Nashville, Tenn.
The clack of his cane preceding him, John Prine enters the dining room of his home here with a warm smile that erases worries about his health. Knee-replacement surgery is the latest setback; in 1998, he was treated for skin cancer in his neck and, 15 years later, lung cancer. But with a twinkle in his eye, the 71-year-old says that he is back.
His new album, “The Tree of Forgiveness” (Oh Boy), out April 13, supports his claim. It is prime Prine: Accompanied by simple, instantly memorable melodies, its lyrics tell of the agonies and absurdities of life that often stand side by side. Much as he has since his first album was released in 1971, Mr. Prine composes as one who has lived long and knows to look inward as well as beyond himself to comprehend the drama of everyday existence; because he writes so effectively about loneliness and isolation, his appreciation for love and loyalty lands with piercing impact. “Everything is waiting for me to mine it,” he told me on a rainy mid-March afternoon.
On “The Tree of Forgiveness,” Mr. Prine writes of an America he sees in his rearview mirror, reviving seemingly extinct words and phrases to depict it. “Well, you’re probably standing there / With your slick-backed Brylcreem hair / Your Luckies and your daddy’s fine-toothed comb,” he sings in “Egg & Daughter Nite, Lincoln Nebraska, 1967 (Crazy Bone).” In “Knockin’ on Your Screen Door,” a man who was once in “high cotton” finds himself abandoned “with nothin’ but an eight track” of a George Jones record. “If I came home, would you let me in / Fry me some pork chops and forgive my sin?” Mr. Prine asks in “Boundless Love.”
His first solo studio album in 13 years, “The Tree of Forgiveness” echoes with allusions to death—which might be expected given his health woes—yet it is never maudlin. In the tender “Summer’s End,” he sings, “You never know how far from home you’re feeling / Until you’ve watched the shadows cross the ceiling.” “Caravan of Fools” opens with what may be images of a funeral procession. The disc concludes with the rousing “When I Get to Heaven,” in which Mr. Prine lays out what he intends to do once he arrives: “smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long,” “kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-A-Whirl,” seek out his family and drink a big vodka-and-ginger ale. “This old man is going to town,” he sings triumphantly.
While Mr. Prine continues to play live when his health allows—“I’ve never had a break longer than a month-and-a-half,” he told me—he found it difficult to write songs for a new album. He tried to collaborate with fellow songwriters, but didn’t end up with much. (One song written with the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach appears as the title track on that musician’s “Waiting on a Song,” released last year.) Frustrated by his lack of progress, his wife, Fiona, who serves as his manager, and his stepson, Jody Whelan, who runs his record label, dispatched him to the Omni Nashville Hotel, which is adjacent to the Country Music Hall of Fame, with 10 boxes of unfinished lyrics. “I had a Sharpie and legal pads, too,” he said, adding that he prefers to type his drafts on a Smith Corona that Tom Hanks gave him. He completed songs he’d begun over the years with Mr. Auerbach, Roger Cook, Pat McLaughlin and Phil Spector, with whom Mr. Prine wrote “If You Don’t Want My Love” for his “Bruised Orange” album, issued 40 years ago. The jaunty, heartbreaking folk ballad “No Ordinary Blue” was co-authored by Keith Sykes. Irked at astronomers who had demoted Pluto from its status as a planet, Mr. Prine wrote “Lonesome Friends of Science” by himself. In typical Prine fashion, it’s about much more than that: “The world will end most any day / Well, if it does then that’s OK / ’Cause I don’t live here anyway / I live down deep inside my head.”
The performances are captured beautifully by producer Dave Cobb, who appears to have placed Mr. Prine and his guitar in front of a microphone and then let him be to make magic. Guests include Brandi Carlile, Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires; Mike Webb’s contributions on keyboards always seem just right. Thus, musically as well as lyrically, “The Tree of Forgiveness” is a pleasure, one that, though a long time in coming, will delight for a period that’s longer still. Continuing to disarm listeners with the perfect turn of phrase, Mr. Prine has created a universe of people who have some sort of grievance, appreciate what’s been lost, and concede that, to quote the title of one of his earlier songs, “it’s a big old goofy world.” It’s a soul-deep treat to be in his company once again.
—Mr. Fusilli is the Journal’s rock and pop music critic. Email him at jfusilli@wsj.com and follow him on Twitter @wsjrock.