About the Artist

John Prine "You know who you are – and you can really use that to your advantage. You’re not settling for something, you know… It’s a good thing to know who you are: You know how to walk into a room, where to sit down & everything except how the play ends. I called this record Fair & Square because the songs all came from the gut – From somewhere between my heart and my gut – The intention was honest and straightforward; nothing more, not thing less." It’s been nine years since John Prine – Grammy-winner, former mailman, iconic American songwriter, voice of a generation, chronic dreamer, child of the Midwest, grandchild of Appalachia – made a record. And in that time, the man whose given us "Sam Stone," "Hello In There," "Blow Up Your TV," "I Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody," & "Angel From Montgomery," made a full-immersion commitment to living that precluded the watching-the-clock school of record making. "I can’t believe it," says the gruff-voiced songwriter with that low rumbling laugh. "Everything’s just been flowing… Days roll into each other… You’re writing songs… You’re thinking you’re making a record… Then you’re not sure the songs are really talking to each other. When you’re not paying attention to how long it’s been – and you’re on the road, raising your family, just being in your life – suddenly, it’s nine years! Who knew?" Still listening to Fair & Square, it’s obvious that whatever the ever humble musician was doing, it was time well-spent. There’s a sweetness to songs like the frolicking "Glory of True Love," the fond "My Darlin’ Hometown" or the aching "The Moon Is Down." Whether it’s the straight-up jingoistic indictment of "Some Humans Ain’t Human," the allegorical "Taking A Walk" or the indictment of voyeuristic culture "I Hate It When That Happens To Me," the first songwriter to be asked by the United States Poet Laureate to read at the Library of Congress. In addition marking Prine’s debut as a producer – a job he shared with engineer Gary Paczoza, it also marks a new comfort to the singing style of the craggy-voiced troubadour. And the culprit for this new found ease of performing is a rather unlikely reality. Not some high-powered vocal coach or breakthrough technique, but the cancer of Prine’s neck. "My voice dropped after the surgery for the cancer," Prine allows. "I don’t know if it was that, or the radiation. I’d never even heard of neck cancer and I had to have radiation across the throat area to heal anything touching where the cancer was… which was my vocal chords. Fair & Square is certainly a jewel in the crown of John Prine’s catalogue. Personal without being intrusive, sweet without being cloying, aware without haranguing, it marks the very best work of a man whose songs are strong enough to warrant the first invitation to a songwriter by the Poet Laureate of the United States to read at the Library of Congress. It’s that reverence for humanity – and simplicity of intention – that has made John Prine one of America’s most enduring songwriters. Not that the chuckle-and-whatever artist with the twinkle in his eye would ever sit still for that kind of praise. "I don’t know about any of it," he demurs. "It’s like when people tell me it’s been nine years since my last record – what was I doing? Well, you know, time just kind of slips away… I can’t even believe it. Time’s just flowing, and I’m not even sure where it went – me scooting through the days, that turned into well, nine years. "I’ve been on the road. I’ve been with my family. I’ve been writing songs… and I’ve been, uhm, producing a record. I guess it takes times to get all these things right. Although," he says, pausing for wry set-up, "I know I’m not going for perfection – unless there’s such a thing as the perfect mistake." In John Prine’s world, there are no mistakes, of course. Just the perfection of moments seen, polished, worn with warm affection or golden clarity. So it is that Fair & Square is here, finally, and certainly worth the wait.