I was only nine years old at the time.
There I was, standing in the music section of Target (which in 1983 consisted of a wall rack filled with 45 rpm Top 40 records), looking for it…looking for it. And there it was.
Delirious by Prince.
Do you remember that one? Quick paced. Squeaky, yet euphoric. But made cool by the baritone voice of a true artist: Prince. Well, that nine year-old hastily bought that record – the first I ever bought – brought it home and played it over and over again. And I loved it.
Before long, my older sister bought Prince’s iconic album (new on cassette tape!) Purple Rain and played Let’s Go Crazy repeatedly upon special request by my other sister and me. Man, the adrenaline I felt when he sang, “I ain’t gonna let the elevator break-us-down, Oh no!-Let’s go!” still coursed through me when I thought of it today.
My wife, growing up in small town North Dakota, still laughs about the friend who could never – ever – get the lyrics right on Prince’s whimsical Little Red Corvette. Her friend was relentless and unabashed as he sang and sang while unconsciously substituting “Video-Ay-Koh-May” for the chorus which said, obviously, “Little Red Corvette”. But it didn’t matter. The song was so catchy that whether you butchered the lyrics or hummed off-key, it was an eminently hummable song. So many of Prince’s songs were.
But today, I learned – we all learned – that Prince died. At the all-too-young age of fifty-seven, his life came to an abrupt end. And as details of his death emerge, it seems fitting to ask myself the question:
What was it about the artist I came to know simply as Prince?
Well, quite simply, he was unlike anything I had ever heard before…or since.
Nobody sounded like Prince. Nobody. Even Prince, at times. Consider how diverse his songs and styles were. Vocally, he could move from a deep, rich baritone to a pure, hovering falsetto. One moment, his voice had the poetic discipline to sing in a whisper, while the next he had the chops to sustain enviable upper range vocal topography. From one song to the next, he could credibly pull off his own form of hard rock, morph to technofunk, transition to winsome pop and finish perfectly with a haunting ballad. And still, every song remained unquestionably signature Prince. And, boy, could he play... Keyboards, drums, bass and of course, lead guitar. Truly gifted guitarists have an uncanny way of making the instrument seem an extension of their body – almost unnatural when it is not in hand. Prince was a truly, truly gifted guitarist. I challenge you to watch any video where Prince is playing and you will find yourself transfixed.
And one needs to remember that the diminutive Prince (5’2″) made his name in the midst of two other towering musical giants. Prince’s 1984 breakout album, Purple Rain (though one could reasonably consider the 1982 album 1999 his true breakout album), was released in the same twelve months as Michael Jackson’s Thriller and Madonna’s Like a Virgin. But no matter. Over years, his incontestable musical gifts brought us the manic and exuberant Let’s Go Crazy, the playful falsetto of Kiss, the contagiously cadenced Alphabet Street and the iconic ballad Purple Rain. His look was part of his mystique ranging from tightly curled hair, billowing shirt and glittering robes to tightly coiffed hair and a sharply artistic business attire. Prince’s presentation (a mix of class and edginess) not only gave Michael and Madonna a run for their money, but even rivaled the likes of Elvis, David Bowie and Lady Gaga.
His awards and accolades are legion (32 Grammy nominations, 7 wins, 12 MTV video music award nominations, 4 wins, a Golden Globe Award, an Academy Award, & induction into Rock and Roll Hall of Fame). He recorded an almost manic 39 albums and made 4 movies. He has performed in every conceivable venue (including the Super Bowl and American Idol) and with every conceivable superstar.
But what really – I mean really – captured the imagination about Prince was his sheer singularity. Undoubtedly a musical and promotional genius, he brought with him great intrigue and mystery. Prince was the kind of artist who could emerge on stage, come brilliantly alive and flirt with the crowd but never at the expense of the love he felt for the simple (but truly complex) act of creating music. His performances seemed to be singularly devoted to creating an unparalleled moment of artistry. And then…he would recede – rescued from the world – into the shadows after his final bow. This dissonance within the man – the exuberant artist and the shy man – reminds me of two scenes from the movie Amadeus (made in, you guessed it, 1984 – coincidence…?). In one scene, we see Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, the master in the conductor’s stand exuberantly unveiling his much-loved work before the masses. In the next, we see Mozart the reclusive genius alone in his office bent over a billiards table. There, he is penning one note after another as he absently caroms the cue ball against the table’s edges – again and again – while a symphony forms in the opera house of his mind.
Prince was playful yet passionate, mercurial yet stone-steady in conjuring excellence from his craft. To him, music truly was a craft, an art. To him, everything was an art. And he was genius at it.
Okay…I know, I know. There will be people who will object to my words of praise. Prince was too raunchy, salacious and provocative, they will point out. Yes, absolutely, he could be. I don’t disagree. But Mozart could also be a petulant philanderer and yet millions (including me) can appreciate his music as well as aspects of the man who created it. So can we appreciate the gifts of a person in spite of their imperfections? I hope so, or else I’m in big trouble. St. Basil reminds us that when we encounter the imperfect, we can and should rightly recognize and appreciate virtue (and not abide in the rest). He said,
“Bees do not visit all the flowers without discrimination, nor indeed do they seek to carry away entire those upon which they light, but rather, having taken so much as is adapted to their needs, they let the rest go. So we, if wise, shall take…whatever befits us and is allied to the truth, and shall pass over the rest.”
I am older now.
No longer am I an eager nine-year-old boy playing that 45 rpm record over and over again.
No.
But that child is still in me, still a part of me. And today, that nine year-old inside paused for a moment and breathed a Hail Mary (with my own children) for an artist (with all of his genius and imperfections) – a man, a child of God – whose music made me smile and sing and feel excited and alive.
Thank you, Prince.
Thank you for that.
Requiescat in Pace.
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Photo Credits from Wikimedia Commons (I & II)
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