As All Is

Of all the people I've never met, John Prine is my hero.  I once entered a songwriting contest and received some feedback. The form said something along these lines: "Try finding your own sound; it's clear that there's a lot of Prine in your stuff."  That critique was the coolest unintentional complement ever.

For those who don't know, Prine wrote a bunch of American classics on his mail route.  The third stanza below contains titles of a few of his best.

I happen to live a couple of baseball long-tosses away from that Maywood mail route.  Sacred ground...south of North Ave., west of 1st.

Prine's songs have taught me much, but among those lessons one shines brightest: when trying to write something, just take a glimpse at what you've got. 

"As All Is (For John Prine)"

Instrumentation: guitar, piano

South of North, west of 1st

He drives his route, his mail truck cursed

Not with anything bad, you see

Just a way of seeing that turns the key

Unlocking the mind's eye without blinking

His head full of rhymes starts sinking

Into his heart, pounding and beating

Backing three chords, fingers dancing and picking

Hello in there, Mr. Sam Stone

An angel flies from Montgomery to take you home 

Far from me to think I'm any good

I'm just ripping off a mailman from Maywood

Who sees all as all is

And makes it all rhyme

Laughs at the human condition

Makes me cry some of the time

As he walks from door to door

Sliding letters through the slot

When you think you're looking for more,

Just take a glimpse at what you've got

South of North, west of 1st

I'm just taking a walk, searching for words

To end this song in a way that's right

Looks like I'll be walking 'til day turns into night

To see all as all is

Maybe make it rhyme

Laugh at the human condition

Maybe cry some of the time

Just walking from door to door

Thinking about all this a lot

When I think I'm looking for more

Take a glimpse at what I've got

When you think you're looking for more

John says, take a glimpse at what you've got