He would bring cokes and cigarettes, always early evening, and we would write a song and I would build a track with a drum machine and a few acoustics, an electric, and a bass.  Then John would sing, and sometimes play guitar. He sent our demos to Howie Epstein, who had produced John’s “The Missing Years”, which won the Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album in 1991.  

    Howie was the bass player for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and a skilled record producer. After John sent our first song, Howie said write another and we kept going to my joy and amazement until we had written six songs that Howie and John wanted to cut. The titles are, in order of the sequence, “All The Way With You”, “We Are The Lonely”, “Day Is Done”, “Quit Hollering’ at Me”, “Big Fat Love”, and “Same Thing Happened to Me”. Our process was so easy, we just bounced lines and phrases back and forth and agreed with each other. The changes and grooves came as natural as the words. All that mattered was if John liked singing it. We only had to make ourselves happy, and I was already outrageously happy to be writing with John.

           John smoked a lot in those days, and the way the vent system was in my transformed-from-a-garage studio cycled the smoke all through the rest of the house. Barbara would say “can’t you get him to go outside and smoke?”, I could only answer, “it’s so cold outside baby, and he’s John Prine”. I did not once ask him to not smoke, I would have taken up smoking to keep him coming back. 

          It’s been thirty years now, and I’m not certain, but I believe the next song we wrote was “We Are the Lonely”. It started with me playing a funky 1 to 4 riff and us picturing a lonely guy hoping the clothes he had drying on the line might mingle with those of an unknown female. At the end of the song, we made couplets that might appear in the classifieds section of the newspaper for people seeking companionship. This was long before any social media or dating sites were common. I started doing the song with my mighty band Fortunate Sons and would act as if I was reading from the classifieds while the band did a funky vamp. John joined us a few times at The Ace of Clubs, a favorite nightspot of the time.

         The songs kept coming, continuing with the novelty of combining some bluesy grooves with John’s one of a kind folk/country style. I really love our cheatin’ song, “Day is Done”. It’s the John Prine way; honest and direct with just enough irony and humor. I’m also fond of our love song, “All the Way with You”. 

John brought me to Los Angeles to record our songs with Howie at his home studio. We started with a drum loop from an Alesis HR 16 and multiple acoustic passes in various capo positions. Then Howie would have me play bass, with me protesting, “I’m not a bass player and you play bass with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers”. 

         On some of the songs Howie had me go wild on my Stratocaster with wah-wah and ridiculous overplaying that he was able to compile delightfully. This was before the convenience of waveform editing and required some skilled work. He had a vision for every song, full of ideas and able to make me comfortable and confident enough to get what he needed. The record came out in April of ’95 and I was overjoyed. I was still a staff writer at Tree Publishing, and I got a thumbs up and pat on the back, but they knew there would be no big country radio singles. I could not have been prouder. John and I would hang out some after “Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings” was released. His manager Al Bunetta offered me the gig playing with John on road, and I’ve imagined how great that would have been. I was playing with Delbert McClinton at the time and co-producing his records, so it felt natural to continue with him.

          One day I met John at a guitar show at the Nashville fairgrounds. We looked around and I came across a Harmony Rocket, which reminded me of my first good electric, a Harmony Stratotone, that I had played in the eighth-grade talent show. It was $350. I started writing a check and the seller said he had to have cash. I told him to hold it and I would come back the next day. John and I left, and in the parking lot we decided we would both return the following day. He had his eye on a Martin D18. I didn’t make it back the next day, but John did. He bought the Harmony Rocket and held on to it till Christmas eve 1995, when he appeared at our house like Santa, with snow in his beard (my son Travis remembers). He had a big red bow tied around the chipboard case and came in grinning and laid it on me. I was thrilled and the family was excited to see him, as he had now become a hero to my four sons, who knew and loved all his songs.

         John was a giver, and he loved Christmas enough to keep a tree up year around, but there’s no measuring the gift of his music to the world. He’s in all the songwriting halls of fame, and it was so sweet to hear him say his Lifetime Achievement Grammy was the cherry on top, with he and wife Fiona all decked out and smiling.

         The last conversation I had with John was when I called to tell him I had written a song called “Common Sense”. I wanted him to hear it, to show him how different it is from his song “Common Sense”, which was the title of one of his records. When he heard my song he joked, “Wow, that’s my easiest co-write ever”. This was during Trump’s first term, and we talked politics some, agreeing how hard it is to find words that reflect our current culture. I was reminded of his iconic songs “Sam Stone” and “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore.” He had already done it, fifty years ago. 

         All songwriters I’ve ever known refer to John as one of the greatest. I’m thankful for the time I got to work with him and I’m proud our songs live on. With the celebration of the re-issue of “Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings” after thirty years, it was fun to listen to our original work tapes and remember the fun we had. It is one of my most treasured memories of music making and friendship.