New Heaven, Connecticut. E' il 1975, avevo 18 anni, e Dylan e Springsteen si incontrano
Avrei voluto essere li, con una bottiglia, di quelle giuste. Il problema semmai sarebbe stato quale bottiglia portare.......
Chi pensa che Prine non sia all'altezza degli altri due sbaglia di grosso.
Nel 2009 Dylan in una intervista a Bill Flanagan sull'Huffington Post: "Prine's stuff is pure Proustian existentialism. Midwestern mindtrips to the nth degree. And he writes beautiful songs. I remember when Kris Kristofferson first brought him on the scene. All that stuff about "Sam Stone," the soldier junkie daddy, and "Donald and Lydia," where people make love from ten miles away. Nobody but Prine could write like that."
Nella sua autobiografia Johnny Cash scrive: "I don't listen to music much at the farm, unless I'm going into songwriting mode and looking for inspiration. Then I'll put on something by the writers I've admired and used for years (Rodney Crowell, John Prine, Guy Clark, and the late Steve Goodman are my Big Four)"
Per Prine il 1975 è stato l'anno della sua maggiore popolarità con l'album 'Common Sense', il primo della sua carriere ad essere entrato nel Top 100 di Bilboard, per la verità solo 'Fair & Square' del 2005 è riuscito a ripeterne il successo.
Di Dylan e Springsteen ho potuto assistere a parecchi concerti, di Prine uno solo ma che giorno quel 16 giugno 1996 a Gallarate.
Qualche giorno prima Mr. Only A Hobo mi chiede se ero disponibile per prelevare a Linate John Prine. Impossibile rifiutare. Capite, quasi una giornata intera con lui. Abbiamo parlato per ore, e la cosa drammatica, oltre a non avere neanche una foto con lui, è che ho solo vaghi ricordi delle sue parole. Ma di sicuro ricordo che mi ha raccontato di quel giorno del 1975 e di quanto fosse legato a quei due signori, legame di amicizia non solo musicale.
Small town, bright lights, Saturday night,
Pinballs and pool halls flashing their lights.
Making change behind the counter in a penny arcade
Sat the fat girl daughter of Virginia and Ray
Lydia
Lydia hid her thoughts like a cat
Behind her small eyes sunk deep in her fat.
She read romance magazines up in her room
And felt just like Sunday on Saturday afternoon.
Chorus:
But dreaming just comes natural
Like the first breath from a baby,
Like sunshine feeding daisies,
Like the love hidden deep in your heart.
Bunk beds, shaved heads, Saturday night,
A warehouse of strangers with sixty watt lights.
Staring through the ceiling, just wanting to be
Lay one of too many, a young PFC:
Donald
There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said.
Strangers had forced him to live in his head.
He envisioned the details of romantic scenes
After midnight in the stillness of the barracks latrine.
Repeat Chorus:
Hot love, cold love, no love at all.
A portrait of guilt is hung on the wall.
Nothing is wrong, nothing is right.
Donald and Lydia made love that night.
Love
The made love in the mountains, they made love in the streams,
They made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams.
But when they were finished there was nothing to say,
'Cause mostly they made love from ten miles away.



























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