EdBanky
My Digital Music Collection
MOG Meter
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I don't care to scan for similar issues. Mine ain't working right. I give it a few more restarts and days and stuff, and then I give up until some huge press release announcing that it consistently works right. Without this functionality MOG is anemic.
Listening to him tell a story or give an interview or watching him grinning from ear to ear as he emerges onto a well-lit stage, you'd get the impression that John Prine is a little kid. That "illegal" smile that everyone assume(d)s refers to some illicit drug or other might just have something to do with the giddy 6-year-old that likely cowers behind that 60-year-old face-sized gleam.
You can't really be faulted for being surprised at the poignancy that emanates from somewhere else, a little further back behind the youthful facade. Listening to, and performing, "Christmas In Prison" from 1973's Sweet Revenge, is its own exercise in awestrickening. The song comes off like it was written from an Arkansas prison cell in the late 19th century, by some fella who quite accidentally was waxing utterly brilliant. Nope, it was written in the late 20th century, by this unsung American troubadour.
For an idea of the source of some of his imagery, perhaps take a listen to "The Late John Garfield Blues" from Diamonds In The Rough. Close your eyes and picture one of the roughly 1,000 or so John Garfield films in which he portrays a chain-gang member, a prison-bound thug, or a bipolar boxer. Maybe even put one of these films on the tube, turn down the volume and the lights, and let this song play. (I italicize)
It was Christmas in prison And the food was real good We had turkey and pistols Carved out of wood I dream of her always Even when I don't dream Her name's on my tongue And her blood's in my stream.
(Chorus) Wait awhile eternity Old mother nature's got nothing on me Come to me Run to me Come to me, now Were rolling My sweetheart Were flowing By god!
She reminds me of a chess game With someone I admire Or a picnic in the rain After a prairie fire Her heart is as big As this whole goddamn jail And she's sweeter than saccharine At a drug store sale. (holy shit -ed)
(Chorus)
The search light in the big yard Swings round with the gun And spotlights the snowflakes Like the dust in the sun It's Christmas in prison There'll be music tonight I'll probably get homesick I love you. goodnight.
(Chorus)
And as with the "Sabu" song I posted about earlier, this one is probably not really about being in a literal prison cell, but more about loneliness. I know, I know; I am a genius.
If you haven't given him a shot yet, you haven't given yourself a shot yet. In the name of Jesus Christ and His Holy Birthday, go to.
Here's my attempt at the "Sabu" song mentioned earlier.
Here's me trying out this "Christmas" song live, for the masochists around these parts. If you didn't like my "Sabu", you'll hate this.
Comments
Oh shoot. Delete my previous comment! I don't see your version on Multiply and I wanna listen!!!
Close Sesame!
Here's that link to the "real" song from idlingwildly's earlier comment. :)
This is funny. My buddy and I are have a MOG page. Yippee.
Comments
dood you aint holding your beer right!! lol
we're gonna miss ya dude.
You brought me tears this morning you s.o.b. Mog Off :(