Born in Maywood, Illinois in 1946 to parents from Kentucky coal country, John Prine worked as a mail carrier and served in the Army before a Chicago folk club audience convinced him to record his plainspoken, quietly devastating songs about aging, war, and addiction. His self-titled 1971 debut, featuring 'Angel from Montgomery,' 'Sam Stone,' and 'Hello in There,' established him as one of his generation's most influential songwriters almost overnight, praised by Kris Kristofferson and Bob Dylan alike. Prine kept writing and touring for nearly five decades, surviving two cancer diagnoses before dying of COVID-19 complications in 2020, by which point his conversational, humane style of songwriting had become a foundational reference point for Americana artists a generation younger.
Prine named Bob Dylan as one of his three biggest influences, and Dylan returned the admiration for decades, once anonymously backing Prine on harmonica at an early New York club gig and later calling Prine's writing 'pure Proustian existentialism.'
listen forPlay Dylan's 'Blowin' in the Wind' for its plain, folk-melody delivery of a much larger question, then Prine's 'Sam Stone' — both use an unadorned acoustic folk frame to carry blunt social commentary without ever raising their voice.
Prine named Roger Miller as one of his three biggest influences, saying Miller's freewheeling, rule-breaking wordplay taught him a song could be about literally anything; Prine specifically credited hearing Miller's 'You Can't Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd' with unlocking that idea.
listen forPlay Miller's absurdist, tongue-twisting 'You Can't Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd,' then Prine's own opening statement 'Illegal Smile' — both use loose, playful wordplay and a straight-faced delivery to make a joke feel oddly profound.
Prine cited Hank Williams as a foundational influence on his songwriting, and his second album, Diamonds in the Rough, leaned into the same spare, hillbilly-ballad economy Williams had pioneered two decades earlier.
listen forListen to the aching simplicity of Williams's 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry,' then Prine's 'Hello in There' — both wring real feeling out of plain, everyday language rather than ornate imagery.