Remembering Prince: He Never Did Anything Ordinary

Just the other day during an interview with an extremely prolific band, we discussed Prince. Remember that period when Prince was writing more material than his label knew what to do with? And Prince wanted to own the original master tapes for his hit albums. During this period he often made public appearances with the word “SLAVE” scrawled on his right cheek, most notably during his acceptance speech at the 1995 Brit Awards (Best International Male). Enter The Artist Formerly Known As Prince (or Love Symbol) era. “If you don’t own your masters, your master owns you” – Prince told Rolling Stone in 1996, explaining to his “SLAVE” statement. The artists of today have a lot to thank Prince for.

 

Remember the beginning of Prince & The New Power Generation’s music video for Cream? Prince struts through New York’s Grand Central Station wearing oversized dark shades, too many buttons of his red jumpsuit undone, flowing white coat, big hair and even bigger shoulder pads. He’s bookended by his ravishing backing dancers, Diamond and Pearl. A ‘reporter’ asks the girls, “Is it true both of you are having an affair with Prince?” They both answer at once: “No”/“Yes”. Pause to look at each other. Switch their answers: “Yes”/“No”. Prince fanned the flames of controversy through his art.     

 

And for those among us who experienced unsatisfactory (read zero) sex education at school, Prince’s lyrics were like discovering a box of your dad’s Penthouse and Playboy mags on the top shelf of his wardrobe (hidden under jumpers): Get Off (“23 positions in a one night stand”), Erotic City (“We can fuck until the dawn/Makin' love 'til cherry's gone”) and just what is that animalistic growl that opens When Doves Cry? And what’s going on here? “Something about a little box with a mirror and a tongue inside...” Prince’s music promised pleasures of the flesh not yet experienced. His Royal Purpleness exuded sex appeal and we wanted in on the act.

 

A Prince encounter to cherish:

 

While queuing outside Melbourne's The Hi-Fi, hoping to gain admittance to the after-party for the final show on Prince’s Welcome 2 Australia tour (2012), police suddenly appear on the street in front of the venue as a black luxury vehicle pulls up to the curb. We all scream and hold smartphones high in the air, hoping to capture a glimpse of what we can’t quite make out yet. Both of the vehicle’s rear doors open, slowly, and a couple of elegantly dressed ladies exit – one from each side. Providing options for he who remains inside, the mystery females open matching red umbrellas in unison and hover by the car’s rear doors. Prince exits via the driver-side. Deafening squeals from those in the queue. Our gazes fix on the red umbrella of choice, under which we see Prince moving swiftly around the car toward the entrance, hunched over and holding his jacket together across his chest to guard against the cold. Prince suddenly punctuates his movement with a rhythmic jump, as if scaling an imaginary low fence – like the famous Jerome Robbins travelling sequence/Cool choreography from West Side Story. A showbiz entrance.

 

Prince never did anything ordinary.

 

Prince’s recent Piano & A Microphone shows in this country were so recent that this scribe still wears the pink event wristband as a memento of this unparalleled live music experience. During the first two Melbourne shows in particular (both at State Theatre on the same night, 6pm and 10pm), Prince publically grieved the passing of ex-girlfriend/protégé Vanity (Denise Matthews) – the news of her passing reaching him shortly before showtime. Those assembled experienced something special as a self-described “distraught” Prince poured out his feelings of loss via song. As Prince closed out his Purple Rain encore with those (agonisingly real) high-pitched cries, sitting solo at the piano, it was hard to watch.

 

And now it’s our turn to mourn Prince.