CHICAGO 1971 REVIEW
By Bill Dahl
Once upon a time, the Windy City boasted a teeming folk music scene that was truly second to none.
The cleverly designed and highly entertaining production Chicago 1971 pays tribute to two of that scene’s most hallowed bards, plus a third giant who wasn’t part of that bountiful Midwestern movement yet played
CHICAGO 1971 REVIEW
By Bill Dahl
Once upon a time, the Windy City boasted a teeming folk music scene that was truly second to none.
The cleverly designed and highly entertaining production Chicago 1971 pays tribute to two of that scene’s most hallowed bards, plus a third giant who wasn’t part of that bountiful Midwestern movement yet played a key role in launching both of them to national prominence.
The production stars John Ballantyne’s Crazy Heart, a veteran Chicago country band that proves the perfect vehicle to lovingly revisit the music of John Prine, Steve Goodman, and Kris Kristofferson. Driven by the subtly driving rhythm section of bassist Gus Noble and drummer Leslie Walle-Santos, the entire outfit displays an understated reverence towards the seminal material they’re revisiting that’s every bit as engaging as it is effective.
This isn’t Chicago folk’s equivalent of The Million Dollar Quartet. It’s not a stage musical in the standard sense, but a straightforward concert presentation devoted exclusively to the timeless music of those three now-departed legends. There are no elaborate sets apart from large photos of Prine, Goodman, and Kristofferson strategically adorning the stage and a background mockup of street signs depicting the intersection of Armitage and Dayton, referencing the original site of the Old Town School of Folk Music where Goodman and Prine honed their craft prior to embracing stardom.
But thanks to Ballantyne’s fascinating introductions prior to each song the band played at a recent performance, we learn just about all we need to know about the origins of every selection without navigating the rigidity of a formal script. His burnished, country-rooted vocal delivery is imbued with barroom-tested honesty and road warrior weariness, infused with a wry sense of humor and a sense of unshakable pride. Ballantyne’s stinging lead guitar is the real deal too, whether cutting loose on the occasional juke joint-styled solo or unfurling winding rhythm chording behind his vocals.
After a brief introductory slide presentation narrated by Noble (like Ballantyne a native of Scotland, a long way indeed from the Chicago neighborhoods that Goodman and Prine haunted in 1971) that explains the basic concept behind the show, the first half of the two-hour presentation focuses on the participants in a historic weekend when Kristofferson, already a fast-rising and charismatic national figure, was headlining at the Quiet Knight on West Belmont Avenue with Goodman serving as his opening act. Kris was so knocked out by what he heard from the diminutive young guitarist that he immediately championed his career, co-producing Steve’s debut album in Nashville later that same year.
Karen Samata, one of the two melodious women who share vocal duties with Ballantyne in Crazy Heart (their harmonies exquisitely frame his leads when they’re not in the solo spotlight), sweetly delivers Michael Peter Smith’s lilting “The Dutchman” as the show’s opening number (Goodman opened his ’72 album Somebody Else’s Troubles with the theme). Then Ballantyne launches into the rollicking favorite “You Never Even Called Me By My Name,” a tongue-in-cheek anthem crafted by Goodman and Prine in a New York hotel room that was originally recorded by Goodman but became best-known through country outlaw David Allan Coe’s enduring 1975 hit version.
Goodman eternally confirmed his songwriting mastery with his masterpiece of a train song “City Of New Orleans,” given its full evocative due by Ballantyne and his crew. Heather Kollmer then steps up for a moving revival of Goodman’s deep-catalog gem “If He Were You,” decorated with Gabriel Stutz’s splendid pedal steel guitar.
From there, the focus of the show turns to Kristofferson’s massive songbook. “Help Me Make It Through The Night,” one of his most covered and beloved standards, leads off this section, Ballantyne’s stark reading bringing out the innate pathos residing in its narrative. “The Silver-Tongued Devil And I” emphasizes Kristofferson’s roguish side (its backing here punctuated by Stutz’s insinuating steel) before Ballantyne reaches back for another of Kris’ immortal themes, the world-beaten “For The Good Times,” a 1970 country chart-topper for countrypolitan crooner Ray Price.
You can’t get much more droll than Kristofferson’s infectious rocker “Jesus Was A Capricorn (Owed To John Prine),” its parenthetical title testifying to the connection between the two prolific composers. The first half of the concert closes with Ballantyne essaying another of Kristofferson’s most heartbreaking ballads: “Sunday Morning Coming Down” (another 1970 #1 C&W smash, this time for Kris’ pal Johnny Cash). As usual, Ballantyne locates precisely the right subdued tone to bring this atmospheric weeper to devastating life.
After a brief intermission and another slide presentation (this one detailing how Noble and Ballantyne met and bonded in Chicagoland during the ‘90s after arriving separately from their native Scotland), Chicago 1971 picks back up with the music of Ballantyne’s main man Prine (a primary reason Ballantyne moved to Chicagoland was his long-held fascination with Prine’s music). The imaginary scene shifts from the Quiet Knight to another long-defunct local folk mecca, the Earl of Old Town on North Wells Street; the persuasive Goodman talked Kristofferson into stopping off there in the wee hours to see his buddy Prine perform his sheaf of originals, which predictably knocked the Rhodes Scholar’s socks off just as Goodman’s had. Kristofferson would also play a pivotal role in helping Prine achieve stardom, his liner notes on Prine’s 1971 debut album (which was largely done in Memphis) recounting that memorable first meeting and instantly giving the newcomer major industry credibility.
The sprightly shuffle “Grandpa Was A Carpenter” kicks off the Prine-focused half of the show with spirit and spotlights an elegant guitar solo by Mike Fleming. Prine was a keen observer of life’s seamier side; “Sam Stone,” his devastating portrait of a vet with a monkey on his back, receives a heartfelt Ballantyne reading before things take a peppier turn with the high-kicking “Fish And Whistle,” Stutz peeling off pungent steel licks behind Ballantyne’s robust vocal.
As with “Sam Stone,” Prine’s observational skills were homed to a razor’s edge. Witness the deeply poignant “Hello In There,” a touching plea to younger generations to keep in touch with their elders, especially those in senior living facilities with no one to talk to. Ballantyne sings the heartbreaking story stirringly before giving way to Kollmer for her bravura interpretation of Prine’s well-known “Angel From Montgomery,” her clear, powerful delivery more than a little reminiscent of Bonnie Raitt’s seminal version.
Kollmer and Samata provide lovely harmonies behind Ballantyne for “Aimless Love,” another of those deep catalog chestnuts deserving of a considerably higher profile (once again, Fleming’s crystalline licks are a splendid counterpoint). After an amusing anecdote describing how reluctant Iris DeMent was to join Prine in recording the bawdy duet “In Spite Of Ourselves” (she eventually caved and did it anyway), Ballantyne and Samata display no such hesitation in their fetchingly ribald revival of the rocker.
Veering well away from the singer-songwriter’s more familiar material, Ballantyne relates the haunting tale of “Lake Marie,” from Prine’s 1995 album Lost Dogs + Mixed Blessings, before going full circle by ceding the spotlight to Samata, who closes out the presentation with a nostalgic “I Remember Everything” as Ballantyne and Kollmer pitch in on backing harmonies and Fleming inserts one more cut-glass Telecaster ride.
The show ends on an encouraging note, suggesting the audience take a leaf from Prine’s Tree of Forgiveness and be kind to the people they encounter once they exit the theater. After all, Chicago 1971 is really a celebration of kindness, friendship, and the value of offering a helping hand. All three of the revered singer-songwriters whose combined legacy is on display are gone now, but as long as John Ballantyne and Crazy Heart remain here to pay passionate tribute, they’ll blissfully never really be gone at all.
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