THE DOVES CRY, BUT SHOULD I?
INSIDE THE MIND OF AN ARTS WRITER ON DEADLINE AS NEWS OF PRINCE’S DEATH BREAKS
OK, so, a listicle about the most ridiculous Game of Thrones names. Just going to get started on that right now. Definitely just going to sit here and plow right through this bad boy. Going to have it done in 20 minutes, I’m so efficient.
You know it could probably use a little more cooking time, as it were. Maybe let’s just see if Twitter has anything to say about this. Got to do all the research, and Twitter’s definitely part of my job is a thing I will tell HR if they ever ask about my Twitter use.
Huh, there sure are a lot of people just tweeting “No” or “What’s the DEAL, 2016?” Oh god someone died, didn’t they?
Oh it’s just Chyna. How in god’s name did I end up tangentially acquainted with so many wrestling fans? Should I care about wrestling? No. No. They’re the ones who are wrong, David. Man, though, a lot of people liked Chyna. “He taught me that being weird could be sexy.” Wow that is a heinous amount of shade for a compliment. Oh f--k. It’s Prince. Wait, it’s just TMZ. OK it could just be — no, no, TMZ is the bestresourced news gathering site on the planet. F--k. It’s Prince.
Why is my first ment al i mage of Prince Dave Chappelle in that pirate shirt? Probably in bad taste to point that out somewhere. OK, if anyone asks, my enduring mental image of Prince is the shirtless portrait from the selftitled album. Maybe I’ ll just tweet that with a little R. I. P. Simple, classy, proving that I know things have happened in the world.
No, too many people know now. I can’t just tweet out some meaningless reaction. People are going to think I’m some kind of shoeless rube who hasn’t even looked at the Internet in the last 40 minutes. No, it’s time for the big guns. It’s time for deep personal reflection about how an artist can reach out across the void of existence and change your very being, unlock the virtuoso sex funk god within you, shape the world you live in forever after.
So, YouTube link it is. 1999 probably doesn’t really capture the spirit of the moment. When Doves Cry is too obvious; that would just be the lyrics to Starman all over again. This is no time for pre-packaged Hallmark sentiment; you have to prove what a powerfully deep connection you have, and also that you know more than most people about him. Maybe his version of Nothing Compares 2 U? What percentage of people know that he wrote that song?
God, why is it so hard to find a Prince song on YouTube? I don’t think Pussy Control is really going to project the necessary gravitas here. Waitaminute Prince has a thing about his music online, doesn’t he. God, right there was that whole thing with Radiohead and Creep. That might be OK actually. S--t. I guess it’s HAD a thing. You know if I can’t even remember his stance on digital music, what right do I even have to claim his death as some momentous occasion? I mean, I liked Prince. Batdance. Dirty Mind. Purple Rain. I even sat through Under the Cherry Moon. Only because I thought I was going to have sex after or possibly during it, but he would have respected that, right?
I don’t know what he would have respected. I was a casual fan at best. I didn’t even really care that he came to town last month. Those tickets were expensive anyway. It was just Prince.
Oh, yeah, and here come the tributes now. Oh, you met your husband at an all- Prince dance night. How WONDERFULLY SPECIAL for you. Oh, you saw him i n Minneapolis that one time. WHAT AN EARTH-SHATTERING EXPERIENCE. Yes, please, someone else share that picture of Milhouse saying, “This i s what it feels l i ke when doves cry.” At least I have the courage to admit that I feel absolutely nothing, you pretentious moral cowards. Everybody get their piece of the spectacle. Let’s all turn this HUMAN BEING’s life into the story of you!
That’s good. Let’s tweet that out. That will show these poseur grief-eaters what …
Why am I being dick about people liking Prince? People should like Prince. I like Prince. Liked. Like. Whatever. He must have meant something to some of them. Just let people have this. That Milhouse thing is actually a nice balance of tribute and distance. If I just retweeted it I could get away with just implying that I liked the tribute, not necessarily that I’m piling on the sadwagon.
That feels horrible. God, it’s just so wretched to only talk about this when we find out they’re dead, always forget to appreciate life while it’s being lived. But maybe that’s exactly human, to just let something pass you by until it stops moving entirely — to be so consumed with your own nonsense that awe and meaning and feeling just slosh around inside you, useless and forgotten until something finally pricks your exterior, and they all just come flooding out, settling into whatever place they can find.
Do not let anyone ever hear you say that. Just go with the Milhouse thing.
God when is someone going to like my retweet?
WHY IS MY FIRST MENTAL IMAGE OF PRINCE DAVE CHAPPELLE IN THAT PIRATE SHIRT?