Lost Notes and Myriad Blessings

Leave it to John Prine to find a silver lining amid life-changing adversity. Having a section of your neck and throat cut out during surgery for cancer would be traumatic for anyone. For it to happen to Prine, one of the most celebrated singer-songwriters of the post-Dylan era, was earth-shattering. Because he also makes his living performing around the world, and because he'd finally found marital and domestic bliss, it could have been the stuff of Greek tragedy.

Just as Prine's songs consider the reprehensible and the glorious as inevitable aspects of life, he's come to see the humor and humanity in what he's endured. "I'm singing in a lower key than before," he says. "I really didn't realize it until recently, but this is a good thing. When I sing, it's so much easier and more natural, I can't believe I didn't figure this out until the surgery sort of forced me to do it. I feel like this is the voice I should've always had. To me, it sounds more like the way I talk."

Then he laughs, letting out a raspy, staccato chuckle. "Of course, I don't sound so good when I talk, either," he cracks.

Like many singer-songwriters in the wake of Bob Dylan, John Prine emerged in the 1970s with sharply observed songs and a quirky voice. Like the best of them, Prine's craggy intonation added to the charms of his material. His calling card has always been writing about everyday characters with wisdom, insight and humor, and his wry phrasing and hoarse, husky tone brought a warmth to his folksy sagacity and wit. Like many great songwriters—Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, Tom Waits, Guy Clark—Prine's peculiar voice suits what he has to say. "I guess if you keep making the same mistake long enough, it becomes your style," he says.

Being who he is, Prine can't help but finding funny stories in his brush with mortality. He likes to tell of the Houston radiologist, who professed that he was a fan and said he could shield Prine's vocal cords during the six weeks of radiation treatments the singer underwent following his radical neck dissection. "I asked him, 'You've heard me sing, right?' " Prine recalls with another laugh. "I told him not to worry about my voice because I never really have. I told him I'd rather make sure we got all the cancerous cells out of there."

As a cancer survivor, Prine didn't at first notice how his voice changed; he was just glad to be able to sing again. "You know, the other great thing is that all my old songs seem new to me again, because I sing them differently," he says. "They're fresh because they sound different, and I do think they sound better now. It was kind of a gift; after singing them for 20 or 30 years, it's like I get to rediscover them."

Prine's lower, more relaxed tone brings to life Fair & Square, his first album of new material in nine years. As whimsical as ever, his new work reflects other changes in his life, too. There are more love songs, and his observant takes of the quotidian seem less sardonic and at times more deeply blue. He can still get across his anger. While he's always woven social commentary into his work—he even was tagged a protest singer early in his career—the album's anti-Bush tirade "Some Humans Ain't Human" is his most pointed political blast since 1972's "Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore."

"I felt like I had to write something about how I feel about the way things are in this country right now," Prine says of the song, a harangue aimed at callous individuals and calculated, lying leaders. "Some Humans Ain't Human" compares heartless people to a neglected home freezer full of old frozen pizzas, to "ice cubes with hair" in them and to "a broken Popsicle." The song further asserts that jealousy and stupidity don't equal harmony.

But the zinger that's creating controversy, and causing some to walk out at his shows, comes in the last stanza. "Have you ever noticed / When you're feeling really good / There's always a pigeon / That'll come shit on your hood," Prine asks, speaking rather than singing at this point. "Or [when] you're feeling your freedom / And the world's off your back / Some cowboy from Texas / Starts his own war in Iraq."

"What bothers me the most is the way this administration is toward people who are dissenting, the way they're coming down on people," Prine says. "They act as if you're not supporting the troops if you have anything negative to say about Bush or any of his people. That seems totally un-American to me. It's the total flipside of what this country is supposed to be about."

Prine acknowledges that his commentary usually comes from character sketches or story songs. "Some Humans Ain't Human" has its humorous side, especially its carnival-sideshow arrangement, but the songwriter wanted to make his sentiments clear.

"I just got to a point where I didn't want to be silent about it," he goes on. "I thought if I didn't say anything, then people might take it that I was supporting what is going on. If I went out and got hit by a car tomorrow, I wouldn't want anyone to think I was a Republican."