me’ (1973)

For people who love Prine’s music, there’s some small solace in listening to his songs about death, which have the same sense of mischief and acceptance as the ones about broken marriages. (Try “Mexican Home” or “He Was in Heaven Before He Died.”) The narrator is dead, and as angels explain to him how it happened, they also recap his last wish: to not be dropped into a cold grave, but to be put to practical use, as an organ donor: “I’d druther have ’em cut me up/And pass me all around.” A kind of recycling anthem from his terrific third album, “Sweet Revenge.”

‘You Never Can Tell’ (1975)

Almost like an apology, Prine concludes “Sweet Revenge,” a grieving, downhearted album, with an exuberant Chuck Berry cover, one great writer nodding to another. The Memphis R&B guitarist Steve Cropper produced the record and put together a crack horn section, which pushes ahead of some barrelhouse piano. Prine wasn’t a rocker, but he could rock.

‘That’s the Way the World Goes Round’ (1978)

Prine seemed to have an unlimited ability to expand and vary songwriting structures and perspectives. This track, which has been covered by Miranda Lambert and Norah Jones, has two verses: In the first, the narrator describes a drunk who “beats his old lady with a rubber hose,” and in the second, the narrator gets stuck in a frozen bathtub (it’s hard to explain) and imagines the worst until a sudden sun thaws him out. Both verses illustrate the refrain: that’s the way the world goes round. Even when circumstances are bad in Prine songs, he favors optimism and acceptance.

‘Iron Ore Betty’ (1978)

A lot of Prine songs celebrate physical pleasure: food, dancing and sex, which he gallantly prefers to call “making love.” The working-class singer in this soulful, up-tempo shuffle feels unreserved delight at having a girlfriend (“We receive our mail in the same mailbox/And we watch the same TV”), and wants us to know he and Betty aren’t just friends (“I got rug burns on my elbows/She’s got ’em on her knees”). OK guy, we get it.

‘Just Wanna Be With You’ (1980)

A stomping number from “Storm Windows” in the style of Chuck Berry, with the Rolling Stones sideman Wayne Perkins on guitar. Prine’s lyrics don’t distinguish between reality and absurdity — they don’t clash, they mix — and here’s one more way to say you’re happy and in love: “I don’t even care what kind of gum I chew.” And another: “Lonely won’t be lonesome when we get through.”

‘Let’s Talk Dirty in Hawaiian’ (1986)

Prine had a sideline in novelty songs, which give full voice to his comic absurdity, throwaways that are worth saving, including the 1973 semi-hit “Dear Abby,” and this now-problematic number from “German Afternoons” inspired by a paperback book called “Instant Hawaiian.” Prine and his co-writer Fred Koller began making up Hawaiian-sounding nonsense words full of sexual innuendo, and Lloyd Green added airport-Tiki-bar bar steel guitar for maximum faux authenticity. You can say Prine’s loving disposition makes the song OK, and you can also say it doesn’t.

‘All the Best’ (1991)

After five years away, Prine returned with “The Missing Years,” a Grammy-winning album produced by Howie Epstein, Tom Petty’s bass player. The singer in this gentle, masterly miniature claims to want good things for an ex-lover, but feelings aren’t simple: “I wish you don’t do like I do/And never fall in love with someone like you” twists the knife. Now recording for his own label, Oh Boy Records, Prine was about to hit a hot streak.

‘Lake Marie’ (1995)

Bob Dylan, who was a huge fan, called the haunted, mysterious “Lake Marie” his favorite Prine song, and who are we to disagree with Dylan on the topic of songwriting? Even though Epstein’s booming production draws too much attention to itself, “Lost Dogs + Mixed Blessings” is full of winners: the simple, loving ballad “Day is Done,” the rapid-fire doggerel of “We Are the Lonely” and the calm, ornery “Quit Hollerin’ at Me,” where Prine tells his wife that the neighbors “already think my name is ‘Where in the hell you been?’”

‘In Spite of Ourselves’ (1999)

Prine was diagnosed with cancer, and doctors removed a tumor from the right side of his neck, which took away his already-modest ability to project his voice. But incredibly, his stolid singing was now perfect for harmonies, and he cut a duets album called “In Spite of Ourselves” with female country and Americana singers. On its one original song, Prine and Iris DeMent trade backhanded compliments (“She thinks all my jokes are corny/Convict movies make her horny”) that read like a divorce complaint, but turn out to be only pillow talk.

‘Some Humans Ain’t Human’ (2005)

At seven minutes and three seconds, this track from “Fair and Square” is the longest song on any of his studio albums. A cloud of slide guitar keeps this soft waltz afloat and allows Prine to express his disapproval of, if not contempt for, so-called humans who lack empathy for others. There’s a couplet that is clearly about George W. Bush, and Prine noticed that some audience members were surprised by it. “I never tried to rub it in anybody’s face, but I thought it was pretty clear that I wasn’t a closet Republican,” he told the Houston Press.

‘When I Get to Heaven’ (2018)

In 2013, doctors removed the cancerous part of Prine’s left lung, which sidelined and weakened him. It’s hard now to listen to his final album, “The Tree of Forgiveness,” which was nominated for three Grammys, and not think that Prine heard the clock ticking louder. There’s so much tenderness in “Knockin’ on Your Screen Door,” about a man whose family left him with only an 8-track tape of George Jones, and in the elegiac, reassuring parental entreaty “Summer’s End.” In the last song, “When I Get to Heaven,” Prine describes his ideal afterlife: a rock band, a cushy hotel, a girl, a cocktail (“vodka and ginger ale”) and “a cigarette that’s nine miles long.” He removes his watch, and asks, “What are you gonna do with time after you’ve bought the farm?”

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ginnympotter · 5 years

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By Light-Years // Chapter 5: Winter...Five Years Later

A/N: Here's the final chapter of this story. Thank you so much for reading and commenting and giving kudos- they all mean so much to me. I struggled a bit with this chapter as it's kinda cheesy but I guess we all gotta indulge in the cheesiness every now and then. I hope you like it. You can also read it on AO3

“Can you believe it’s been six years since we met?”

“I know. It feels so much longer,” says Harry. He smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

“Merlin, get a room!” Ginny exclaims as the two embrace.

“I swear, Ron gets more sentimental about his anniversary with Harry than with me,” Hermione tells her.

“Even though they both have me to thank,” Ginny snorts.

Harry and Ron separate, Ron throwing a grimace at Ginny. “Hey, we became mates before you two even started dating. You didn’t even want to go to the pub with us! And would you two even be together if we didn’t stay friends and invite him to Fred and George’s party?”

“But you wouldn’t have met him if I wasn’t a Quidditch player!”

“I think we would’ve met anyway,” says Harry. “It was meant to be.”

Hermione and Ron laugh as Ginny rolls her eyes at them, though she feels utterly happy. “C’mon,” she says, reaching out for Harry’s hand. “Let’s say goodbye to the boys.”

Harry clasps hands with his wife, and Hermione and Ron follow them down the hall. Lily is attempting to feed Rose and Albus, who are both laughing and clapping, while James is sitting with his namesake, drawing something alongside him at the table, concentrating hard. Harry walks over to the two, complimenting his son’s picture. James excitedly shows his father his in-progress masterpiece and Ginny watches them, her heart swelling with love. Then she hears adult James whine, “What about my picture?” which causes Lily to roll her eyes dramatically.

Ron laughs at Rose and Albus, their food-clad hands and faces as they giggle together. “These two are going to be best mates,” he predicts, leaning over and planting a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. Rose grabs his nose tightly which causes Albus to screech with joy. Ginny looks at her youngest son and sighs. “I’m going to miss him.”

“It’ll only be a few hours, dear,” Lily reassures her as she successfully gets a spoonful of food into Albus’s mouth as Ron breaks free from his daughter’s hold. Albus’s wide, emerald green eyes find Ginny’s, and as he swallows his food he reaches for her.

She moves closer to him and touches his face, smiling at how much he resembles his father, having both his and Lily’s eyes. She plants a kiss on his cheek. “Mummy and Daddy will be back soon, Al.”

“Don’t worry,” Ron says, putting an arm around his sister as she pulls away from her son. “Rosie will look after him. She’s only nine months old and she’s already more mature than me.”

Hermione hands Ron his cloak, then fastens her own before swooping down and kissing Rose goodbye. “Thanks so much again, Lily.”

“Of course, kids. Anytime, you know that,” she says. Then she turns to Ginny. “Did you speak to Sirius?”

Ginny nods. “Spoke to him through Harry’s mirror a bit ago, he only had a minute but he sends his love.”

“Good,” Lily replies. She reaches out and squeezes Ginny’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll do great tonight, sweetheart. We’ll be listening on the wireless.”

Ginny smiles, feeling conflicted. She’s excited and nervous and doesn’t want to leave her sons. Harry walks over to her, carrying their eldest. “Wish Mummy good luck, James.”

“G’luck!” he manages, reaching out and tugging on a piece of her hair.

“Thanks, baby,” she whispers, kissing his head. “You’re going to be good while we’re gone, right? And helpful to Grandmum and Granddad?”

He nods his head in an exaggerated fashion, and Harry kisses him as well before putting him down. “And look after your brother and cousin, yeah?”

James nods again before puddering back off to his drawing at the table with his grandfather, who shouts to Ginny, “Kick some arse out there, Weasley!”

“James, there are children here besides you, you have to watch your language. We’re trying to keep them free of your corruption for as long as possible!” Lily scowls, and they all laugh.

Harry hugs and kisses his mother before he walks over to Albus, and then Lily hugs Ginny, giving her more words of encouragement. Albus begins to cry as they walk towards the door, and Ginny stops in her tracks. “He needs me-”

Ron steers her back toward the door. “Don’t be thick, Lily’s got him. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

Harry intertwines his fingers with hers, giving her reassuring pressure. “He’ll be alright,” he whispers, leading them out the door. “We’ve left James alone for this long plenty of times and he’s turned out alright so far, hasn’t he? I mean, relatively speaking. So will Al.”

She reluctantly follows, trying to drown out the sound of Albus’s cries as she returns the pressure to Harry’s hand. She’d only been leaving for short periods of time over the past few weeks to return to practice while Harry stayed with the kids, schedule permitting, but this was her first game back on the field.

They close the door of the Godric’s Hollow cottage behind them, and Ginny exhales deeply. Hermione grabs her hand and the four of them twist on the spot into nothingness.

They apparate right outside the stadium, and Ginny is surprised to see almost her entire family waiting there for her: Molly, Arthur, Bill and Fleur, Percy, Fred and George. Molly and Arthur immediately walk forward, and she sighs with relief as their arms envelop her. They tell her Charlie sends his best and wishes he could be there. Luna is there too, decked out in Harpies gear. After all greetings are exchanged, and Fred and George chastise Ron for wearing a Chudley Cannon jersey while they’re all decked out in Harpies gear (“They need some moral support! It’s not like they’re going to win, anyway! Ginny’s fine with it!”), the twins give a rather encouraging speech about how she has nothing to worry about because she would score more than all three Cannons chasers combined with her eyes closed. The family wishes their final “good luck”s and goes off to their seats in the topbox, but Harry lags behind to have one more moment alone.

Ginny falls into Harry’s arms, and they hold each other for a few long moments. “You’re going to be brilliant,” he says confidently. “Their record has been suffering without you, you know that.”

She nods against him, breathing him in to sooth her nerves. He removes his chin from atop her head and places his hands firmly on the sides of her face, fingers behind her head and in her hair. “Remember your first game back after James was born? You remember the score, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She smiles meekly. “It was 390 to 60.”

“And how many of those points were yours?”

She bites her lip. “I think it was 130?”

Harry laughs, and she feels the vibrations of his chest against her own. “You think?”

“Ok, I know, I was on fire,” she concedes. “Happy?”

“Yes,” he whispers before dipping his head down to kiss her. “You’ve got this, Gin.”

She pushes herself up to kiss him again, but just moments later they hear a voice call out, “Oi, no Puddlemore players permitted back here!”

They pull apart, Ginny groaning but Harry chuckling. “Sorry, Jones,” he calls back, letting go of Ginny. He smiles at her one last time. “Bring it home.”

She’s rocking Albus to sleep when Harry taps lightly on the doorframe of the nursery. “James is all bathed and clean and wants to show you what he’s wearing to sleep.”

She cranes her neck a bit to see James hiding behind his father. “Let me see,” she says quietly.

James jumps out from behind his father’s legs right towards his mother, and then jumps into a stance for her to see; he’s decked out in Holyhead Harpies pajamas. “I’m you, Mummy!”

She gasps. “Oh my god, you precious boy,” she swoons, putting one arm out for him to run into. She kisses him all over his face before asking, “Did you choose to wear these yourself?”

He nods, smiling widely.

“He said he wanted to wear Mummy’s team’s pajamas since she won her big match today,” Harry chimes in. “Didn’t even look at his Puddlemore ones.”

“He’s so smart,” she says, before kissing his face again. She runs her fingers through his hair and looks down at him. “Why doesn’t Daddy read you a story in bed while I finish putting Al to sleep, and then I’ll come and tuck you in, alright?”

“Ok,” says James, and then he leans over and very gently presses a kiss to his little brother’s head. Albus’s eyes flutter as James pulls away and walks back over to his father, taking his hand and steering him out of the room.

Ginny sighs happily as she continues to rock Albus in her arms. Once he’s finally asleep she places him gently in his crib and joins her other two boys in James’s room. She sits next to him on the bed as Harry continues reading Babbitty Rabbitty. Ginny tucks James, who is struggling to keep his eyes open, more tightly into bed as Harry finishes the story. They kiss him goodnight and go downstairs, and Ginny plops down on the sofa, groaning. “I’m beat .”

Harry sits down next to her, planting his mouth softly on her neck. Ginny emits a low, content sigh as he litters gentle kisses up her throat, across her jaw, then against her lips. “You were brilliant today,” he whispers against her. “As we knew you would be.”

Ginny kisses him in response, lightly scratching the back of Harry’s neck.

“And Al survived,” he says when they part.

Ginny pinches his neck hard. “Not funny.”

Harry chuckles, his thumb stroking her cheek. “It’s a little funny.”

He reaches into his pocket for his wand and flicks it towards the kitchen. A container of ice cream and two spoons zoom towards them: Ginny catching the container, Harry the spoons.”I like the way you think,” she says, ripping a spoon out of Harry’s hand and flinging the container cover off onto the coffee table.

She digs in and practically moans as she puts the spoon in her mouth, causing Harry to chortle. He scoops some into his spoon as well, and they eat happily in silence for a few minutes. Then, Harry nudges her. “Mental that we met six years ago, eh?” he muses. “And this exact ice cream played a role in getting us where we are today.”

“But that was a few months later,” Ginny reminds him, taking another spoonful. “And technically we met seven years ago, I just was too afraid to talk to you then.”

“And now look at us.”

“Shacked up together with some spawn.”

“You really have a way with words.”

She licks her spoon slowly, wiggling her eyebrows at him. “You know, I’m thinking of going into writing maybe, if I ever decide to retire from Quidditch. So thanks for your flattery.”

Harry emits a low, involuntary groan. “My pleasure.”

Ginny laughs as she watches him gulp, his adam’s apple moving slowly. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, my love.”

“Is it?”

She throws the container and their spoons on the coffee table, grabs his collar, and drags his mouth to hers again, and the vibration of Harry’s moan at the touch of her tongue sends shivers down her spine to her toes. She laughs. “Is that moan for the treacle taste, or me?”

“Both,” he snickers. “The two loves of my life.”

Before he can dive back in, Ginny fakes a gasp. “Not our children?”

Harry makes a noise of annoyance. “Ok fine, two out of the four loves of my life.”

“Better,” she smiles. “You may proceed.”

He scoffs, but kisses her anyway, his hands securely on her face, Quidditch calluses at home on her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against her mouth in between kisses. “I’m so lucky. I’m so in love with you.”

Ginny smiles hard against him, and then extracts her face from his, still holding his shirt but putting space between their faces. An overwhelming wave of affection crashes against her ribs as she absorbs his words. She examines his face, which breaks out into a crooked smile. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she tells him, feeling her heart flutter even now at how vivid his green eyes are. She takes a hand and lightly traces the side of his face. Echoing a paraphrase of something Harry says often, she states, “I just want a minute to look at you.”

His smile widens, bright and beaming. “You can have as many minutes as you’d like. Enough to make up forever, in fact.”

“How corny,” she snorts lovingly.

“Hey, don’t blame me. Isn’t that in our wedding vows? Til death due us part? I didn’t come up with it!”

Ginny traces his shining face one more time before she pulls him into a forceful hug, burying her face into his neck. Harry laughs as he secures his arms around her, returning the pressure. When Ginny does not pull away, he almost whispers, “You alright?”

She nods, her chin digging into his shoulder. “Yeah,” she whispers back. “I love you.”

He kisses the top of her head and pulls her even closer to him, sighing happily. Keeping hold of him, she adjusts their position so that they’re lying down; Harry on his back, head against the arm rest; Ginny on her stomach, pressed up against her husband, eyes closed and content, allowing exhaustion to sweep over her. Next thing she knows she’s barely awake as Harry carries her to their room, laying her down on the bed, helping her undress as she’s done for him so many times, covering her up with the blankets before he joins her underneath them just a few minutes later, wrapping his arms around her middle, pulling her close to him, kissing her shoulder and whispering goodnight. And as she adjusts herself more snuggly against him, she thinks about that day they met after their match, and how much she wished she could just act cool instead of angry and aloof so she could love him like she fantasized for so long, possibly receiving his love in return, hoping that maybe it could live up to her expectations.

And now she does. And it exceeds them by light-years.

#harry potter #hp #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic #otp: several sunlit days #ginny weasley #ron weasley #hermione granger #james potter #lily evans #harry x ginny #harry potter x ginny weasley

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