We had to leave the John Prine concert early to catch the last train home, which sounds like the beginning of a John Prine song. We didn't get to hear the last few songs or the encore. I would have liked to hear it all, but what I heard and experienced was food for my soul.

I am one of those folks who were "folkies" back in the 70's. I was underage and faking my way into Earl's and The Quiet Knight. I wondered if I had only imagined how wonderful and profound it was, and how simple.

"Day time

makes me wonder why you left me

Night time

makes me wonder what I said

Next time

are the words I'd like to plan on, but

Last time

was the only thing you said."

Waukegan, where we saw the concert, felt a little like Mars. Nothing open except the theater, and we were smack dab in the middle of downtown Waukegan. After we ate at Fong's, we started over to the theater and while there may have been 10 or 12 cars on the street, we didn't see any need for the police to block the road in front of the theater. But they did. Inside we were overwhelmed with assistance. Ushers (mostly elderly, it must be said) were so helpful it made you feel as if they were setting you up for some very strange goings on.

"Come right in - just go right in - we'll get you all in real quick" spoken in rushed and slightly panicked voices with the subtext of "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE?" Maybe this was a larger than normal crowd. Maybe they were concerned about us. Maybe this was Mars.

In our seats the lights dimmed for the opener, Iris DeMent. Big applause. The audience seemed very excited to see her.

But evidently in Mars, when everyone is in their seats, there's a custom that as soon as the lights go down, you get up and leave the theater in groups. I have never seen anything like it. Up and down and out and in and groups of 5 guys and couples and they were all in a hurry. It got to the point that I was sure I was missing some give away in the lobby. Then we were in intermission and people were literally hurling themselves out of their seats to get - well, I'm not sure where they were going or what they hoped to find there but they were determined to get there NOW. We'd been sitting there for 45 minutes, tops. Maybe there was a bomb scare we hadn't heard about. Maybe they have extremely weak bladders on Mars.

Finally - lights down, stage lights up and forget about Mars, I was home. And so was everyone else. With no introduction John Prine walked onstage with his bassist and guitar player to a tremendous ovation. And this crazy, unsettled, attention deficit audience became laser focused on his every word, motion and note.

I've been to lots of concerts, seen alot of live music. But there was something really special in this room. In the middle of a song, as Prine hit the lines that break your heart, people would applaud or scream out their appreciation. His songs aren't exactly upbeat if you aren't familiar with them. Best known is probably Angel From Montgomery. When he got to the lines:

"How the hell can a person

Go to work in the morning

Come home in the evening and

Have nothing to say?"

the audience couldn't wait till the end of the song to let him know how much they loved those words and voiced their opinion right then.

I suppose I wouldn't have been surprised if the lyrics had been:
"I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskokie" or
"I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."

But Prine's lyrics are sad and lonely and cut so close to the bone that it makes you want to inhale like your heart just got a paper cut.

"That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round."

Throughout the night, I had a sense that somewhere there was a phantom group of back-up singers. But everytime I heard it, it seemed to stop. I realized that it was the audience, singing along softly. They didn't want to get in the way of his performance, but it wasn't enough to hear these songs, they wanted to share them.

"There's a hole in Daddy's arm

Where all the money goes

Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.

Little pitchers have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Sweet songs never last too long

On broken radios"

The audience reaction reminded me of the poetry slam I attended last week. Tim was competing in Louder Than A Bomb, the world's largest teen poetry slam. As each one of the young authors got up, the others would applaud in support, as if they were not competing against each other for just a few slots to go to the national bout. And as each performer left the stage the others would rush to their side to hug and congratulate them for capturing and reflecting life so it could be experienced anew. These pieces are rooted in hip-hop rhythms and when they are really good you feel like you can dance to them. Response is built-in and invited and the audience knows and obliges. During each poem, the rapt attention was broken only when the performer put words, rythym, movement and voice together to touch us with images or ideas that were so true there was nothing to do but yell or applaud or stomp feet or slam tables in recognition and appreciation.

That reaction might be expected from a bunch of teenagers. But not at a concert filled with 50-something folks. We know how to wait till the song is over to applaud, to hold our appreciation, to be cool. But song after song, the audience couldn't hold back their feelings. And these voices were mostly male. Grown men sang along in profound recognition of the shared truth in Prine's lyrics.

"Well, I leaned on my left leg

in the parking lot dirt

And Cathy was closing the lights

A June bug flew from the warmth he once knew

And I wished for once I weren't right

Why we used to laugh together

And we'd dance to any old song.

Well, ya know, she still laughs with me

But she waits just a second too long."

Jeanette Winterson, in her book of essays called Art Objects, writes that art does object to "the lie against life that it is pointless and mean. The message coloured through time is not lack but abundance, Not silence but many voices. Art, all art is the communication cord that cannot be snapped by indifference or disaster. Against the daily death it does not die."

Yes. And when we see, hear or read such objections , we are compelled to shout our assent right then. Even on Mars.