My family’s affair with Prince
By this time others will have talked tirelessly and insightfully about Prince’s music and influence.
The stream of praise and celebration following his death Thursday was expected.
For me, the magic was in the compression. His songs were like Mary Poppins’ bag: full of more information — vamps, riffs, runs, whispers and wails — than they seemed capable of containing. He was the most efficient of pop/rock virtuosos, which made his music engaging rather than insufferable.
But this isn’t about Prince. This is about me and my wife (and Prince).
There were times we based vacations around Prince shows, which I’m aware is an unorthodox way to travel. But doing so can also take you to new places — and not just imaginary spots like Funkville or Sexytown. I’d never have discovered La Push, a beautifully desolate location and my favorite spot in the world, had I not been driving the upper peninsula in Washington anxiously trying to get to a Canadabound ferry to see Prince play across the bay.
A guy who soundtracked my youth also soundtracked my marriage, a rare point of shared musical interest between me and my best friend. We always felt the next Prince show was a vacation day and a few hundred dollars airfare away.
With that, here are five memories of our time with Prince:
1. New York, N.Y., March 2004: A Rolling Stone colleague greased me from the press room into the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria the year Prince was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I arrived just in time to catch the finale, a tribute to George Harrison during which Prince hovered around the periphery for three minutes before popping, pecking and picking out a twominute, thirty-second guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” that left jaws dangling. A few detractors accused him of hijacking Harrison’s moment, but the solo was so reverent at its core, using familiar bits of melody from the song as base camp from which he’d climb. It’s the most memorable musical moment I’ve witnessed in a lifetime of them.
2. Tacoma, Wash.; Victoria, B.C., December 2011: We travel during the Christmas holiday because we can and it usually falls just after our wedding anniversary. One year, the only friendly air fare was to Tacoma, which didn’t interest my wife, who prefers warmer climates during the winter. But we go where the transportation is inexpensive. I checked a concert database hoping to find a quintessentially Seattle band — say, Mudhoney — playing in the area. Instead, I found Prince at the Tacoma Dome. I called my wife.
“Hey, how about hitting a concert up there?” “Hey, how about a hard pass?” “Yes, but what if it’s Prince?” The call dropped without a goodbye so she could buy tickets for Tacoma as well as a show in Victoria, B.C., without any consideration as to how to get there. Victoria proved more logistically difficult to reach than Tacoma, including a drive around the upper peninsula and a ferry across the brilliantly named Strait of Juan de Fuca so we could find our way without Internet access to the Save-on-Foods Memorial Centre. I remember him stirring a Canadian crowd into a frenzy with a set list that felt a little more generous than others on that tour (maybe he’d saved on foods). He was noticeably more engaged than in Tacoma a few nights later. Though in Tacoma, he was wearing a turban.
3. New York, N.Y., April 2004: After the Rock Hall show, I paid the seemingly exorbitant fee to join one of Prince’s online clubs. Like me, he was a poor web dabbler. But for one year, membership afforded opportunity for early ticket purchasing. The first payoff came quickly: A show at New York’s snug Webster Hall. I forget what the fee was, though I believe it was less than $1. The catch: members could purchase only one ticket. I wanted to go, but I wanted my wife to go more. She rested her elbows on the side of the stage just beneath his feet.
4. Oakland, Calif., March 2014: Ostensibly, we were on a ski trip in Lake Tahoe, but flew into Oakland where there’s no skiing to surprise friends who had a new baby. “So what brings you to Oakland?” one asked. “Prince?” A StubHub frenzy ensued, eventually finding three tickets for Fox Theater. My daughter’s first Prince show, and also the first time I heard him play “Starfish and Coffee” live. She sang along, prompting high fives from the neighbors one row in front of her. “His cigarette smells weird,” she commented later. Funked out by show’s end, she fell asleep on my shoulder for the walk home.
5. Las Vegas, April 2013: Vegas can be an unforgiving place for a depressive with a drinking problem. There are books and movies about it. But my 40th birthday was approaching, and people dear to me asked if there were plans. As it happened Prince scheduled four shows over two nights — for my birthday, I liked to think. We went to two. And by “we” I mean, my usual partner in purple, but also some of our oldest friends and several more recent ones. I remember the days in Vegas as trying at times: Vocational tumult for one friend; the 5 a.m. phone call I received from work informing me George Jones had died. From deep within a hangover, I made the requisite calls for the obit. Prince concerts never felt less than celebratory. These were no exception, with his new hardrocking take of “Let’s Go Crazy” opening the shows.
In a city where you can lose yourself, I instead found myself surrounded by an extended family and music so familiar as to feel familial.
“If you don’t like the world you’re living in,” he sang, “take a look around. You still got friends.”