John Prine’s dry, crackling croon and wondrously wry songs have been part of the fabric of American music for so long that it’s easy to forget he was once a hotshot 24-year-old Chicagoan compared to Bob Dylan (by Kris Kristofferson, no less) in the liner notes of his massively hyped 1971 debut album. Can you imagine a neo-folkie in the Internet age surviving 40 minutes—much less 40 years—after that kind of introduction? It’s reasonable to assume that the younger generation of singer-songwriters tackling 12 Prine chestnuts on Broken Hearts & Dirty Windows: Songs Of John Prine admire the man’s career as much as his artistry. He was never a star; he merely became an institution, building his legend slowly over the course of four decades, one sadly funny drinking song at a time.