MOURNING A PRINCE
Influential rocker dead at age 57
Born June 7, 1958, into a musical family — his father was a pianist and songwriter and his mother a jazz singer — young Prince was something of a musical prodigy, playing multiple instruments and writing his first song at age 7. Not surprisingly, he was signed to a record deal while a teen, and issued his debut album by his 20th birthday. Prince wrote, arranged, produced and played every note on the disc, establishing a control-freak pattern that continued through his career. He got his freak on in other ways, with aggressively sexual songs like Do Me, Baby and Head. ALBUMS: For You (1978); Prince (1979); Dirty Mind (1980); Controversy (1981).
1999 TO SUPERSTARDOM ( 1982- 91)
By 1982, Prince was poised for a breakthrough. It came with 1999, a double album that topped charts and moved millions, thanks to its apocalyptic party-anthem title track and the auto-erotic Little Red Corvette. He capitalized with the 1984 soundtrack Purple Rain, which spawned three hits: When Doves Cry, Let’s Go Crazy and the epic title cut. The disc also helped spawn the notorious Parents Music Resource Centre and Tipper Gore, who put Darling Nikki at the top of their Filthy 15 list of objectionable songs. But it didn’t stop Prince, who spent the ’80s issuing hit after hit — Raspberry Beret, Pop Life, Kiss, Sign o’ the Times, Cream, even Batdance — and using the profits to create his studio complex-compound Paisley Park in Minneapolis. ALBUMS: 1999 (1982); Purple Rain (1984); Around the World in a Day (1985); Parade (1986); Sign o’ the Times (1987); Lovesexy (1988); Batman (1989); Graffiti Bridge (1990); Diamonds and Pearls (1991).
THE GLYPH AND REBELLION (1992-1999)
As grunge and alt-rock took hold, Prince’s popularity began to wane. Undeterred, he continued on his own path. In 1993, he changed his name to an androgynous glyph, becoming The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. He waged war with his label Warner Bros., appearing in public with “slave” on his cheek. His creative output spiked: Reclusively secluded in Paisley Park, where he could work day and night, he churned out albums — partly as a way to fulfil his record deal as quickly as possible. He issued five albums from 1994 to 1996 and four more (including a fivedisc set of rarities) in 1998 and ’99. Not surprisingly, the public couldn’t keep up and left Prince to his own increasingly idiosyncratic devices. ALBUMS: Love Symbol Album (1992); Come (1994); Black Album (1994); Gold Experience (1995); Chaos & Disorder (1996); Emancipation (1996); Crystal Ball (1998); The Truth (1998); The Vault: Old Friends 4 Sale (1999).
THE WILDERNESS ( 1999- 2010)
When the new millennium arrived (soundtracked by 1999, natch), Prince began to emerge from his personal funk. First he reclaimed his name. Then the notorious Lothario — once linked to everyone from Kim Basinger to proteges Vanity and Apollonia — became a Jehovah’s Witness. He got married and moved to Toronto. He cleaned up his act, issuing more uplifting music. Freed from major-label confines, he maintained his prolific ways, releasing albums online with little promotion. He continued to tour small venues, while accepting career-achievement awards and being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He seemed to be done. But he wasn’t ... ALBUMS: Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic (1999); Rainbow Children (2001); One Nite Alone ... (2002); Xpectation (2003); N.E.W.S (2003); Musicology (2004); Chocolate Invasion (2004); Slaughterhouse (2004); 3121 (2006); Planet Earth (2007); Lotusflow3r (2009); MPLSound (2009); 20 Ten (2010).
THE COMEBACK (2011-2016)
Like many veteran artists, Prince enjoyed a late-career renaissance. As millennials discovered his music (and nostalgic oldsters rediscovered it), gigs became bigger. Labels became interested again. And he took full advantage, recruiting an all-female band 3rdeyegirl (featuring Canadian guitarist Donna Grantis) and issuing four strong albums in the past two years. The master media manipulator also created excitement for his gigs by playing so-called HitnRun tours, playing shows in more intimate venues with little notice. He played one of his final concerts in late March in Toronto, where he covered Heroes by David Bowie, a fellow rock icon who died earlier this year. ALBUMS: Plectrumelectrum (2014); Art Official Age (2014); HITnRUN Phase One (2015); HITnRUN Phase Two (2015).
Seemingly, it’s happening more and more frequently.
Artists who have helped shape the past half century of film, theatre and music are passing away, leaving the rest of us with the task of putting them and their work in perspective — what they meant to the world, what they meant to us.
It always seems something of a fool’s errand, attempting to put it all together in such a manner that the context is general while truly from a personal point of view.
It’s why earlier this year when David Bowie died and, to a lesser degree — if that’s something that can even be fairly measured — Lemmy, it was something that I acknowledged and mourned, quietly, and celebrated their music and memories similarly, but without real comment.
I saw them both play on a number of occasions, interviewed the latter, but, so what?
Why add to the noise with nothing really tangible or different?
Now, with the news that the world lost Prince on Thursday, I find myself in the same position — perhaps a little sadder, a little more mournful for a man whose music was part of my youth and beyond, a man who was one of the last true originals and innovators in an industry that seems to value them less and less.
Do I have anything new to add to that?
No. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.
I have this, from Dec. 16, 2011, which is a memory of one of the single greatest experiences of my life, one that reminded me how universal, how personal, how truly spiritual music and art can be when it’s in the loving hands of someone who so expertly shaped who we are today.
R.I.P. Prince.
(The following is excerpted from a column that ran in the Herald Dec. 16, 2011 after Prince’s concert two nights before at the Saddledome and an afterjam at Ki Modern Japanese + Bar.)
The party — its existence and its specifics — was tweeted about late Wednesday afternoon by Live Nation, the promoters of Prince’s current Welcome 2 Canada Tour, and caused only the smallest ripple in the rest of the social network sphere.
The reason, presumably, is because when a bar usually announces an “official afterparty,” it usually means one of, say, the Black Eyed Peas — Gary or Steve or Phil, not one of the good ones — will be sitting in a roped-off VIP section ogling the surgically enhanced serving staff while everyone outside of it ogles him and pays premium liquor prices for Molson products. And even though Prince is known for getting on smaller stages with his incendiary New Power Generation band after wrapping up larger shows, he’s also known for being mercurial and temperamental, with whims and fancies dictating where he goes and what he does, something that made him showing up open to even more skepticism. (Further adding to the uncertainty were rumours he’d cut the Dome show short because of throat issues or health problems.)
But, it was legit. And he did show. And minds were blown.
Around 2: 30 a.m., after a pretty bumping (I feel I can now use that, even though I have no idea what it means) DJ set, and then an odd singer-songwriter thing, and then more spinning, the NPG took to the stage — a small corner of the room, actually — and lit the funk up royally.
Legendary saxman Maceo Parker, especially, was on fire, getting more blow time than the early show had provided, and skronking through some epic jams with the rest of the whitehot crew. And all the while, sightings of his Princeness by wait staff were whispered and disseminated around the room (he’d actually been in another part of Ki having himself a meal).
Then, well, he showed. Diminutive and dynamic, he was led by a large bodyguard through the crowd, strapped on a bass, took his place at the back of the band, and jammed his funky hide off, while directing the rest of his crew through some superb numbers. For most of his time, he kept his back to the crowd, content to merely be part of the magic and let his people play.
And that was the perfect illustration of something that is often forgotten and the reason he does the afterjams — he is a musician. A spectacular one at that. And while his larger shows give you a taste of his skills, they’re often overshadowed by his showmanship and even his presence.
In a small room, stripped of the spectacle, you could see the musicianship as well as the sheer joy an artist gets when making music with other world-class players.
He didn’t need to attend an “afterjam” and he certainly didn’t need to get onstage for the second time in one evening, this time, to less than 200 people who dropped $60, but he wanted to. And that’s what makes him and others like him, such as Dave Grohl, so refreshing. You can tell they genuinely love what they do, even after all of these years, all of the money, all of the fame, etc.
Being that close to Prince, seeing him in that element, you could tell he was having a blast, and it was somewhat surprising when he left the stage, without singing a note, or fronting one of his tunes, letting NPG continue on.
For many, though, it was enough just to have been part of something, and why at 3: 30 a.m. on a school night, many headed for the door and home to bed.
Which meant they weren’t present when he came back out 15 minutes later, and took his vocal turn on Que Sera, Sera and a heaven-sent, sun-rising, soulstirring, tear-inducing version of Nothing Compares 2 U, which stands as one of the singularly greatest experiences of my life, musical or other. So forgive me for gloating. And I’ll forgive you for missing.