Remembering Prince 10 Years Later
People love to categorize. If they can’t put it into a category, they don’t know how to process it. This is why Prince has always been challenging to listeners. Right out of the gate, he refused to be marketed as a black musician. He didn’t want to be pigeonholed as an RnB artist. He never wanted his audience to know what to expect. “Am I black or white, am I straight or gay?” He didn’t want it to matter.
While there were certainly artists at the time that would crossover and blend two different styles of music, Prince didn’t blur lines, he ignored them. If he wanted Motown harmonies and heavy metal guitar and jazz basslines and classical piano in a track, he just did it. From day 1, he refused a producer to guide and shape his sound. He produced the music himself, playing almost every instrument, writing every song, and arranging it all himself. He didn’t give the audience what they wanted, and he never gave them what they expected. He gave them what he thought they needed.
As an early teen experiencing Prince for the first time with the sprawling double album, 1999, my mind was blown. I struggled to fit in socially, since I didn’t really fit into any of the social categories of the day, I was intrigued by this music that refused categorization. Lyrically and musically, it was an attitude that didn’t care what anyone else was doing. He had his own style, voice, and vision. His proclamation at the end of Let’s Pretend We’re Married pretty well summed it up: “Whatever you heard about me is true…I change the rules and do what I wanna do. I'm in love with God, he's the only way ‘cuz you and I know we gotta die someday. If you think I'm crazy, you're probably right, but I'm gonna have fun every motherfuckin' night.“ This kind of righteous hedonism didn’t turn me into an anarchist or some sort of rebel, but it did give me some confidence to be my own self.
A year or so later, Purple Rain conquered the world, but it also immediately produced a blow back from the religious right and cultural conservatives and the proto-manosphere. The sexuality that blurred genders and promoted spirituality again crossed categorization like nothing before it. While the movie had some cringe moments that make it hard to watch in the 21st century, the performances in the film capture an artist with spirituality and sexuality and virtuosity like no other.
I still hear stories of people that hid their Prince records from their parents. And certainly the guilty pleasure of hiding this dirty music from the folks was part of the joy of it, but unlike a lot of what followed, there was always depth and power in his music. It wasn’t there just for the shock of it. It was like a manifesto promising a new world.
The eighties were a blur with each spring bringing forth a new Prince album. We would read music magazines for hints of what was to come. Not only did the sound change for each record, but the image did as well. New color pallets, new hair, new outfits, new typography, new messages. And once we had time to digest the new album, each single from the album would have a b-side that would present its own sound. While songs like “17 Days”, “She’s Always in My Hair”, or “Alexa de Paris” wouldn’t have fit on the album of that year, they are amongst his best work.
His engineers, typically the only people that got to see him in the studio, describe him working frenetically to get the music out from within. There was no time in the studio for perfection. Only his skill on keyboards or guitar or bass or drums or programming or studio trickery or indeed his vocal mastery allowed him to keep up with the music coming out of him. Duane Tudahl has written two books, with a third on the way, chronicling Prince’s recording history from day-to-day during this time period. He would go into the studio and day after day record multiple songs in a day. Laying down the drums or program them on his Linn drum machine, then add bass, then all of the other instrumentation. And as he finished a song, as often as not he would call out to his recording engineer, “Fresh Tape!” announcing that he had another song in his head ready to go. One exhausted engineer taught him that he could hang a microphone over the recording/mixing console to record his own vocals. While she taught him this so that she could step out and get a break every once in a while, he felt like he could record more honest and emotional vocals without anyone else present and he would do his vocals like this for the rest of his career.
I didn’t mean to get sidetracked with stories of him in the studio. This was meant to be about how Prince affected my life. But then again, stories like that have influenced me and my art. I am working to be a self-sufficient artist that relies as little as possible on others. That works to bring something unique and new into the world. Certainly, Prince and his DIY attitude have influenced me.
In the following decade, Prince took on the status quo of the music industry. Prince was amongst the first to fight to own his own music. He was one of the first to sell his music online. He was one of the first to distribute his music himself on a large scale. I remember getting frustrated at waiting a long time for music I had paid for. It might have been nearly a year between pre-ordering “Crystal Ball” in 1997 and finally receiving it. But, I do remember it had expanded from a 3 CD set to 5, plus he threw in a T-shirt. As frustrating as that was, he was trying new things. Always trying new things.
I was there on release day for every album and every single from 1984 until his final release, eager to hear his next chapter. It wasn’t always an easy listen. I didn’t always get it. There are albums that took months or years to grow on me. A couple that I never really listen to. That’s okay. When I talk to other fans, my disappointments might be their favorites and vice versa. His ever-changing sound was one of his superpowers. That’s such an eye-opener to me as an artist. While each art piece will not appeal to everyone, it will find its audience given the opportunity.
On a Thursday afternoon, as my teaching day was ending, the teacher next door sidled into my classroom and asked, did you hear who died today? With a sudden dread, I knew. “Prince?” I asked, but I think I knew the answer somehow. He had had some public health issues in the preceding month. The drive home and the following week was filled with tears. I almost called off work the following day, but I spent a lot of time telling my students what he meant to me that Friday. We talked about how someone you don’t know can be a big part of your life. I think I am who I am is as much because of Prince and Jim Henson as it is my family. (Weird pairing, I know, but if you know me, you probably get it.)
Tomorrow marks the tenth anniversary of his passing. I have made the pilgrimage to his Paisley Park studios just outside of Minneapolis twice since. I went in 2018 to memorialize his passing and then in 2024 to celebrate his life. The first filled with sorrow and the second filled with joy and companionship with hundreds of other Prince fans. I will go again someday.
I wish I knew what his view on the world would be today. Not because I would fall in lockstep with him, there were times when I didn’t agree with his take. But because as often as not, he would have a view that came from a perspective I didn’t see coming.
Prince was silently generous. He was mysterious. He was flamboyant, He was confident.
The world is not as colorful without him.