The Tree of Forgiveness

A fitting coda to an astounding career and life

Somewhere far away in another plane of existence, there is a bar.

And the bar’s giant flickering neon sign beckons many a weary traveler with its ethereal glow.

As one gets closer to it, they see that the sign is a big tree. And underneath the tree sits someone with a fishing pole. And the animated sign shows them casting into a pond and catching a fish every time. And this animation goes on and on, day and night, because the bar never closes.

And the sign above the door says, “The Tree of Forgiveness”. And underneath is the tag line, “We’ll forgive each other ‘til we both turn blue”.

And there’s always music playing. There’s always drinks flowing. There’s always a raucous party. There’s dancing by the jukebox. There’s a band most every night.

And there’s a man on a stool at the bar smiling with a cocktail in hand and a comedically long cigarette dangling from his mouth. He puts his cigarette down and walks to the door to greet every new visitor with a, “Hi, I’m Johnny. Welcome to my bar. There’s a drink named after me called a Handsome Johnny, naturally. It’s a vodka and ginger ale, but you can have whatever you like. You are in heaven after all. No hangovers here!”

And it’s the greatest bar this side of heaven. Hell, maybe this side of the other place too! Because it’s all joy. And it’s all forgiveness. And there’s no pain. There’s only celebration.

Don’t ask me if there’s an afterlife. I just don’t know. But if there is one, I know there’s a Tree of Forgiveness and I plan on making my way there because I can’t imagine a better way to spend eternity.

John Prine believed in heaven. There’s a difficult, but also wonderful piece that Rolling Stone put out back in 2020 that talks about John’s final days. You can find it here. One of the things that his wife Fiona talks about is how John really did believe in heaven. But his heaven wasn’t that different from regular life because he was living in a sort of heaven every day. Have I mentioned there was no one quite like John Prine?

When The Tree of Forgiveness came out back in 2018, it was John’s first album of new material in years. And not only had he not lost his touch, but he produced an album on par and perhaps exceeding anything he had EVER done. And he got to take a much deserved victory lap because of it. He won awards. He played to sold out crowds. He made new fans. He became the revered elder statesman and he loved ever minute of it, not out of ego, but because of the pure joy of it all.

I loved the album the first time I played it and I continue to love it. But I had a premonition back then that it would be his last. I was hoping I was wrong, but something about it just felt like a punctuation mark at the end of the sentence. This of course was an exclamation point, but still, an end mark just the same.

Maybe it was the content of the album. The last song is called, “When I Get to Heaven”, after all. Maybe it was the aura of his face on the album cover. Maybe it was just the knowledge that he had been through so much with multiple cancer battles that changed his voice and appearance, but didn’t change the spirit of the man.

Up to that point I had never seen him live. Back in 2004, my now ex-wife and I had tickets to see him that summer at Ravinia up in suburban Highland Park, but she was pregnant with our child and was just not feeling up to it that day, so we had to pass.

I found out from my friend, Margaret, as much or more of a Prine fan than me, back in 2019 that he’d be back at Ravinia again. And this time, come hell or high water, I knew I had to make it to the show.

So we gathered a merry little group of people and blankets, chairs, snacks, and more than a few beers and headed up the Union Pacific North line to Ravinia, where we met up with two more of Margaret’s friends, who happened to have some pretty phenomenal weed, which I may or may not have partaken a little too much in. I was just tryin’ to have me some fun!

The amazing Tyler Childers was the opener and one of the things about John is that not only was he very generous with other musicians, but he would choose his openers and made sure the ones he really liked not only got to be up there before his set, but he often also brought them back up during his own sets.

And when John played, it was a religious experience. Yes, my emotions may have been slightly altered by the variety of substances in my body, but the tears and joy of it all were legitimate. To hear these songs sung by the man singing just a handful of yards ahead of me was more powerful than I ever could have imagined. We sang along, we smiled, we partied, and we were glad to be alive. I couldn’t wait for the next Prine show, but something told me that there might not be another chance, so soak this one in as much as you can.

It’s hard coming to the end of this story. So I’m not going to dwell on it. We know what happened and we know the deep, deep sadness of it all. And the fact that it was during the height of the covid lockdowns just made it feel all that much worse. I’m grateful to Jeff Tweedy and his family and the community that surrounded The Tweedy Show, for that night’s Instagram Live show was a much needed virtual hug from those who loved his music so, so much.

I wish I could have made it to the You Got Gold tribute shows in Nashville. They have now done the shows twice, I believe, and they just announced another one coming soon. Tickets might already be on sale, in fact. Nashville loved John and John loved Nashville. And many a grateful musician has taken the stage in tribute to the man whom we cannot say thank you to enough. There isn’t enough time and there aren’t enough words or notes in the language of music. But we might as well keep trying anyway. I hope my reservation at The Tree of Forgiveness isn’t for a while still, so I’ll do what I can to remember him while I have blood in my veins and air in my lungs.

The day after he died I wrote a song for him called, “Can’t Quite Recall”. If you want to hear it, I made a recording of it that’s in the archives of this Substack. I was inspired by the idea of writing a song that would help him find his way from here to the next plane of existence. I wanted to come up with words and imagery that I thought he might like that would help propel him forward, but would also be a way of remembering all the love he was leaving behind. So I mentioned jukeboxes and puffy clouds and distant sirens and church bells. I mentioned hopeless romantics and artists dancing with their creations. I’m not sure if it’s “good”, but it said what I was hoping it would say and I hope it found its way to him somehow.

Losing John Prine was like losing family. But those of us who continue to remember him and celebrate him have a special bond of our own, which I think John would have gotten a kick out of. I’ll give you a very recent example.

Friends of mine and I went to see the fantastic Greg Garing at Cary’s Lounge up on Chicago’s Northside and I happened to be wearing my John Prine Oh Boy Records hat. At one point, I believe in between sets, an older gentleman came up to me and said, “I just wanted to say, you got good taste!” I looked up and he had the same hat on. And not only that, later on, he rushed over to our table because he wanted to make sure I knew that a John Prine song was playing over the sound system! Prine fans are everywhere and they are delightful. I enjoyed having these brief little experiences with him.

So his legacy lives on, through both his recorded output, through those who continue to cover his music and be inspired to write their own, and through little interactions of kindness, joy, and commonality. It’s hard to find silver linings in the dark, anxious, divisive times we live in, but John Prine in his many enduring forms is one of those. And I aspire to fight for the type of heaven-on-earth world that John saw could be possible. Hold the people you love close. Dance and sing. Celebrate all of the wonderful differences and surprises that exist in our world. Stand up for what’s right. And we’ll forgive each other for being human and not getting it right sometimes.

In fact, let’s give John the last line, because it’s a good one:

“We’ll forgive each other ‘til we both turn blue and we’ll whistle and go fishin’ into heaven.”