Nelson Finds It 'Hard To Become

Known'"
By Lisa Crawford
Central High Pioneer, February 13, 1976

"I play with Grand Central Corporation. I've been playing with them for two years," Prince Nelson, senior
at Central, said. Prince started playing piano at age seven and guitar when he got out of eighth grade.

Prince was born in Minneapolis. When asked, he said, "I was born here, unfortunately." Why? "I think it is
very hard for a band to make it in this state, even if they're good. Mainly because there aren't any big record
companies or studios in this state. I really feel that if we would have lived in Los Angeles or New York or
some other big city, we would have gotten over by now."

He likes Central a great deal, because his music teachers let him work on his own. He now is working with
Mr. Bickham, a music teacher at Central, but has been working with Mrs. Doepkes.

He plays several instruments, such as guitar, bass, all key-boards, and drums. He also sings sometimes,
which he picked up recently. He played saxophone in seventh grade but gave it up. He regrets he did. He
quit playing sax when school ended one summer. He never had time to practice sax anymore when he went
back to school. He does not play in the school band. Why? "I really don't have time to make the concerts."

Prince has a brother that goes to Central whose name is Duane Nelson, who is more athletically
enthusiastic. He plays on the basket-ball team and played on the football team. Duane is also a senior.

Prince plays by ear. "I've had about two lessons, but they didn't help much. I think you'll always be able to
do what your ear tells you, so just think how great you'd be with lessons also,"he said.

"I advise anyone who wants to learn guitar to get a teacher unless they are very musically inclined. One
should learn all their scales too. That is very important," he continued.

Prince would also like to say that his band is in the process of recording an album containing songs they
have composed. It should be released during the early part of the summer.

"Eventually I would like to go to college and start lessons again when I'm much older."

Interview
Interviewed By Jon Bream
Minneapolis Star and Tribune, January 5, 1979

What kind of show can we expect?

Wild.

Are you nervous about it?

Yeah. But after we start I think we'll be okay.

1
How does it feel after spending so much time recording the material by yourself to play that same material
with other people?
Different. It's complicated at times. It's fun when you hear it come back with someone else's interpretations.

It must sound different to you.

Well, yeah. Deep down I can tell it's different. But on the surface it sounds sometimes better because it's a
live situation. Somebody else has just that part to take care of. It's not just me doing everything and trying
to keep my energy level up at all times.

Is it difficult to make the transition from one-man band to being in an ensemble?

It's hard.

What kind of show can we expect?

Wild.
Are you nervous about it?
Yeah. But after we start I think well be okay.
How does it feel after spending so much time recording the material by
yourself to play that same material with other people?
Different. Its complicated at times. Its fun when you hear it come back with
someones elses interpretations.
It must sound different to you.
Well, yeah. Deep down I can tell its different. But on the surface it sounds
sometimes better because its a live situation. Somebody else has just that part
to take care of. Its not just me doing everything and trying to keep my energy
level up at all times.
Is it difficult to make the transition from one-man band to being in an
ensemble?
Its hard.
Do you think having played in other groups before helps you?
No, not really. That was such a long time ago. I havent played onstage in
like three years. Ive forgotten most of it.
How did the promotional tour go?
It was weird. I liked the food drive [in North Carolina] because I was in a
small section in the radio station and people could come in and I could talk and
stuff like that. But on Saturday night we did an autograph party for two thousand
people. It was hysterical.
Did you just sit around and sign autographs?
No. For about twenty minutes, and then the crowd started getting too large.
What did they do?
There was supposed to be a disco, but I only got to sign for about one
hundred, and they just started rushing the stage and we had to leave. It got really
bizarre. Then they [the organizers] were just like throwing posters off the stage. It
was just mad.
What kind of reaction did you get from people on a one-to-one basis? What
did they ask you?
Mainly everybody asked me if my real name was Prince. That was the main
question. And What does Soft and Wet mean?
What does it mean?

2
 Are you asking me?
Yeah.
Do you want to hear my new song? . . . [It means] Whatever you can draw
from it. They asked me about it on the radio, and I told them it was about
deodorant. I dont think they believed me.
What other kind of things did they ask you?
One kid asked me if my mother helped me write Soft and Wet. And, um,
they asked me how long it took to make my album. Did I really do everything by
myself?
Earlier you were talking about the importance of having hometown talent in
your band and how your own music doesnt even get support here from the rest
of the music community.
I've never really thought about it too much. Im going to get depressed now.
What qualities do you think you have that have made you successful?
Being tall. I dont know. I cant really say. I cant answer that. Youd have to
ask someone else.
Let me put it a different way. What do you think your strengths and your
weaknesses are?
I'm a sucker for good legs. . . . I dont think I have any strengths. Its hard for
me to talk about myself. I can tell you what Matts strengths and weaknesses are.
What do you see as your goals at this point?
I want to be a janitor. I do. [Laughter from the interviewer.] Dont laugh. No. I
want to produce other groups after a while. And I want to do an album with the
band as soon as possible. Maybe after the second tour is over.
You were talking about your new songs.
Weve got a few songs well do at the Capri that Ill probably never record on
an album because theyre too spicy.
Why wouldnt you do them on a record?
They corns off well in a concert situation, but on a record.. . albums and
concerts are pretty much different. I like to make an album and get it out like a
book or something. And concerts you just want to excite. Ill probably never do
them on an albumtheyre pretty wild and they come off well visually.
When you write your stuff, what instrument do you write on?
Lately its been coming through dreams. Ill dream something, and if you
dream something and go back to sleep, you forget it. But if you wake right up and
stay up with it, youll remember it and maybe get something out of it. I did that
last night. I dreamt that my dad wrote a song and it was really a nice song. I
remember that I woke up and really liked it, but I couldnt stay awake. Sometimes
I write them on a guitar. Ive written songs on everything. Ive written songs on
drums.
When did you first start writing songs? How old were you?
Five. I didnt really write it, but I just sang it and remembered it, kept singing
it. I wrote that on the rocks. I had two rocksthats how I wrote that.
Then you progressed.
Yeah, I moved on to bigger rocks, bricks. [Chuckles from the interviewer.]
Do you actually write out the songs or just play them for a copyist?

3
 I havent really needed that for a while. The first couple of bands, we mainly
worked on feel and did things out of our head. In this band I can tell somebody
what I want, and I can give them a different idea if I want them to change it. We
dont read. They may read music, I dont know. I havent asked them. But we
dont have any music.
Earlier you said theres not a lot of incentive around here like there is in, say,
L.A. Have you ever thought of moving someplace else to be more stimulated?
I dont need any stimulation myself. I know a lot of other people might. I like
it here cause its quiet. There are other places that are quieter, so I dont worry
about losing that. But I know there are a lot of people who would like to see this
place really boom.
In your formative years, what did you listen to?
I didnt do that too much then, either. I was an optimist [sic] or something. I
didnt like the music so much. I liked to make it, but I didnt like what was going
on. It was all sort of manipulated by the business. People write their best songs
before they get in the business. A lot of my songs that will be on my next albums
are songs Ive written from years ago. Theyre from the heart. You write them
when youre down and Out or whatever.
Why do you always sing in falsetto?
Because when my voice changed it went down, and I couldnt get any power
out of it. I couldnt get any life, so to speak. The energyI couldnt get it from that
voice. With the higher voice, it was easier to hit the higher notes. Theres
something about the word high that I like. Theres something about the word. And
it also hurts in my lower voice to sing, when I sing too hard. It doesnt hurt in my
falsetto.
What did you think of the way they promoted you as the youngest producer
for Warner Bros. who did everything himself? It was almost to the point that it
was hype.
I tried not to listen to it too much. Thats why I stayed here and lived here.
Im away from all of that. I dont see the posters and magazines and stuff like
that.
How does your ego handle that? Youre a well-known quantity in some
cities, and youre sitting here in the middle of the wilderness, where no one
knows you.
I like it. I like it a lot. People change when they find out who you are. Like the
public. I make my best friends when they dont know what Im about. If they do
the exact same thing I do, they tend to put up guards, and its kind of frustrating
because they expect you to be an egomaniac. Its kind of hard. The way I am
now, I was always. I suppose if I lived in California and rode around in limos all
the time and had people waiting on me hand and foot, then maybe that could
make you change. People with the strongest minds change to some degree. But
Im not into all of that. Im right here and this is where Ive always been.
You and Owen used to go to a lot of concerts. What were you looking for?
Id go to concerts like I go to moviesits just an escape. I think Owen was
doing most of the work as far as what made things work smoothly. Concerts and
movies are nice because its an escape from real life. You can just bury yourself

4
in something else. I dont really listen to the music so much at concerts as just
looking at the players and wondering what theyre thinking about.
Whats going to go through your mind and your audiences mind when youre
at the Capri?
First of all, Ill be terrified. Its going to be a small amount of people. Its going
to take a while to block out that there are people out there. I find it extremely hard
performing for people. Its like my bandI found it hard singing and playing in
front of them at first. But after I got to know them better, its really easy now, and
we all bounce off each other as far as energy goes. Before I can bounce off the
crowd, itll take a few songs. I think itll be the same with them, too. Im really free
and open once I get to know a person. But when I first encounter someone, Im
really laid back and cautious, I guess.
You have to build up a trust and rapport.
Im constantly getting called shy and stuff like that. I dont feel shy, but I
guess I sometimes come off that way to people. At any rate, I dont want to come
off as shy to a crowd. So Im working on that.
Do you feel having gone through all this that youve missed out on anything
in life? I mean youve been heavily into your music for a long time.
I did, but I dont regret it. I missed out on a lot. I used to like to play sports
and I had to quit that. I used to want to go to college, and I certainly dont have
time for that. At one time I wanted to get married, and I dont have time for that.
I wanted kids, too, cause I really like kids. But I dont have time for that,
either. I think mainly the things I missed out on, my mind just changed. Like right
now I dont want to get married or have kids or play sports. I think Ive done what
I wanted to do in life, teenage life.
What are you thinking about for the next album?
Im constantly trying to do different things, you know. Whether they be better
or good, it doesnt matter. It only matters to me. If I find Out that its for the worse,
so? What it boils down to is that nothing means nothing except, you know, love.
As long as Ive got that, I dont need money. If I went broke or something, it
wouldnt faze me. Love and musicas long as Ive got that, everythings cool.
Everything.
What are your plans from here?
Just go out and play, and well be revamping the show constantly. I hope to
sell a lot of records. People that arent hip to it, I hope they do get hip to it.
Because I'm going to be around for a while until something freaky happenslike
a thunderbolt or something. I really want people to catch on to what Im doing,
because Im going to do a lot of different things. If Ive got people behind me that
love and care about me, I can help change things.
Are you concerned about your image? I dont think Warners knows whether
to market you as black, disco, or pop.
I have a lot of really nice acoustic songs Id like to record just because; its
like Three Times a Lady. I didnt write a song like that, but Im using that as an
example. That was a song that just couldnt be stoppedit just broke
everywhere. It didnt matter that they were black or whatever. Sometimes Im
tempted to just not do another single like Soft and Wet and just do something

5
out of the ordinary. Then if that hits, then people would, I guess, realize. I dont
want to be trapped into one particular thing that would be hindering, because I
would like to do a lot of different things.
What will Warners think of that?
Theyre going to come see us perform on Saturday. Everybody has the big
impression that Im really quiet. You know, if he doesnt talk, then he probably
wont dance or sing too much. I have to put to rest all those accusations, I guess.
I guess youve got the image already.
I didnt like to do a lot of interviews, and I didnt do a lot because I got
misquoted a lot, you know. A lot of writers have a way of switching words around,
and it comes off like you dont know whats going on. Plus I found it really hard to
open up to people, and Ive been trying to work on that a lot lately within myself.
Thats one of my weaknessessometimes I just wont talk to people at all. Im
trying to get over that. It hurts your business, as well.
I get the idea that you spent so much time at home getting into your music
that you didnt have the time or energy to relate to others.
Yeah. Thats it, youre right. I dont know, its like I get high off of playing my
music or going to a movie alone or going to a concert or something like that,
because I can just fantasize about anything I want when Im doing those things.
When I talk to people its almost a routine. Theyll tell you what they want you to
know and you have to [know}its really dumb, and youre supposed to accept
that and give your response. I dont like to talk too much; I like to act. Ive done a
lot of strange things as far as that goes. Im getting out of it slowly and trying to
relate to people a little more. I think I best relate performing and playing music.
Therell be a time probably when I wont do any interviews. I know theyre
important right now cause people wont know whats on my mind. I dont mind
doing them with people I can bounce off of rather than they ask the same stupid
questionsWhat kind of food do you eat? It doesnt really matter.
Is there anything else you want to talk about?
First of all, Id like to say this was about the most interesting interview Ive
done. Ive never talked this much in my life. [Giggles.] I swear.

*Interview January 5, 1979, Minneapolis Star and Tribune

Will The Little Girls Understand?

By Bill Adler
Rolling Stone, February 19, 1981

Snaking out from the wings toward center stage at the Ritz, prancing like a pony with his hands on his hips
and then flinging a clorine kick with a coquettish toss of his head, Prince is androgyny personified. Slender
and doe-eyed, with a faint pubescent mustache, he is bare-chested beneath a gray, hip-length Edwardian
jacket. There's a raffish red scarf at this neck, and he's wearing tight black bikini briefs, thigh-high black
leg-warmers and black-fringed go-go boots. With his racially and sexually mixed five-piece band churning
out the terse rhythms of "Sexy Dancer" behind him, the effect is at once truly sexy and more than a little

6
disorienting , and his breathy falsetto only adds to his ambiguity -- for sheer girlish vulnerability, there's no
one around to touch him: not Michael Jackson, not even fourteen-year-old soul songbird Stacy Lattisaw. At
age twenty, Prince may be the unlikeliest rock star, black or white, in recent memory -- but a star he
definitely is.

As quickly becomes apparent, Prince's lyrics bear little relation to standard AM radio floss. In addition to
bald sexual come-ons and twisted love plaints, he champions the need for independence and self-
expression. And one song, "Uptown," is, among other things, an antiwar chant. Further complicating the
proceedings are the heavy-metal moans Prince wrenches out of his guitar and the punchy dance-rock
rhythms of his band (bassist Andre Cymone, guitarist Dez Dickerson, keyboardists Lisa Coleman and Dr.
Fink and drummer Bobby Z.), all of whom are longtime cohorts from Prince's hometown -- Minneapolis, of
all places.

"I grew up on the borderline," Prince says after the show. "I had a bunch of white friends, and I had a bunch
of black friends. I never grew up in any one particular culture." The son of a half-black father and an Italian
mother who divorced when he was seven, Prince pretty much raised himself from the age of twelve, when
he formed his first band. Oddly, he claims that the normalcy and remoteness of Minneapolis provided just
artistic nourishment he needed.

"We basically got all the new music and dances three months late, so I just decided that I was gonna do my
own thing. Otherwise, when we did split Minneapolis, we were gonna be way behind and dated. The white
radio stations were mostly country, and the one black radio station was really boring to me. For that matter,
I didn't really have a record player when I was growing up, and I never got a chance to check out Hendrix
and the rest of them because they were dead by the time I was really getting serious. I didn't even start
playing guitar until 1974."

With his taste for outlandish clothes and his "lunatic" friends, Prince says he "took a lot of heat all the time.
People would say something about our clothes or the way we looked or who we were with, and we'd end up
fighting. I was a very good fighter," he says with a soft, shy laugh. "I never lost. I don't know if I fight fair,
but I go for it. That's what 'Uptown' is about -- we do whatever we want, and those who cannot deal with it
have a problem within themselves."

Prince has written, arranged, performed and produced three albums to date (For You, Prince and Dirty
Mind), all presenting the same unique persona. Appearances to the contrary, though, he says he's not gay,
and he has a standard rebuff for overenthusiastic male fans: "I'm not about that; we can be friends, but that's
as far as it goes. My sexual preferences really aren't any of their business." A Penthouse "Pet of the Month"
centerfold laid out on a nearby table silently underscores his point.

It took Prince six months alone in the studio to concoct his 1978 debut album, because, he says, "I was
younger then." Prince required six weeks. He controlled the making of both records, but notes that they
were "overseen" by record company and management representatives. Dirty Mind, however, was made in
isolation in Minneapolis. "Nobody knew what was going on, and I became totally engulfed in it," he says.
"It really felt like me for once."

The result of this increased freedom was a collection of songs celebrating incest ("Sister") and oral sex
("Head") in language raw enough to merit a warning sticker on the album's cover. "When I brought it to the
record company it shocked a lot of people," he says. "But they didn't ask me to go back and change
anything, and I'm real grateful. Anyway, I wasn't being deliberately provocative. I was being deliberately
me."

Obviously, judging by the polished eclecticism of Dirty Mind, being himself is the best course. "I ran away
from home when I was twelve," Prince says. "I've changed address in Minneapolis thirty-two times, and
there was a great deal of loneliness. But when I think about it, I know I'm here for a purpose, and I don't
worry about it so much."

7
Mick Boskamp has sent me the full transcript for the unreleased May 29, 1981 Prince interview.

Mick Boskamp: The first album is totally different from the last one. Can you tell me something about it?
Prince: Hmm-hmm...

MB: The evolution you make...

P: One is that I have different managers...

MB: Yeah...
P: I listen to the managers... a great deal. They would tell me how to write the songs and how to play em...
And how to sing em... producers okay. tell me saying things like,.. this kind of album would be nice and
you did or whatever and the new managers did what the old man did. saying it's important for you to
establish a black American base. (yeah) Regardless what wanted to do or whatever. Another reason is ehr..
I think I've matured a great deal. the way I approach my work is ehr. I think ehr... you know in there
beginning I was a little different (uh-huh) My lifestyle was a little different. I wasn't allowed as much
freedom as I am now ehrm... I tried to do anything I wanted to back then but I feel .... free ...... and now it's
... this new album I was allowed to do anything I wanted. What happened was ehr... it started out as demo
tapes I had no I idea that it was gonna be an album and I just wrote songs and I recorded songs that ehr
meant more to me there more of an existence. and that was that.

MB: your form Minneapolis?

P: Hmm-hmm.

MB: Is there a happily music scene back there?

P: Uh-huh.

MB: No? Not at all?

P: No, nothing

MB: Nothing?
P: nothing weird no. They make an attempt and ehr... I guess ehr.. the last guy told me there wasn't much of
a music scene here... just... not a local music scene... well, I think there's a little bit more than here. but it's
not really important.

MB: Can you introduce your band members? Bobby Z.

P: yeah...

MB: Where's he from?

P: He plays the drums. He's a friend of mine. I didn't even know he could play drums He was ehm, he was
an errand boy he worked for my manager, my first manager. And... I thought sooner or later I'll have to get
a band and ehm.. Bobby and I were hanging out, talking and he would help me with little things in the
studio... and ehm... He told me he could play drums, so... And I said okay, and I listened to him and he
ended up getting the job. And Dez, he's the guitar player, he ehr.. I actually don't know where he comes
from.. there's a lot of rumours going around where he came from. He looks very strange... To most people,
I'm used to him, but. just to describe him.. he looks very strange. And ehm... I don't know exactly where he
came from he just popped up by our rehearsal studio one day and asked if he could play guitar....... and
ehm. Matt he plays keyboards, ehr... I think ehm... see I, I know a lot about them and then I know little. I
know little about their background and a lot about their personality. ehr... I'll tell you how it got with me
though.. Bobby, told me about this guy who wanted to play music but his father didn't want him to, And he
was going to some real... traumatic experiences behind him. May. he was a great player but maybe he
wouldn't be so good in the band because of this... he's really schizophrenic he can be real... messy
sometimes, you know. And ehm... it's, it's stupid 'cause he's said ehrm... when I talked to his father a little
later and his father he said that he wanted Matt to be a doctor... and I guess it's sort of a compromise, Matt
where's this suit on the stage, while he plays rock and roll, so... I don't know... Ehrm.. Lisa, I met through a

8
friend in ehrm.. Los Angeles when I lost my first keyboard player. And Andre I've know since.. birth I
think...

MB: Keyboard player he also co-wrote the song Dirty Mind...

P: Hmm-hmm.

MB: Well, on the albums you play all of he instruments yourself and not using a band. Why?
P: one reason is ehrm.. a very small reason, I wanted to do it because I recorded at very strange hours.
another reason is.... it's hard for me to play with people who don't know exactly where a song comes from
And ehrm.. it hard to explain.... an overall idea to five people it's easier for me to do it. and play a tape of
the song to make up the whole picture. And it's real cohesive

MB: Are you satisfied with the sound the band producing on stage?
P: Yeah, very much so. It's, it's far more aggressive. Because... one reason: we play this stuff a great deal,
another reason: then they know it really well another reason is ehrm... I think they're older than I am and
ehrm live and the studio is two different things, but I am satisfied with what they're doing.

MB: The last album sells pretty good in America... even without airplay. Can you explain that?
P: Ehrm... I think a lot of people getting hip from press. ..... once they see who's playing the music always
increases sales. I think people sort of write.... wrote it off as some kind of publicity stunt or a joke at first.
And once they see us play they realise that we are like the odd one. it might be our fault but that's too bad
and if it didn't get two or three { and publicity's not so much}

MB: Ehrm... Every album you made you thank God first and then you then you thank a lot of people. Do
you believe in God?
P: yeah

MB: And you also write very controversial lyrics .On the first album ,ehrm... is there any song directly
written to God?
P: Ehrm... ... No. On the next album there'll be. "Sin And Salvation", .... that's basically what I know.
Ehrm.. Torn between two lovers, maybe... I don't know.

MB: But do you believe in God?...

P: I think I'll explain myself a little better. I do it better in reading than I do... talking. I'm sure I will... I
want ....stage in matter in my life to explain.. i'm practising..........

MB: You don't really want to do interviews? You're not you're not really fond of it...
P: No not really. and the reason for it is that ehrm.. I'm stronger behind a microphone. Unless it's a radio
microphone.. heheh... and ehrm, I'm stronger with... my guitar in my hand and I write better letters than I
do.. than I make telephone calls.

MB: But it has nothing to do with being two persons?

P: Ehrm? No-no-no, I don't think so. I think it's ehrm....

MB: Next album. working on it?

P: Not yet.

MB: not yet...

P: ehrm... I'm waiting for.. I have to say after visiting London and being here for a day a lot of thing are
running around in my head. No titles of songs or ideas what they'll sound like but... just feelings, you know.
It's a real interesting {seeing it} this way. It's real free and people.. people believe in themselves. and
London is real {form}, which makes you wonder about the silence and the whole... you know parts of the
world.

9
MB: Your last album... there are some European influences on it... musically. Agree with that?
P: Ehrm, I don't know. I don't know, I've haven't been in touch with Europe... is all I want to say.

MB: But as you told me about London, the music scene there in London is very ehrm.. musically
aggressive, Punk influences, etcetera etcetera. And on the album cover you wear a button: Rude Boy.
P: Hmm-hmm, That was a present from ehrm, from my manager Jamie. who ehrm.. though it appropriate ...
of because who I am, but ehrm I.. to this day I ask people and they can't tell me what I means. It came from
somewhere but... I get different things from everybody, so ...

MB: But it has no special meaning? Okay

P: No, no... I wonder if she thinks {I'm warning it}. That's why. that's why I'm sure {she'll miss it.}

MB: do you consider yourself rude?

P: No.

MB: How do you write your songs I mean how do you come up with the ideas for lyrics?
P: Ehrm... true life experiences. When something occurs I'm used to didn't write left out. That's one of the
main differences in the albums. It's get ehrm.. I used to write from visions and fantasies and they way I
thought perfect loves should be and I don't do that so much anymore. I'll say what it is, I think..

MB: I think you're a great producer when you listen to the albums
P: Thank you

MB: are you gonna produce other people?

P: I don't think so. not for a while. I've... I don't know I think I'll be. I think I'll be into something else
before I start producing records. {I've been ehr ...... doing recently So I'm not gonna do it for two years or
so }

MB: You're sure?

P: yeah

MB: So what do you want to do.

P: Just something different. I ehrm... I'm very into what I'm doing now. I think it's a good medium to
express myself and ehrm I think in time I'll grow tired of it.

MB: It's kind of a shock to me

P: Thah!

MB: But there will be a fourth album?

P: Yeah... I'm sure {it wraps}. Like I say I do have some ideas you know, and I'm sure once I get back from
London and I spend another night here and go to out Paris I'll be dying to write {about{, see I don't write
that much...

MB: Maybe that's one of the reasons that the last album... there so much. Well there's a lot of songs on it
but the time, recording time is very... very little, eh?
P: well I ehrm..

MB: Each side is... 12 or 15 minutes

P: Yeah I think so... I think that has something to do with it. I didn't write that much songs during this time
period. I, I never record in excess. I never record more songs than, you know, you can put on your next
album. 'Cause I never worked on songs in a totally different space by the time the next album comes out
and the.....

10
MB: You told me you record at strange hours. Middle of the night?
P: uh-huh. yeah. Three or four, like that.

MB: Is that because you get an impulse? To do that.

P: Yeah... uhm... I think I am afraid of some light, sometimes. And I don't do .. I don't stay up... very much
during the days, and so I record... working on a record.

MB: You're not someone who plans an album?

P: Oh no...

MB: I think it is ehrm, it is wrong that a lot of people now you're talking to me.. have compared yourself
into new wave. A lot of people say it's a special blend between, between Black music and New wave
music. Do you agree with that?
P: No. First of all I don't know if I'm black or not. Second of all ehrm... I lived in a place that gets no new
wave music at all. All we have is country and western. even more country than Western.... the songs and
the towns. New wave's harder and ehrm... You know, I don't know. It's just harder... I hope

MB: What kind of audiences do you attract when you perform?

P: Well a lot.. a lot of different types. It depends on where we out. And what support act. you know. Ehrm..
if we're down south we get primarily black. Because ehrm.. black and white don't mix down south. either
you get a white either audience or you get a black audience. And it.. you walk in a line you'll get more ehrm
{brave}, heh...I guess... So on. Id New York it's like.. a lot of black a lot of white. a{long with being}
straight and gay, conservative and not conservative. there goes.

MB: What do you like best; performing, writing?... being in your studio
P: ...I don't know... I Like... I like whatever I'm doing at that particular time. Ehrm... if it's time to record
or... I feel like I want to. {Whatever at that moment I don't wanna be doing... } Like right now I would not
want to be recording. I wanna play, right now so.. that's ehrm {.... now I'm doing whatever I'm} supposed
to be doing. It's like a cycle it's like... when it's time to go to sleep then I wanna go to sleep. Ehrm...

MB: Well you think a lot of people they don't... live.... you don't have a... watch?
P: No.

MB: So you're not living on it?

P: No. I don't care what time it is. (laughs )

MB: like a lot of people do (P: yeah) they plan everything. Eating at 122 o' clock. sleeping at eig... ten
o'clock getting up at seven.
P: ...No I do not plan it. I just go by a lot of impulses.

MB: Two weeks ago I spoke someone who also does that. Stevie Wonder was here two weeks ago, He
doesn't make plans too.
P: Oh.

MB: The first album was influenced by Stevie Wonder. Is that wrong if I say that?
P: I don't ehrm.. first of all I don't listen to popular music. I had to play too much of it when I was a
teenager...

{PHONE RINGS}
P: Hello?... Yeah... yeah... no.... (hangs up.)

Ehrm... I had to play his music and anybody else's who had a hit and it turned me off to listening to it
because I, I had to analyse their music. 'cause I .. I ehrm... had to teach the keyboard player her part. And

11
get all the vocal structures out of it... and.. I had to pick everything apart and it made me know exactly what
the artist was gonna do next And so whenever we had to learn it, he got another hit and we had to learn that
one of his songs. And we knew just exactly what to do, where it was gonna go and with that it became very
boring after a while. And whenever I did listen to music I, it was only cause I was making it. you know. So
I learned down the records. Cause I had to. I had to play 'em anyway. I had to learn it's sickening to play an
original song and have people go out and grab popcorn. And then come back whenever you get to this
number one it all}...

MB: You play a lot of instruments

P: Sometimes...

MB: what kind ... well on the album

P: in the first one I did. The second. one.. I played... not as many. On the third one there's {virtual} not half
of it.

MB: What instruments. do you like best?

P: Ehrm... that's hard to say... 'Cause it... instruments are really I don't know. Depends on my mood, I won't
touch the drums if ehrm... I'm happy, Cause ehrm I can only play the drums when I'm... angry or feel
aggressive or strong. Some days you feel stronger than you do other days... like if I'm tired I won't touch
the drums and stuff... and if I'm ehrm... exited I won't peh.. aly the piano. I like playing the piano when I'm
lonely etcetera... and ehrm... The guitar... Nahhh I think it's the guitar. I think I like the guitar the best
'cause I can be angry and sensitive on that. that's probably my favourite on stage. ehrm...

MB: I think I have enough.

P: Hmm okay.

MB: I won't tire you anymore with questions.

P: Well I'm not tired. (MB: what?) Are you sure you have everything.

MB: Sure...
P: Okay.

MB: There's maybe one thing I wanna know. But that's probably a long story
P: No... tell me.

MB: Where you have been brought up. Something of your passed.
P: Okay, ehrm... ehrm... I started playing when I was 7. And that was piano and that was after my father
left. And ehrm.. I don't know, did you read any of the biography, or whatever? (MB: No they didn't give it
to me) Okay, his name is.. His stage name was Prince Rogers. And that's why I got the name Prince. So it is
my real name. It's not a publicity gimmick. Ehrm, I hated it when I was coming up. But mom used to
{...........when I would do it } it's better than Leroy. I ran away when I was 12. After my mom remarried
And that's when I learned to play guitar. I couldn't carry my piano around and ehrm... I learned to play
drums shortly thereafter....and I once you learn those three everything else is relatively easy. And I went to
New York when I was 17, after I got out of high school, I was sick of playing other peoples music. I went
to New York to get a record deal. and I lived with my sister Sharon. Who was real dear to me during that
time. She was gonna be my manager. And ehrm.. a couple of people wanted to produce an album for me
but they wanted me to just be a singer and I didn't want to do that. So I came back to Minnesota and hooked
up with some other people who let me make another demo tape on my own. And we took it around to
A&M, Columbia, Warners and... they {bidded} on it and we went for Warner Bros. And then that came
{through...}

MB: So is that the sister you mention on the song on the album?
P: Uh-huh.

12
MB: Maybe one question. What kind of show are your bringing tonight?
P: Ehrm

MB: What kind of material are you playing ?

P: Ehrm. Let's s see. I think, I think there is one.. I know there is one new song, ehrm... and the rest of it is
stuff ehrm... you know, last two albums. And it's really aggressive and it's real bold. I'm using words {like
that} to describe it. If I was to describe it I would say it's real 'us' And ehrm... We totally get into what we
doing and sometimes we become oblivious to our surroundings. We're looking for an exciting time. I hear
they're more... ehrm... ... They're more acceptable to things that are not so acceptable.

MB: Okay, I have enough. (P: you're sure?!) Sure.

P: Thank you

MB: Thank YOU.

P: Nff...

Interview
Interviewed by Mojo
The Electrifying Mojo, 1985

On the eve of his birthday in 1985, Prince gave a surprise interview to legendary Detroit disc jockey the
Electrifying Mojo. He had never offered a live radio interview before. Of the experience, Mojo later said:

"I had no idea he was going to call. I had no list of questions or anything like that. First I talked to Billy
Sparks and he said, 'Hey Mojo! Prince wants to talk to you. You got a minute?' I said, 'Do I have a minute?
Give me a minute to make sure we have a tape on,' and Prince says, 'Hey Mojo! What's happening? This is
Prince.' If I hadn't heard Billy Sparks' voice prior to that, I may have said, 'Yeah, right.'"

The following is the text of the spoken interview, as transcribed by Rose Gardner on the Emancipation
mailing list.

MOJO: This is the one-man hit machine from Minnesota. Ladies and Gentlemen...Prince.

PRINCE: Hello, Detroit.

MOJO: How are you?

PRINCE: Alright, how are you?

MOJO: Well, Prince... I heard nothing but magic flowin' down from the concert. How was it?

PRINCE: Mmm, a lot of fun. You should've been there.

MOJO: I was there in spirit. I wanted to be here for one reason...I wanted to be here, so that the moment
that the concert was over...I wanted to flood the airwaves with Prince.

13
PRINCE: Well, you know what? I was driving from the gig, wiping the sweat off my brow, and I heard
"Automatic." And we just got through playin' it...we don't normally play that one. It went over pretty good,
and I think it's 'cuz of you, and what you've done for us and...my thang. It's a good feeling. I just wanna tell
all my little motor babies that I'm just happy to be here...and it's a fun way to spend my birthday, for sure.

MOJO: Happy Birthday to you.

PRINCE: Thank you.

MOJO: Prince, you've been the entertainer that has insisted on doing things one way...your way.

PRINCE: Well, you know, it's like...I worked a long time under a lot of different people, and most of the
time I was doing it their way. I mean, that was cool, but ya know, I figured if I worked hard enough and
kept my head straight, one day I'd get to do this on my own...and that's what happened. So I feel like...if I
don't try to hurt nobody...and like I say...keep my head on straight...my way usually is the best way.

MOJO: Growin' up in Minne-wood, as it's been now called, simply because that is the hot point on this
planet right now.

PRINCE: Well, it's been called a lot of things, but it's always Uptown to me.

MOJO: Uptown?

PRINCE: Yes.

MOJO: What was it like growin' up Uptown?

PRINCE: Pretty different. Uh, kinda sad, to be exact. (laughs) I mean, the radio was dead, the discos was
dead, ladies was kinda dead, so I felt like, if we wanted to make some noise, and I wanted to turn anything
out....I was gonna have to get somethin' together. Which is what we did. We put together a few bands and
turned it into Uptown. That consisted of a lot of bike riding nude, but ya know...it worked. We had fun.
That's why I wanted to come here on my birthday...'cuz I wanted to give them a little taste of where we live
and get a little taste of where you all live. To me, this is like my second home. If I could spend the night at
somebody's crib, I would...'cuz this hotel.... They're real nice to us, but, this bed is hard!

MOJO: You've made fantastic albums, and you've made fantastic movies, and you're making another
movie right now.

PRINCE: Yeah.

MOJO: What's the difference between making a hot movie and making a hot album?

PRINCE: There is no difference. There have been people who have tried to tell me contrary to that, but
like you said before and like I said before, I strive for perfection, and sometimes I'm a little bull-headed in
my ways. Hopefully, people understand that there's just a lot on my mind and I try to stay focused on one
particular thing. And I try not to hurt nobody in the process. A movie is a little bit more complex, but to me
it's just a larger version of an album. There are scenes and there are songs, and they all go together to make
this painting, and...I'm the painter. Y'all is the paintees. (Mojo laughs.) Hopefully it's something that you
can get into. Jerome Benton stars in this new film with me and he's on his way to becoming very, very big.
I'm real proud of him. He takes direction well and he gives direction well and I expect a lot of big things
from him.

14
MOJO: Speaking of Jerome Benton, and other people who've flown under the wings of Prince, and also
speaking of Detroit's own Billy Sparks, a person that you took from Detroit, put him in your first movie...

PRINCE: Yes.

MOJO: You've always maintained contact with people that you've always been in contact with.

PRINCE: Oh yeah. Without a doubt, there's people who have flown the coop, so to speak, and gone off to
do their own thing, which is great and I stand behind them and support them, whatever they do. But
contrary to rumors, we're all real tight still, and I have a strange feeling we're all going to be together again
one day. We'll have to see.

MOJO: Do you think that there is a possibility that after this movie has been released, that...I've just heard
rumors through the grapevine that there's a possibility that The Time is gonna record again...?

PRINCE: Well, Mojo. anything's possible. God willing and hopefully everybody's head will be in the right
place. I'd like to see all that happen. They were, to be perfectly honest, the only band that I was afraid of.
And, they were turning into like...Godzilla, and certain things happened and different waves flowed,
different winds blew and everybody fell apart. But, I still love all those guys... and I hope they get back
together 'cuz I want some competition, ya know? (both laugh)

MOJO: Prince, speaking of the movie, Under the Cherry Moon...could you tell us a little bit about that?

PRINCE: Um...God, I hate to blow the surprise though, you know?

MOJO: Without blowin' it -- we know it's gonna be in black and white...

PRINCE: Yeah, it's gonna be in black and white...

MOJO: ...and we know it's gonna be quote unquote "helluva."

PRINCE: Yeah, it's gonna be that. It's gonna be that. All I can tell you is that you'll have a good time. I'm
hoping that everyone understands where I was trying to go with it. It is like an album for me, and I put my
heart and sould into it and I worked very long and very hard. Jerome did the same, and there's a message
behind it all and I hope people think about it when they leave. That's the main thing. It's a lot of fun, but
there's something to think about when it's over. You know, there's a reason for everything.

MOJO: Let's talk about the album, Around The World In A Day... which I think was one of the greatest
albums.

PRINCE: My favorite!

MOJO: It's absolutely my favorite, without question. Tunes like "Around The World In A Day," "Paisley
Park." What type of mood were you in when you recorded that album?

PRINCE: Yeah, I sorta had an f-you attitude, meaning that I was making something for myself and my
fans. And the people who supported me through the years -- I wanted to give them something and it was
like my mental letter. And those people are the ones who wrote me back, telling me that they felt what I
was feeling. Record sales and things like that...it really doesn't matter, ya know. It keeps a roof over your
head, and keeps money in all these folks' pockets that I got hangin' around here! (laughs) It basically stems
from the music, and I'm just hoping that people understand that money is one thing but soul is another.
That's all we're really trying to do, you know? Idon't know. I wouldn't mind if I just went broke, you know,

15
'cuz as long as I can play this type of thing and come here, ya know. There were a lot of people there
tonight and they turned the lights on and I looked up...it brings tears to your eyes because it's just -- you can
feel the love in the room, ya know? And that means more than money. I could just go on for hours...I don't
know, I just have fun, and I'm thankful to be alive, ya know?

MOJO: What's a day like, in the life of Prince?

PRINCE: Work! I work a lot. I'm trying to get a lot of things done very quickly, so that I can stop working
for a while. Everyone's afraid I'm gonna die. (laughs)

MOJO: You say, you are afraid?

PRINCE: No, I'm not afraid? Everyone else is afraid. They think I work too much. I'm not afraid of
anything.

MOJO: It's been said that when you're working -- you work on the road, you carry your studio around with
you, you get up in the middle of the night, you get an idea for a tune and you get up and go do it -- there's
just no such thing as Prince being off from work. Some people have even called you the workaholic, ever-
movin' one-man storm. Is that true?

PRINCE: The thing is that when you're called, you're called. I hear things in my sleep; I walk around and
go to the bathroom and try to brush my teeth and all of the sudden the toothbrush starts vibrating! That's a
groove, you know.

MOJO: You know it!

PRINCE: You gotta go with that, and that means drop the toothbrush and get down to the studio or get to a
bass guitar, quick! My best things have come out like that. To me, making a song is like a new girl walking
in the room...you never know what's going to happen 'til all the things come together, and there she stands!
And she says, "Hi! You want to take a bite of this orange?" And you bite it, and it's cool, and I send it to
you. You know?

MOJO: I know! Look here -- one question.

PRINCE: Yes.

MOJO: What's your favorite instrument? You play them all....

PRINCE: Mmmm. Stewardesses! (laughs)

MOJO: It's dirty...! it's dirty...!

PRINCE: No, listen...it depends on the song, it depends on the color. They all sound differently. It's very
strange, I try to stay original in my work and a lot of sounds have been used now, and I'm looking for new
instruments and new sounds and new rhythms. I got a lot of suprises...I don't want to give them all away.

MOJO: Look, you've done everything.

PRINCE: Not yet!

MOJO: You've done hard rock. You've done some of the most sensuous --

16
PRINCE: No, we've just scratched the surface with all that stuff. There's so many sounds, it's limitless.

MOJO: Some people say you probably have in your secret vault...in the Prince music vault, about 500
tunes that you've done that you haven't even considered using yet...that you could put out an album for the
next twenty years, two a year --

PRINCE: Naw, not that many...320 to be exact. Not 500. (laughs)

MOJO: 320 songs? That have never been released.

PRINCE: Mmm-hmm.

MOJO: It's been rumored that they all sound different, that's probably why each album you release is just a
little bit different.

PRINCE: Yeah. They don't ALL sound different. There's a couple times I copied myself.

MOJO: It's alright to copy yourself.

PRINCE: You think you hit on something, right! You try to do it again...ya know? (both laugh) I try not to
do that too much. If I do, then it's usually someone around, Wendy or Lisa, who says, "Hey, man, I've heard
that. Put it away." And it goes away. And we don't hear from that song for a while. Mojo, guess what?
We're all going to see Purple Rain tonight.

MOJO: You are?

PRINCE: Yep!

MOJO: I've seen it twelve times.

PRINCE: I've seen it too many times, but I wanna watch it again.

MOJO: I've seen it twelve times, and I'll go watch it tonight. Tell you what -- I'm gonna ask everybody out
there to go watch Purple Rain. What time will you be watching it?

PRINCE: About three minutes...they're knocking on my door now. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. I'll call
back tomorrow and I'm gonna leave a little message at about 4:30. And, this one's just for all the purple
people, and I think they'll understand. I'll call you. I got your number.

MOJO: Alright! Prince, it's been one big pleasure. Words cannot describe this moment. I don't think words
can describe how Detroit feels about Prince. So, in closing, whatever you want to say to Detroit...the
airwaves are yours.

PRINCE: (makes five kissing sounds with his lips and then says the word...) KISS.

17
 Prince Talks
By Neal Karlen
Rolling Stone, September 12, 1985

John Nelson turns sixty-nine today, and all the semiretired piano man wants for his birthday is to shoot
some pool with his firstborn son. "Hes real handy with a cue," says Prince, laughing, as he threads his old
white T-Bird though his old black neighborhood toward his old mans house. "Hes so cool. The man
knows what time it is."

Hard time is how life has traditionally been clocked in North Minneapolis; this is the place Time forgot
twelve years ago when the magazines cover trumpeted "The Good Life in Minnesota," alongside a picture
of Governor Wendell Anderson holding up a walleye. Though tame and middle-class by Watts and
Roxbury standards, the North Side offers some of the few mean streets in town.

The old sights bring out more Babbitt than Badass in Prince as he leads a leisurely tour down the main
streets of his inner-city Gopher Prairie. He cruises slowly, respectfully: stopping completely at red lights,
flicking on his turn signal even when no ones at an intersection. Gone is the wary Kung Fu Grasshopper
voice with which Prince whispers when meeting strangers or accepting Academy Awards. Cruising
peacefully with the window down, hes proof in a paisley jump suit that you can always go home again,
especially if you never really left town.

Tooling through the neighborhood, Prince speaks matter-of-factly of why he toyed with early interviewers
about his father and mother, their divorce and his adolescent wanderings between the homes of his parents,
friends and relatives. "I used to tease a lot of journalists early on," he says, "because I wanted them to
concentrate on the music and no so much on me coming from a broken home. I really didnt think that was
important. What was important was what came out of my system that particular day. I dont live in the past.
I dont play my old records for that reason. I make a statement, then move on to the next."

The early facts, for the neo-Freudians: John Nelson, leader of the Prince Rogers jazz trio, knew Mattie
Shaw from North Side community dances. A singer sixteen years Johns junior, Mattie bore traces of Billie
Holiday in her pipes and more than a trace of Indian and Caucasian in her blood. She joined the Prince
Rogers trio, sang for a few years around town, married John Nelson and dropped out of the group. She
nicknamed her husband after the band; the son who came in 1958 got the nickname on his birth certificate.
At home and on the street, the kid was "Skipper." Mattie and John broke up ten years later, and Prince
began his domestic shuttle.

"Theres where my mom lives," he says nonchalantly, nodding toward a neatly trimmed house and lawn.
"My parents live very close by each other, but they dont talk. My moms the wild side of me; shes like
that all the time. My dads real serene; it takes the music to get him going. My father and me, were one
and the same." A wry laugh. "Hes a little sick, just like I am."

Most of North Minneapolis has gone outside this Saturday afternoon to feel summer, that two-week season,
locals joke, between winter and road construction. During this scenic tour through the neighborhood, the
memories start popping faster. The T-Bird turns left at a wooden two-story church whose steps are lined
with bridesmaids in bonnets and ushers in tuxedos hurling rice up at a beaming couple framed in the door.
"That was the church I went to growing up," says Prince. "I wonder whos getting married." A fat little kid
waves, and Prince waves back.

"Just all kinds of things here," he goes on, turning right. "There was a school right there, John Hay. Thats
where I went to elementary school," he says, pointing out a field of black tar sprouting a handful of bent

18
metal basketball rims. "And thats where my cousin lives. I used to play there every day when I was twelve,
on these streets, football up and down this block. Thats his father out there on the lawn."

These lawns are where Prince the adolescent would also amuse his friends with expert imitations of pro
wrestlers Mad Dog Vachon and the Crusher. To amuse himself, he learned to play a couple dozen
instruments. At thirteen, he formed Grand Central, his first band, with some high-school friends. Grand
Central often traveled to local hotels and gyms to band-battle with their black competition: Cohesion, from
the derided "bourgeois" South Side, and Flyte Tyme, which, with the addition of Morris Day, would later
evolve into the Time.

Prince is fiddling with the tape deck inside the T-Bird. On low volume comes his unreleased "Old Friends 4
Sale," and arrow-to-the-heart rock ballad about trust and loss. Unlike "Positively 4th Street" -- which Bob
Dylan reputedly named after a nearby Minneapolis block-- the lyrics are sad, not bitter. "I dont know
much about Dylan," says Prince, "but I respect him a lot. All along the Watchtower is my favorite of his. I
heard it first from Jimi Hendrix."

"Old Friends 4 Sale" ends, and on comes "Strange Relationships," [sic] an as-yet-unreleased dance tune. "Is
it too much?" asks Prince about playing his own songs in his own car. "Not long ago I was riding around
L.A. with [a well-known rock star], and all he did was play his own stuff over and over. If it gets too much,
just tell me."

He turns onto Plymouth, the North Sides main strip. When Martin Luther King got shot, it was Plymouth
Avenue that burned. "We used to go to that McDonalds there," he says. "I didnt have any money, so Id
just stand outside there and smell stuff. Poverty makes people angry, brings out their worst side. I was very
bitter when I was young. I was insecure and Id attack anybody. I couldnt keep a girlfriend for two weeks.
Wed Argue about anything."

Across the street from McDonalds Prince spies a smaller landmark. He points to a vacant corner phone
booth and remembers a teenage fight with a strict and unforgiving father. "Thats where I called my dad
and begged him to take me back after he kicked me out," he begins softly. "He said no, so I called my sister
and she asked her to ask him. So she did, and afterward told me that all I had to do was call him back, tell
him I was sorry, and hes take me back. So I did, and he still said no. I sat crying at that phone booth for
two hours. Thats the last time I cried."

In the years between that phone-booth breakdown and todays pool game came forgiveness. Says Prince,
"Once I made it, got my first record contract, got my name on a piece of paper and a little money in my
pocket, I was able to forgive. Once I was eating every day, I became a much nicer person." But it took
many more years for the son to understand what a jazzman father needed to survive. Prince figured it out
when he moved into his purple house.

"I can be upstairs at the piano, and Rende [his cook] can come in," he says. "Her footsteps will be in a
different time, and its real weird when you hear something thats a totally different rhythm than what
youre playing. A lot of times thats mistaken for conceit or not having a heart. But its not. And my dads
the same way, and thats why it was so hard for him to live with anybody. I didnt realize that until
recently. When he was working or thinking, he had a private pulse going constantly inside him. I dont
know, your bloodstream beats differently."

Prince pulls the T-Bird into an alley behind a street of neat frame houses, stops behind a wooden one-car
garage and rolls down the window. Relaxing against a tree is a man who looks like Cab Calloway. Dressed
in a crisp white suit, collar and tie, a trim and smiling John Nelson adjusts his best cuff links and waves.
"Happy birthday," says the son. "Thanks," says the father, laughing. Nelson says hes not even allowing
himself a piece of cake on his birthday. "No, not this year," he says with a shake of his head. Pointing at his
son, Nelson continues, "Im trying to take off ten pounds I put on while visiting him in Los Angeles. He
eats like I want to eat, but he exercises, which I certainly dont."

19
Father then asks son if maybe he should drive himself to the pool game so he wont have to be hauled all
the way back afterward. Prince says okay, and Nelson, chuckling, says to the stranger, "Hey, let me show
you what I got for my birthday two years ago." He goes over to the garage and give a tug up on the door
handle. Squeezed inside is a customized deep-purple BMW. On the rear seat is a copy of Princes latest LP,
Around the World in a Day. While the old man gingerly backs his car out, Prince smiles. "He never drives
that thing. Hes afraid its going to get dented." Looking at his own white T-Bird, Prince goes on: "Hes
always been that way. My father gave me this a few years ago. He bought it new in 1966. There were only
22,000 miles on it when I got it."

An ignition turns. "Wait," calls Prince remembering something. He grabs a tape off the T-Bird seat and
yells to his father, "I got something for you to listen to. Lisa [Coleman] and Wendy [Melvoin] have been
working on these in L.A." Prince throws the tape, which the two female members of his band had mixed,
and his father catches it with one hand. Nelson nods okay and pulls his car behind his sons in the alley.
Closely tailing Prince through North Minneapolis, he waves and smiles whenever we look back. Its
impossible to believe that the gun-toting geezer in Purple Rain was modeled after John Nelson.

"That stuff about my dad was part of [director-cowriter] Al Magnolis story," Prince explains. "We used
parts of my past and present to make the story pop more, but it was a story. My dad wouldnt have nothing
to do with guns. He never swore, still doesnt, and never drinks." Prince looks in his rearview mirror at the
car tailing him. "He dont look sixty-nine, do he? Hes so cool. Hes got girlfriends, lots of em." Prince
drives alongside two black kids walking their bikes. "Hey, Prince," one says casually. "Hey," says the
driver with a nod, "how you doing?"

Passing by old neighbors watering their lawns and shooting hoops, the North Sides favorite son talks about
his hometown. "I wouldnt move, just cuz I like it here so much. I can go out and not get jumped on. It
feels good not to be hassled when I dance, which I do a lot. Its not a thing of everybody saying, Whoa,
whos out with who here? while photographers flash their bulbs in your face."

Nearing the turnoff that leads from Minneapolis to suburban Eden Prairie, Prince flips in another tape and
peeks in the rear view mirror. John Nelson is still right behind. "Its real hard for my father to show
emotion," says Prince, heading onto the highway. "He never says I love you, and whenever we try to hug
or something, we bang our heads together line in some Charlie Chaplin movie. But a while ago, he was
telling me how I always had to be careful. My father told me, If anything happens to you, Im gone. All I
though at first was that it was a real nice thing to say. But then I though about it for a while and realized
something. That was my fathers way of saying I love you."

A few minutes later, Prince and his father pull in front of the Warehouse, a concrete barn in an Eden Prairie
industrial park. Inside, the Family, a rock-funk band that Prince has begun working with, is pounding out
new songs and dance routines. The group is as tight as ace drummer Jellybean Johnsons pants. At the end
of one hot number, Family members fall on their backs, twitching like fried eggs.

Prince and his father enter to hellos from the still-gyrating band. Prince goes over to a pool table by the
soundboard, racks the balls and shimmies to the beat of the Familys next song. Taking everything in, John
Nelson give a professional nod to the band, his sons rack job and his own just-chalked cue. He hitches his
shoulders, takes aim and breaks like Minnesota Fats. A few minutes later, the band is still playing and the
father is shooting. Prince, son to his father and father to this band, is smiling.

The night before, in the warehouse, prince is about to break his three-year public silence. Wearing a jump
suit, powder-blue boots and a little crucifix on a chain, he dances with the Family for a little while, plays
guitar for a minute, sings lead for a second, then noodles four-hand keyboard with Susannah Melvoin,
Wendys identical-twin sister.

Seeing me at the door, Prince comes over. "Hi," he whispers, offering a hand, "want something to eat or
drink?" On a table in front of the band are piles of fruit and a couple bags of Doritos. Six different kinds o

20
tea sit on a shelf by the wall. No drugs, no booze, no coffee. Prince plays another lick or two and watches
for a few more minutes, then waves goodbye to the band and heads for his car outside the concrete barn.

"Im not used to this," mumbles Prince, staring straight ahead through the windshield of his parked car. "I
really though Id never do interviews again." We drive for twenty minutes, talking about Minnesotas skies,
air and cops. Gradually, his voice comes up, bringing with it inflections, hand gestures and laughs.

Soon after driving past a field that will house a state-of-the-art recording studio named Paisley Park, we
pull down a quiet suburban street and up to the famous purple house. Prince waves to a lone, unarmed
guard in front of a chain-link fence. The unremarkable split-level house, just a few yards back from the
minimum security, is quiet. No fountains out front, no swimming pools in back, no black-faced icons of
Yahweh or Lucifer. "Were here," says Prince, grinning. "Come on in."

One look inside tells the undramatic story. Yes, it seems the National Enquirer --whose Minneapolis
Babylon expose of Prince was excerpted in numerous other newspapers this spring --was exaggerating. No,
the man does not live in an armed fortress with only a food taster and wall-to-wall, life-size murals of
Marlyn Monroe to talk to. Indeed, if a real-estate agent led a tour through Princes house, one would guess
that the current resident was, at most, a hip suburban surgeon who likes deep-pile carpeting.

"Hi," says Rande, from the kitchen, "you got a couple of messages." Prince thanks her and offers up some
homemade chocolate-chip cookies. He takes a drink from a water cooler emblazoned with a Minnesota
North Stars sticker and continues the tour. "This place," he says, "is not a prison. And the only things its a
shrine to are Jesus, love and peace."

Off the kitchen is a living room that holds nothing your aunt wouldnt have in her house. On the mantel are
framed pictures of family and friends, including one of John Nelson playing a guitar. Theres a color TV
and VCR, a long coffee table supporting a dish of jellybeans, and a small silver unicorn by the mantel.
Atop the large mahogany piano sits an oversize white Bible.

The only thing unusual in either of the two guest bedrooms is a two-foot statue of a smiling yellow gnome
covered by a swarm of butterflies. One of the monarchs is flying out of a heart-shaped hole in the gnomes
chest. "A friend gave that to me, and I put it in the living room," says Prince. "But some people said it
scared them, so I took it out and put it in here."

Downstairs from the living room is a narrow little workroom with recording equipment and a table holding
several notebooks. "Heres where I wrote and recorded all of 1999," says Prince, "all right in this room."
On a low table in the corner are three Grammies. "Wendy," says Prince, "has got the Academy Award."

The work space leads into the master bedroom. Its nice. Andnormal. No torture devices or questionable
appliances, not even a cigarette butt, beer tab or tea bag in sight. A four-poster bed above plush white
carpeting, some framed pictures, one of Marilyn Monroe. A small lounging area off the bedroom provides a
stereo, a lake-shore view and a comfortable place to stretch out on the floor and talk. And talk he did -- his
first interview in three years.

A few hours later, Prince is kneeling in front of the VCR, showing his "Raspberry Beret" video. He
explains why he started the clip with the prolonged clearing of the throat. "I just did it to be sick, to do
something no one else would do." He pauses and contemplates. "I turned on MTV to see the premiere of
Raspberry Beret, and Mark Goodman was talking to the guy who discovered the backward message on
Darling Nikki. They were trying to figure out what the cough meant too, and it was sort of funny." He
pauses again. "But Im not getting down on him for trying. I like that. Ive always had little hidden
messages, and I always will."

He then plugs in the videocassette of "4 the Tears in Your Eyes," which hes just sent to the Live Aid folks
for the big show. "I hope they like it," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

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The phone rings, and Prince picks it up in the kitchen. "Well be there in twenty minutes," he says, hanging
up. Heading downstairs, Prince swivels his head and smiles. "Just gonna change clothes." He come back a
couple of minutes later wearing another paisley jump suit, "the only kind of clothes I own." And the boots?
"People say Im always wearing heels cuz Im short," he says, laughing "I wear heels because the women
like em."

A few minutes later, driving toward the first Avenue club, Prince is talking about the fate of the most
famous landmark in Minneapolis. "Before Purple Rain," he says, "all the kids who came to First Avenue
knew us, and it was just like a big, fun fashion show. The kids would dress for themselves and just try and
look really cool. Once you got your thing right, youd stop looking at someone else. Youd be yourself, and
youd feel comfortable."

Then Hollywood arrived. "When the film first came out," Prince remembers, "a lot of tourists started
coming. That was kind of weird, to be in the club and get a lot of Oh! There he is! It felt a little strange.
Id be in there thinking, Wow, this sure is different than it used to be."

Now, however, the Gray Line Hip Tour swarm has slackened. According to Prince --who goes there twice
a week to dance when hes not working on a big project-- the old First Avenue feeling is coming back.
"There were a lot of us hanging around the club back in the old days," he says, "and the new army, so to
speak, is getting ready to come back to Minneapolis. The Familys already here, Mazaratis back now too,
and Sheila E. and her band will be coming soon. The Clubll be the same thing that it was."

As we pull up in front of First Avenue, a Saturday-night crowd is milling around outside, combing their
hair, smoking cigarettes, holding hands. They stare with more interest than awe as Prince gets out of the
car. "You want to go to the [VIP] booth?" asks the bouncer. "Naah," says Prince, "I feel like dancing."

A few feet off the packed dance floor stands the Family, taking a night off from rehearsing. Prince joins the
band amid laughs, kisses, soul shakes. Prince and three other Family members wad through a floor full of
Teddy-and--Eleanor-Mondale-brand funkettes and start moving. Many of the kids Prince passes either
dont see him or pretend they dont care. Most of the rest turn their heads slightly to see the man go by,
then simply continue their own motions.

An hour later, hes on the road again, roaring out of downtown. Just as hes asked if theres anything in the
world he wants but doesnt have, two blondes driving daddys Porsche speed past. "I dont," Prince says
with a giggle, "have them."

He catches up to the girls, rolls down his window and throws a ping-pong ball that was on the floor of his
car at them. They turn their heads to see what kind of geek is heaving ping-pong balls at them on the
highway at two in the morning. When they see who it is, mouths drop, hands wave, the horn blares. Prince
rolls up his window, smiles silently and speeds by.

Off the main highway, Prince veers around the late-night stillness of Cedar Lake, right past the spot where
Mary Tyler Moore gamboled during her TV shows credits. This town, he says, is his freedom. "The only
time I feel like a prisoner," he continues, "is when I think too much and cant sleep from just having so
many things on my mind. You know, stuff like I could do this, I could do that. I could work with this band.
When am I gonna do this show or that show? Theres so many things. Theres women. Do I have to eat? I
wish I didnt have to eat."

A few minutes later he drops me off at my house. Half a block ahead, he stops at a Lake Street red light. A
left up Lake leads back to late-night Minneapolis; a right is the way home to the suburban purple house and
solitude. Prince turns left, back toward the few still burning night lights of the city hes never left.

22
 The Interview

Why have you decided that now is the time to talk?

There have been a lot of things said about me, and a lot of them are wrong. There have been a lot of
contradictions. I dont mind criticism, I just dont like lies. I feel Ive been very honest in my work and my
life, and its hard to tolerate people telling so many barefaced lies.

Do you read most of what written about you?

A little, not much. Sometimes someone will pass along a funny one. I just wrote a song called "Hello,"
which is going to be on the flip side of "Pop Life." It says at the end, "Life is cruel enough without cruel
words." I get a lot of cruel words. A lot of people do.

I saw critics be so critical of Stevie Wonder when he made Journey through the Secret Life of Plants.
Stevie has done so many great songs, and for people to say, "You missed, dont do that, go back" --well, I
would never say, "Stevie Wonder, you missed." [Prince puts the Wonder album on the turntable, plays a
cut, then puts on Miles Davis new album.] Or Miles. Critics are going to say, Ah, Miles done went off."
Why say that? Why even tell Miles he went off? You know, if you dont like it, dont talk about it. Go buy
another record!

Not long ago I talked to George Clinton, a man who knows and has done so much for funk. George told me
how much he liked Around the World in a Day. You know how much more his words mean than those
from some mamma-jamma wearing glasses and an alligator shirt behind a typewriter?

Do you hate rock critics? Do you think theyre afraid of you?

[Laughs] No, its no big deal. Hey, Im afraid of them! One time early in my career, I got into a fight with a
New York writer, this little skinny cat, a real sidewinder. He said, "Ill tell you a secret, Prince. Writers
write for other writers, and a lot of time its more fun to be nasty." I just looked at him. But when I really
though about it and put myself in his shoes, I realized thats what he had to do. I could see his point. They
can do whatever they want. And me, too. I can paint whatever picture I want with my albums. And I try to
instill that in every act Ive every worked with.

What picture were you painting with Around The World in a Day?
[Laughs] Ive heard some people say Im not talking about anything on this record. And what a lot of other
people get wrong about the record is that Im not trying to be this great visionary wizard. Paisley Park is in
everybodys heart. Its not just something that I have the keys to. I was trying to say something about
looking inside oneself to find perfection. Perfection is in everyone. Nobodys perfect, but they can be. We
may never reach that, but its better to strive than not.

Sounds religious.
As far as that goes, let me tell you a story about Wendy. We had to fly somewhere at the beginning of the
tour, and Wendy is deathly afraid of flying. She got on the plane and really freaked. I was scared for her. I
tried to calm her down with jokes, but it didnt work. I thought about it and said, "Do you believe in God?"
She said yes. I said, "Do you trust him?" and she said she did. Then I asked, "So why are you afraid to fly?"
She started laughing and said, "Okay, okay, okay." Flying still bothers her a bit, but she knows where it is
and doesnt get freaked. Its just so nice to know there is someone and someplace else. And if were wrong,
and Im wrong, and there is nothing, then big deal! But the whole life I just spent, I at least had some
reason to spend it.

When you talk about God, which God are you talking about? The Christian God? Jewish? Buddhist?
Is there any God in particular you have in mind?
Yes, very much so. A while back, I had an experience that changed me and made me think differently
about how and what I wrote and how I acted toward people. Im going to make a film about it --not the next
one, but the one after that. Ive wanted to make it for three years now. Dont get me wrong --Im still as

23
wild as I was. Im just funneling it in a different direction. And now I analyze things so much that
sometimes I cant shut my brain off and it hurts. Thats what that movie will be about.

What was the experience that changed you?

I dont really want to get into it specifically. During the Dirty Mind period, I would go into fits of
depression and get physically ill. I would have to call people to help me get out of it. I dont do that
anymore.

What were you depressed about?

A lot had to do with the bands situation, the fact that I couldnt make people in the band understand how
great we could all be together if we all played our part. A lot also had to do with being in love with
someone and not getting any love back. And there was the fact that I didnt talk much with my father and
sister. Anyway, a lot of things happened in this two-day period, but I dont want to get into it right now.

Howd you get over it?

Thats what the movies going to be about. Paisley Park is the only way I can say I got over it now. Paisley
Park is the place one should find in oneself, where one can go when one is alone.

You say youve now found the place where you can go to be alone. Is it your house?
Within the family youve built around you? With God? Its a combination of things. I think when one
discovers himself, he discovers God. Or maybe its the other way around. Im not sure.Its hard to put
into words. Its a feeling --someone knows when they get it. Thats all I can really say.

Do you believe in heaven?

I think there is an afterworld. For some reason, I think its going to look just like here, but thats partI
dont really like talking about this stuff. Its so personal.

Does it bother you when people say youre going back in time with Around the World in a Day?
No. What they say is that the Beatles are the influence. The influence wasnt the Beatles. They were great
for what they did, but I dont know how that would hang today. The cover art came about because I though
people were tired of looking at me. Who wants another picture of him? I would only want so many pictures
of my woman, then I would want the real thing. What would be a little more happening than just another
picture [laughs] would be if there was some way I could materialize in peoples cribs when they play the
record.

How do you feel about people calling the record "psychedelic"?

I dont mind that, because that was the only period in recent history that delivered songs and colors. Led
Zeppelin, for example, would make you feel differently on each song.

Does your fame affect your work?

A lot of people think it does, but it doesnt at all. I think the smartest thing I did was record Around the
World in a Day right after I finished Purple Rain. I didnt wait to see what would happen with Purple Rain.
Thats why the two albums sound completely different. People think, "Oh, the new album isnt half as
powerful as Purple Rain or 1999." You know how easy it would have been to open Around the World in a
Day with the guitar solo thats on the end of "Lets Go Crazy"> You know how easy it would have been to
just put it in a different key? That would have shut everybody up who said the album wasnt half as
powerful. I dont want to make an album like the earlier ones. Wouldnt it be cool to be able to put your
albums back to back and not get bored, you dig? I dont know how many people can play all their albums
back to back with each one going to different cities.

What do you think about the comparisons between you and Jimi Hendrix?
Its only because hes black. Thats really the only thing we have in common. He plays different guitar than
I do. If they really listened to my stuff, theyd hear more of a Santana influence than Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix

24
played more blues; Santana played prettier. You cant compare people, you really cant, unless someone is
blatantly trying to rip somebody off. And you cant really tell that unless you play the songs.

Youve got to understand that theres only so much you can do on an electric guitar. I dont know what
these people are thinking --theyre usually non-guitar-playing mamma-jammas saying this kind of stuff.
There are only so many sounds a guitar can make. Lore knows Ive tried to make a guitar sound like
something new to myself.

Are there any current groups you listen to a lot or learn from?
Naah. The last album I loved all the way through was [Joni Mitchells] The Hissing of Summer Lawns. I
respect peoples success, but I dont like a lot of popular music. I never did. I like more of the things I
heard when I was little. Today, people dont write songs; theyre a lot of sounds, a lot of repetition. That
happened when producers took over, and thats why theres no more [live] acts. Theres no box office
anymore. The producers took over, and now nobody wants to see these bands.

People seem to think you live in an armed monastery that youve built in honor of yourself.
First off, I dont live in a prison with armed guards around me. The reasons I have a guy outside is that
after the movie, all kinds of people started coming over and hanging out. That wasnt so bad, but the
neighbors got upset that people were driving by blasting their boxes or standing outside and singing. I
happen to dig that. Thats one reason Im going to move to more land. There, if people want to come by, it
will be fine. Sometimes it gets lonely here. To be perfectly honest, I wish more of my friends would come
by.

Friends?
Musicians, people I know. A lot of the time they think I dont want to be bothered. When I told Susannah
[Melvoin] that you were coming over, she said, "Is there something I can do? Do you want me to come by
to make it seem like you have friends coming by?" I said no, that would be lying. And she just put her head
down, because she knew she doesnt come by to see me as much as she wants to, or as much as she thinks I
want her to. It was interesting. See, you did something good, and you didnt even know it!

Are you afraid to ask your friends to come by?

Im kind of afraid. Thats because sometimes everybody in the band comes over, and we have very long
talks. Theyre very few and far between, and I do a lot of the talking. Whenever were done, one of them
will come up to me and say, "Take care of yourself. You know I really love you." I think they love me so
much, and I love them so much, that if they came over all the time I wouldnt be able to be to them what I
am, and they wouldnt be able to do for me what they do. I think we all need our individual spaces, and
when we come together with what weve concocted in our heads, its cool.

Does it bother you that strangers make pilgrimages to your house?

No, not at all. But theres a time and a place for everything. A lot of people have the idea that Im a wild
sexual person. It can be two oclock in the afternoon, and someone will make a really strange request from
the call box outside. One girl just kept pressing the buzzer. She kept pressing it, and then she started crying.
I had no idea why. I though she might have fallen down. I started talking to her, and she just kept sayin, "I
cant believe its you." I said, "Big deal. Im no special person. Im no different than anyone." She said,
"Will you come out?" I said, "Nope, I dont have much on." And she said, "Thats okay."

Ive lectured quite a few people out there. Ill say, "Think about what youre saying. How would you react
if you were me?" I ask that question a lot: "How would you react if you were me?" They say, "Okay, okay."

Its not just people outside your door who think youre a wild sexual person.
To some degree I am, but not twenty-four hours a day. Nobody can be what they are twenty-four hours a
day, no matter what that is. You have to eat, you have to sleep, you have to think, and you have to work. I
work a lot, and theres not too much time of anything else when Im doing that.

25
Does it make you angry when people dig into your background, when they want to know about your
sexuality and things like that?
Everyone thinks I have a really mean temper and that I dont like people to do this or do that. I have a since
of humor. I though that the Saturday Night Live skit with Billy Crystal as me was the funniest thing I ever
saw. His imitation of me was hysterical! He was singing, "I am the world, I am the children!" Then Bruce
Springsteen came to the mike, and the boys would push him away. It was hilarious. We put it on when we
want to laugh. It was great. Of course, thats not what it is.

And I though the Prince Spaghetti commercial was the cutest thing in the world. My lawyers and
management are the ones who felt it should be stopped. I didnt even see the commercial until after
someone had tried to have it stopped. A lot of things get done with out my knowledge because Im in
Minneapolis an theyre where they are.

Its a good and a bad thing that I live here. Its bad in the sense that I cant be a primo "rock star" and do
everything absolutely right. I cant go to the parties and benefits, be at all the awards shows, get this and get
that. But I like it here. Its really mellow.

How do you feel when you go to New York or L.A. and see the life you could be leading?
L.A. is a good place to work. And I liked New York more when I wasnt known, when I wasnt bothered
when I went out. Youd be surprised. There are guys who will literally chase you through a discotheque! I
dont mind my picture being taken if its done in a proper fashion. Its very easy to say, "Prince, may I take
your picture?" I dont know why people cant be more humane about a lot of things they do. Now when
Im visiting, I like to sneak around and try stuff. I like to sneak to peoples gigs and see if I can get away
without getting my picture taken. Thats fun. Thats like cops and robbers.

Youve taken a lot of heat for your bodyguards, especially the incident in Los Angeles in which your
bodyguard Chick Huntsberry reportedly beat up a photographer.
A lot of times Ive been accused of sticking bodyguards on people. You know what happened in L.A.? My
man the photographer tried to get in the car! I dont have any problems with someone I know trying to get
in my car with me and my woman in it. But someone like that? Just to get a picture?

Why isnt Chick working for you anymore?

Chick has more pride than anyone I know. I think that after the L.A. incident, he feared for his job. So if I
said something, hed say, "What are you jumping on me fore? Whats wrong? Why all of a sudden are you
changing?" And Id say, "Im not changing." Finally he just said, "Im tired. Ive had enough." I said fine,
and he went home. I waited a few weeks and called him. I told him that his job was still here and that I was
alone. So he said hed see me when I was in New York. He didnt show up. I miss him.

Is it true that Chick is still on the payroll?

Yes.

What about the expose he wrote about you in the National Enquirer?
I never believe anything in the Enquirer. I remember reading stories when I was ten years old, saying, "I
was fucked by a flying saucer, and heres my baby to prove it." I think they just took everything he said and
blew it up. It makes for a better story. Theyre just doing their thing. Right on for them. The only thing that
bothers me is when my fans think I live in a prison. This is not a prison.

You came in for double heat over the L.A. incident because it happened the night of the "We Are the
World" recording. In retrospect, do you wish you had shown up?
No. I think I did my part in giving my song [to the album]. I hope I did my part. I think I did the best thing I
could do.

Youve done food-drive concerts for poop people in various cities, given free concerts for
handicapped kids and donated lots of money to the Marva Collins inner-city school in Chicago.

26
Didnt you want to stand up after you were attacked for "We Are the World" and say, "Hey, I do my
part."
Nah. I was never rich, so I have very little regard for money now. I only respect it inasmuch as it can feed
somebody. I give a lot of things away, a lot of presents and money. Money is best spent on someone who
needs it. Thats all Im going to say. I dont like to make a big deal about the things I do that way.

People think that yourre a dictator in the studio, that you want to control everything. In L.A.,
however, I saw Wendy and Lisa mixing singles while you were in Paris. How do you feel about your
reputation?
My first album I did entirely alone. On the second I used Andre [Cymone], my bass player, on "Why You
Wanna Treat Me So Bad?" He sang a small harmony part that you really couldnt hear. There was a typo on
the record, and Andre didnt get any credit. Thats how that whole thing started. I tried to explain that to hi,,
but when youre on the way up, theres no explaining too much of anything. People will think what they
want to.

The reason I didnt use musicians a lot of the time had to do with the hours that I worked. I swear to God
its not out of boldness when I say this, but theres not a person around who can stay awake as long as I
can. Music is what keeps me awake. There will be times when Ive been working in the studio for twenty
hours and Ill be falling asleep in the chair, but Ill still be able to tell the engineer what cut I want to make.
I use engineers in shifts a lot of the time because when I start something, I like to go all the way through.
There are very few musicians who will stay awake that long.

Do you feel others recognize how hard you work?

Well, no. A lot of my peers make remarks about us doing silly things onstage and on records. Morris [Day,
former lead singer of the Time] was criticized a lot for that.

What kind of silliness, exactly?

Everything --the music, the dances, the lyrics. What they fail to realize is that is exactly what we want to
do. Its no silliness, its sickness. Sickness I just slang for doing things somebody else wouldnt do. If we
are down on the floor doing a step, thats something somebody else wouldnt do. Thats what Im looking
for all the time. We dont look for whether somethings cool or not, thats not what time it is. Its not just
wanting to be out. Its just if I do something that I think belongs to someone else or sounds like someone
else, I do something else.

Why did Morris say such negative things about you after he left the band?
People who leave usually do so out of a need to express something they cant do here. Its really that
simple. Morris, for example, always wanted to be a solo act, period. But when youre broke and selling
shoes someplace, you dont think about asking such a thing. Now, I think Morris is trying to create his own
identity. One of the ways of doing that is trying to pretend that you dont have a past.

Jesse [Johnson, former guitarist for the Time] is the only one who went away who told what happened,
what really went down with the band. He said there was friction, because he was in a situation that didnt
quite suit him. Jesse wanted to be in front all the time. And I just dont think God puts everybody in that
particular bag. And sometimes I was blunt enough to say that to people: "I dont think you should be in the
frontman. I think Morris should."

Wendy, for example, says, "I dont want that. I want to be right where I am. I can be strongest to this band
right where I am." I personally love this band more than any other group Ive every played with for that
reason. Everybody knows what they have to do. I know theres something I have to do.

What sound do you get from different members of the Revolution?

Bobby Z was the first one to join. Hes my best friend. Though hes not such a spectacular drummer, he
watches me like no other drummer would. Sometimes, a real great drummer, like Morris, will be more
concerned with the lick he is doing as opposed to how I am going to break it down.

27
Mark Browns just the best bass player I know, period. I wouldnt have anybody else. If he didnt play with
me, Id eliminate bass from my music. Same goes for Matt [Fink, the keyboard player]. Hes more or less a
technician. He can read and write like a whiz, and is one of the fastest in the world. And Wendy makes me
seem all right in the eyes of people Watching.

How so?
She keeps a smile on her face. When I sneer, she smiles. Its not premeditated, she just does it. Its a good
contrast. Lisa is like my sister. Shell play what the average person wont. Shell press two notes with one
finger so the chord is a lot larger, things like that. Shes more abstract. Shes into Joni Mitchell, too.

What about the other bands? Apollonia, Vanity, Mazarati, the Family? What are you trying to
express through them?
A lot has to do with them. They come to me with an idea, and I try to bring that forth. I dont give them
anything. I dont say, "Okay, youre going to do this, and youre going to do that." I mean, it was Morris
idea to be as sick as he was. That was his personality. We both like Don King and get a lot of stuff off him.

Why?
Because hes outrageous and thinks everythings so exciting --even when it isnt.

People think you control those bands, that its similar to Rick James relationship with the Mary
Jane Girls. A lot of people think hes turning all the knobs.
I dont know their situation. But you look at Sheila E. performing, and you can just tell shes holding her
own. The same goes for the Family. You and I were playing Ping-Pong, and they were doing just fine.

After all these years, does the music give you as much of a rush as it used to?
I increases more and more. One of my friends worries that Ill short-circuit. We always say Ill make the
final fade on a song one time and[Laughs, dropping his head in a dead slump]. It just gets more and more
interesting every day. More than anything else, I try not to repeat myself. Its the hardest thing in the world
to do --theres only so many notes one human being can muster. I write a lot more than people think I do,
and I try not to copy that.

I think thats the problem with the music industry today. When a person does get a hit, they try to do it
again the same way. I dont think Ive ever done that. I write all the time and cut all the time. I want to
show you the archives, where all my old stuff is. Theres tons of music Ive recorded there. I have the
follow-up album to 1999. I could put it all together and play it for you, and you would go "Yeah!" And I
could put it out, and it would probably sell what 1999 did. But I always try to do something different and
conquer new ground.

In peoples minds, it all boils down to "Is Prince getting too big for his breeches?" I wish people would
understand that I always though I was bad. I wouldnt have got into the business if I didnt think I was bad.

28
 THE PRINCE INTERVIEW
Mr. Purple Discusses His Movies, His Music, His Musicians And More, More, More.

Interviewed by Michael Shore

Rock & Soul, April 1986

Prince's next feature film, Under the Cherry Moon -- and the much-anticipated followup to his smash
debut, Purple Rain -- should be out in theaters in three or four months. It's even more eagerly awaited
because it's also Prince's feature-film directing debut.

Originally, the film was to be directed by Mary Lambert, a premier music-video director who has overseen
Madonna's "Borderline" and "Material Girl," Sheila E.'s "The Glamorous Life," and the Go-Go's "Yes Or
No." But in mid-September, about a month or so into the movie's two-month shooting schedule, Lambert
abruptly walked off the set and handed the directing reins to His Royal Badness.

Lambert issued a statement which read, in part, "I'm leaving under totally amicable circumstances. It's just
become quite apparent that Prince has such a strong vision of what this movie should be, a vision that
extends to so many areas of the film, that it makes no sense for me to stand between him and the film
anymore. So I'm going off to work on my own feature and letting him finish his."

Lambert's was not the first departure from the set of Under the Cherry Moon. Just days into filming,
veteran British actor Terrance Stamp walked off the set, allegedly due to "scheduling conflicts," which may
or may not be public relations' diplomacy. In any case, Stamp was replaced in short order by Steven
Berkoff, who played the heavies in both Beverly Hills Cop and Rambo. He'll be seen as the father of
Prince's love interest in the film.

Under the Cherry Moon is a love story, set in the 1940s and shot in black and white. Word from the set has
it that the plot is more or less spelled out in the lyrics to "Condition of the Heart" on Around the World in a
Day, which appears to be about a musician falling in love with a woman too rich and worldly for his own
lifestyle.

In Under the Cherry Moon, Prince's love interest is a rich girl named Mary Sharon who, according to one
cast member, "wears miniskirts and pigtails." Prince plays Christopher, a piano player in a casino-style
lounge in a place similar to the French Riviera, where the film was shot. One unconfirmed story was that
Prince wanted to shoot some scenes in Monte Carlo but Prince Rainier wouldn't grant permission. Guess he
felt one prince on the premises was enough.

While the plot may come from a Prince song, don't expect much Prince music in Under the Cherry Moon.
Another unidentified crew member says the Revolution was on the set only to shoot the video for
"America," that there's no band music in the film at all, and that the only Prince music in the film is His
Royal Badness at the acoustic piano. So there may or may not be soundtrack album. Another crew member
confirmed, though, that there is one actual "song," and it's called something like "Snowing in July." You'll
recall that when Prince announced he would stop touring late in the Purple Rain tour, one of his cryptic
reasons was, "Sometimes it snows in July."

The rest of the cast includes little-known British actress Kristen Scott-Thomas as Mary Sharon; Jerome
Benton, Morris Day's former valet in the Time and now a member of the Family, as Prince's "partner";
veteran British actress Francesca Annis as an older woman with whom Prince's character reportedly has an
affair; and Victor Spinetti, whose career as a supporting player in rock movies goes all the way back to the
Beatles' A Hard Day's Night and Help!

29
So what'll the movie be like? Your guess is as good as ours or anyone else's at this point. But consider
another hot report from one crew member. In order to complete the film on time after he took over from
Lambert, Prince shot the remaining scenes in one take.

Maybe that's a good sign. After all, His Royal Badness did all right making records by himself for a long
time, and surprised a lot of supposed experts with the success of Purple Rain. Somehow, it's hard to believe
Prince is finished surprising us.

Late in 1985, Prince broke his self-imposed silence and spoke to the public for the first time in almost four
years. First came an interview for Rolling Stone magazine. Later came an interview for MTV. Prince's
agreement to be interviewed took MTV so suddenly that the staff at the cable network were unable to
arrange to conduct the interview in person. Consequently, the Music News staff resorted to simply
providing a list of questions to be read to Prince by his manager and answered by Prince on videotape.
MTV elected to broadcast only parts of the interview. The full interview was then offered to other
broadcasters.

The videotaped interview was conducted in France, where Prince was shooting his forthcoming motion
picture, Under the Cherry Moon. He first took a break to film the video for America, the third single from
the Around the World in a Day LP, before 2,000 kids at the Theatre de la Verdure (translation: Greenery
Theatre), which is a huge tent on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice. Once the video shoot was completed,
Prince & the Revolution treated the audience to a 90-minute concert. Afterwards, Prince sat with a few of
the young people in attendance and answered the questions prepared by the MTV Music News staff. It
marked the first time in his career that Prince had said more than two sentences on TV. Unfortunately, in
many cases, he didn't answer the questions posed, as you'll see. Although Prince is very good at many
things, his inexperience with interviews shows greatly.

The first and most obvious question is, why have you decided to drop your media guard with the
recent Rolling Stone interview and this one for MTV? And why were you so secretive prior to this?

Well, as you can see, I've made a lot of friends here, but I was homesick and I missed America. I guess I
just wanted to talk to somebody.

A lot of observers have remarked on your apparent need for control, and only with your two most
recent albums, you gave credit to your band for composing, arranging and performing. It seems to
us, from what we know of your personal background, that the need for control arose from your
childhood and early teen years when you had a total lack of control over your life and were shuttled
from home to home. Is this the case? If not, how does the need for control and/or your current, more
open stance relate to your music?

I was horrible. To be perfectly honest, I was surrounded by my friends, but nevertheless, we had a
difference of opinion in a lot of situations -- musically speaking, that is. A lot had to do with me not being
quite sure exactly which direction I wanted to go in. Later on toward the Controversy period, I got a better
grip on that. That's when we started to see more and more people participating in recording activities.
Boom.

Someone in Minneapolis recently told us that several months ago they were in a studio there when
David Rifkin, your sound engineer, walked in. They asked him what he thought of the new Prince
album, Around The World In A Day. He said, "It's great, but wait 'til you hear the new album."
Apparently, he meant you're already working on a new LP, and that this one would be a strong
return to your funk roots. Is this true? Can you elaborate? What will it be called? When will it be
due out, and what's the music like?

30
Don't you like surprises? Guess not. Ah, it is true I record very fast. It goes even quicker now that the girls
help me -- the girls, meaning Wendy and Lisa. I don't really think I left my funk roots anywhere along the
line. Around The World In A Day is a funky album. Live it's even funkier.

Why did you make the announcement that there'd be no singles or videos from that LP, and then
start issuing singles and making videos anyway?

Because I wanted this album to be listened to, judged, critiqued as a whole. It's hard to take a trip and go
around the block, and stop when the trip is 400 miles. Dig?

Speaking of singles and videos, your latest is "America." This is one of the most political songs you've
ever done. Could you tell us what the song is supposed to say to people? For example, is it
straightforwardly patriotic or more complicated than that?

Straightforwardly patriotic.

We understand you directed the "America" video, and that you also directed "Raspberry Beret."
How do you approach directing a video? Do you consult others in order to keep a certain perspective
when directing yourself?

Yes, definitely. When directing myself, I consult Steve (Fargnoli), my manager. On directing other Paisley
Park artists, I consult the artists first and foremost. One of the things I try to do with the things I direct --
namely for our acts -- is go for the different, the out-of-the-norm, the avant purple, so to speak. And the
thing that's unique about the situation I'm in now with these people is that they all know who they are, and
they agree with me when we say the one thing we produce is the alternative. If someone wants to go along
for that ride, then cool.

Would you ever like to direct your own movie?

Yes, (very enthusiastically) yes, yes.

Speaking of movies, tell us as much as you can about Under The Cherry Moon.

Ooooh.

What's the plot, what kind of characters, what kind of music, how many songs, what can we expect?

It's a French film. It's a black-and-white French film, and ah, she's in it (girlish giggles can be heard). And
her name's Emanuelle.

A lot of people were offended by what they saw as sexism in Purple Rain.

Now, wait, wait. I didn't write Purple Rain. Someone else did. And it was a story, a fictional story, and
should be perceived that way. Violence is something that happens in everyday life, and we were only
telling a story. I wish it was looked at that way, because I don't think anything we did was unnecessary.
Sometimes, for the sake of humor, we may've gone overboard. And if that was the case, then I'm sorry, but
it was not the intention.

When and how did you first get the idea for Purple Rain? Did you really spend a year or so taking
notes in a purple notebook, like some people have said?

Yes.

31
Did you ever think Purple Rain, the movie and the album, would be as big as they were?

See this cuff link? Give a brother a break. I don't know.

Speaking of brothers, some have criticized you for selling out to the white rock audience with Purple
Rain, and leaving your black listeners behind. How do you respond to that?

Oh, come on, come on! Okay, let's be frank. Can we be frank? If we can't do nothing else, we might as well
be frank. Seriously, I was brought up in a black-and-white world and, yes, black and white, night and day,
rich and poor. I listened to all kinds of music when I was young, and when I was younger, I always said
that one day I would play all kinds of music and not be judged for the color of my skin but the quality of
my work, and hopefully I will continue. There are a lot of people out there that understand this, 'cause they
support me and my habits, and I support them and theirs.

How do you feel about Jesse Johnson leaving the Time? Have you heard his album, and if so, what do
you think of it?

Jesse and Morris and Jerome and Jimmy and Terry had the makings of one of the greatest R&B bands in
history. I could be a little pretentious in saying that, but it's truly the way I feel. There's no one that could
wreck a house like they could. I was a bit troubled by their demise, but like I said before, it's important that
one's happy first and foremost. And, as far as Jesse's record goes, chocolate. You know.

It was obvious from the Purple Rain tour that, with the extended jams on some of these songs, you
were paying tribute to James Brown. Would you agree? Who, besides James Brown, were your
major musical inspirations and influences? Obviously you were thinking of Hendrix, Clinton and Sly
Stone.

James Brown played a big influence in my style. When I was about 10 years old, my stepdad put me on
stage with him, and I danced a little bit until the bodyguard took me off. The reason I liked James Brown so
much is that, on my way out, I saw some of the finest dancing girls I ever seen in my life. And I think, in
that respect, he influenced me by his control over his group. Another big influence was Joni Mitchell. She
taught me a lot about color and sound, and to her, I'm very grateful.

In your Rolling Stone interview, you said you were surprised by so many people comparing you to
Hendrix because you've always been more into Santana than Hendrix as a guitarist.

A lot has to do with the color of my skin, and that's not where it's at. It really isn't. Hendrix is very good.
Fact. There will never be another one like him, and it would be a pity to try. I strive for originality in my
work, and hopefully, it'll be perceived that way.

Your father is a musician too. Have you ever, or would you ever, try to get your father's music
released on an album?

I did. He co-wrote "Computer Blue," "The Ladder" and several tunes on the new album. He's full of ideas.
It'd be wonderful to put out an album on him, but he's a little bit crazier than I am.

You gave Andre Cymone the song, "Dance Electric," for his new album, and we know that you two
had some kind of falling out a few years back. When and how did you patch things up?

I saw him in a discotheque one night and grabbed him by his shirt and said, [at this point, Prince reenacts
the scene down to the last facial gesture], "Come on, I got this hit. You know I got this hit, don't you?
"Dance Electric"? Yeah, it's great. You need it, you need it. no... Hey, come here, don't you play, hey, no,

32
no, no you're not crazy, I'm crazy. I'm the one that's crazy, K? What chu gonna do? You gonna come by?
For real? You ain't mad or nothing? So what? Yeah tomorrow. Noon. Cool."

We hear rumors that the Revolution may record an album of its own.

I don't know. It'd be too strange. They're very talented people, but they're (motions with his hands like a
spastic hula girl), and together we're (motions with his hands, making them neatly parallel). I'd rather stay
here (parallel), than (spastic).

Can you tell us about Paisley Park?

Paisley Park is an alternative. I'm not saying it's greater or better. It's just something else. It's multicolored,
and it's very fun.

Can you comment on the incident that occurred after the American Music Awards in January 1985?

We had talked to the people that were doing USA for Africa, and they said it was cool that I gave them a
song for the album. It was the best thing for both of us, I think. I'm strongest in a situation where I'm
surrounded by people I know. So it's better that I did the music with my friends than going down and
participating there. I probably would have just clammed up with so many great people in a room. I'm an
admirer of all of the people who participated in that particular outing, and I don't want there to be any hard
feelings. As far as the incident concerning the photographer goes, it's on the flip side of "Pop Life." The
main thing it says is that we're against hungry children, and our record stands tall. There is just as much
hunger back here at home, and we'll do everything we can, but y'all got to understand that a flower that has
water will grow and the man misunderstood will go.

Have you changed your mind about touring since you announced the Purple Rain tour would be
your last?

No. I don't plan on touring for a while. There are so many other things to do.

Now that Purple Rain has made you such a huge superstar, do you worry about the possibility of a
backlash against you?

One thing I'd like to say is that I don't live in a prison. I am not afraid of anything. I haven't built any walls
around myself, and I am just like anyone else. I need love and water, and I'm not afraid of a backlash
because, like I say, there are people who will support my habits as I have supported theirs. I don't really
consider myself a superstar. I live in a small town, and I always will. I can walk around and be me. That's
all I want to be, that's all I ever tried to be. I didn't know what was gonna happen. I'm just trying to do my
best and if somebody dug it then (kiss, kiss to the camera).

What are your religious beliefs?

I believe in God. There is only one God. And I believe in an afterworld> Hopefully we'll all see it. I have
been accused of a lot of things contrary to this, and I just want people to know that I'm very sincere in my
beliefs. I pray every night, and I don't ask for much. I just say, "Thank you" all the time.

33
 A Decade of Incredible Interviews
By Various
Musician, February 1987
PRINCE

Musician: Whats your last name? Is it Prince?

Prince: I dont know.
(Barbara Graustark) #59 Sept. 1983

(Early Associate Chris) Moon said Princes personality changed remarkably over the months, from a shy
introverted kid who could never look anyone in the eye to a budding megalomaniac, full of talent and
purpose who still wouldn't look anyone in the eye.
(Steve Perry) #94 Aug. 1986

Prince Nelson looks down and smiles sheepishly.

"I never give interviews, you know," he says, glancing up, then quickly averting his eyes. "But after Id
read some articles of yours I felt, "Here is someone I can finally confide in."

He leans forward and puts his hand on my knee. This 26 year old manchild certainly exudes an indefinable
charm, a mixture of reticence and pride. His eyeliner is smudged. Then I woke up. Fakeout! You didn't
really expect to see a Prince interview, did you?
(Unused Scott Isler intro) #72 Oct. 1984

Prince: Well, I used to wear leotards and Danskins and stuff, because our stage show is really athletic and I
wanted something comfortable. And my management said, "You have to at least start wearing underwear,
because...." Musician: You weren't wearing any underwear? Prince: No. Kind of gross. So I said, okay and
started wearing underwear.
(B.G.) #59

Prince to Graustark: "I tried 2 or 3 (interviews) and they were fiascoes. They didnt believe anything I was
saying, from my name on down to my background, so I said Im not going to let anything get out in the
public eye that is going to be misquoted. They didnt believe I ran away as much as I did and not at such an
early age. They didnt believe I got out of school early-no black kid in Minneapolis does."
(S.I.) #72

Prince: I dont want people to get the impression that sex is all I write about. Because, its not and the
reason why its so abundant in my writing is mainly because of my age and the things that are around me.
Until you can go to college or get a 9 to 5 job, then there's going to be a bunch of free time around you.
And free time can only be spent in certain ways.
(B.G.) #59

(Engineer David) Leonard elaborates. "Most people in LA will get a band, cut all their tracks one week and
for the next few months do overdubs and vocals. Then theyll sit down for a month and mix the whole
record. Prince does not do things that way. Hell go into the studio with a song in his mind, record it,
overdub it, sing it and mix it all in 1 shot, start to finish. The song never gets off the board. That's the way
'When Doves Cry' was done."
(S. I.) #72

Musician: So what will be first thing you do when you get back to Minneapolis?
Prince: Probably take a bath. I havent one in a long time. Im scared of hotel bathtubs...

34
Musician: Is it easier to work alone rather than others?
Prince: Oh, much easier. I have a communication problem sometimes when Im trying to describe music.
Musician: Were you always a musical loner?
Prince: When I first started, I always had buddies around me. I never wanted to be a front man. It felt
spooky to be at the mike alone. I had a bad habit of just thinking about myself-if I just moved constantly,
then people would think I was comfortable. But that wasnt right....
Musician: I once heard you described as a child prodigy.
Prince: Dont. Thats all fabricated evidence that the management did to make it happen. I dont want to
say that I was anything less than what they thought, but I just did it as sort of a hobby and then it turned
into a job and just a way to eat and now I do it as art.
(B.G.) #59

Hes got a problem with his attitude and it comes across on record. Prince has to find out what it means to
be a Prince. Thats the trouble with conferring a title on yourself before youve proved it. That was his
attitude when he opened for us on the tour and it was insulting to our audience. You dont try to knock off
the headline like that when youre playing Stones crowd.
(Keith Richards to Vic Garbarini) #62 Dec. 1983

Prince is no longer petulant but smiling and winsome with a short haircut and no makeup. He grinned as
the crowd broke into a robust chorus of "Happy Birthday" and responded with a 90 minute jam
session...Between songs, Prince chatted amiably with the audience and begged his father to stop taking
pictures....
(Stephanie Jones) #84 Oct. 1985

Prince Talks, Neal Karlen, Rolling Stone, October 18, 1990

The phone rings at 4:48 in the morning. "Hi, it's Prince", says the wide-awake voice calling from a room
several yards down the hallway of this London hotel. "Did I wake you up?"

Though it's assumed that Prince does in fact sleep, no one on his Summer European Nude Tour can
pinpoint precisely when. Prince seems to relish the aura of night stalker; his vampire hours have been a part
of his mad-genius myth ever since he was waging junior-high-school band battles on Minneapolis's mostly
black North Side.

"Anyone who was around back then knew what was happening," Prince had said two days earlier,
reminiscing. "I was working. When they were sleeping, I was jamming. When they woke up, I had another
groove. I'm as insane that way now as I was back then."

For proof, he'd produced a crinkled dime-store notebook that he carries with him like Linus's blanket.
Empty when his tour started in May, the book is nearly full, with twenty-one new songs scripted in perfect
grammar-school penmanship. He has also been laboring on the road over his movie musical Graffiti
Bridge, which was supposed to be out this past Summer and is now set for release in November.
Overseeing the dubbing and editing of a film by way of dressing-room VCR's and hotel telephones, Prince
said, has given him an idea. "One of these days," he said, "I'm going to work on just one project and take
my time."

Despite his all-hours intensity, the man still has his manners. He wouldn't have called this late, Prince says
apologetically, if he didn't have some interesting news. He'd already provided some news earlier in the
week, detailing, among other things, a late-night crisis of conscience a few years back that led him not only
to shelve the infamous Black Album but also to try and change the way he wrote his songs - and led his
life.

35
The crises didn't involve a leap or a loss of faith, Prince had said, but simply the realization that it was time
to stop acting like such an angry soul. "I was an expert at cutting off people in my life and disappearing
without a glance of back, never to return," he'd said. "Half the things people were writing about me were
true."

But what's never been true, he felt, was what people have written about his music. Until, that is, just this
minute. It seems that tonight a fresh batch of reviews of the soundtrack of Graffiti Bridge were faxed from
Minneapolis to the hotel while Prince was performing one of his fifteen sold-out concerts in England.

What Prince has just read in the New York Times has astounded him. "They're starting to get it," he says
from his phone in the Wellington Suite, which he has turned into a homey workplace with the addition of
some bolts of sheer rainbow-colored cloth, film equipment, a stereo and tacked-up museum-shop posters of
Billie Holiday and Judy Garland. "I don't believe it," he says again, "but they're getting it!"

They, in this case, are members of the rock intelligentsia who have alternately canonized and defrocked
Prince. In the past, he has derided his professional interpreters as "mamma jammas" and "skinny
sidewinders". Two days ago, it became obvious that his epithets, but not his feelings, had tempered
concerning those who would judge him.

"There's nothing a critic can tell me that I can learn from," Prince had said earlier. "If they were musicians,
maybe. But I hate reading about what some guy sitting at a desk thinks about me. You know, "He's back
and he's black, " or "He's back and he's bad." Whew! Now, on Graffiti Bridge, they're saying I'm back and
more traditional. Well, "Thieves In The Temple" and "Tick, Tick, Bang" don't sound like nothing I've ever
done before."

But hadn't he been cheered by the album's almost uniformly rave notices? "That's not what it's about,"
Prince had said. "No one's mentioning the lyrics. Maybe I should have put in a lyric sheet."

Now, in predawn London, he's called to say he was wrong. "They're starting to get it," he says one last
time, unbothered by the fact that the Times article trashes his lyrics. That's okay, he says, because "they're
paying attention." Sounding more amazed than pleased, Prince hangs up the phone and goes back to his
dime-store notebook.

Five years have past since Prince opened the passenger door to his 1966 Thunderbird and took me on a
three-day schlep around the hometown he has never left. When I finally got out, I felt like Melvin Dummar,
the doofus milkman who claimed to have driven through the Nevada desert with a surprisingly human
Howard Hughes. No one had believed Melvin, and no one, I thought, would believe Prince was a being
orbiting so close to planet Earth.

Not that Prince hadn't shown some signs of unease with his still-new superstardom. Alone, he'd been
animated, funny and self-aware. But out in public, even walking into places as hospitable as Minneapolis's
First Avenue club, he would palpably stiffen at the first sign of a gawk, his face set in granite, his voice
reduced to a mumble.

Now Prince seems more open and comfortable, less likely to slip into stridency. "You have a few choices
when you're in that position," he says, remembering the first year after Purple Rain. "You can get all jacked
up on yourself and curse everybody, or you can say 'This is the way life is' and try to enjoy it. I'm still
learning that lesson. I think I'll always be learning that lesson. I think I'm a much nicer person now."

This isn't to say that Prince has turned into Dale Carnegie - he still has the hauteur of a star. But something
has changed; his philosophy no longer seems to hinge on things like the size of one's boot heels. "Cool
means being able to hang with yourself", he says. "All you have to ask yourself is 'Is there anybody I'm
afraid of? Is there anybody who if I walked into a room and saw, I'd get nervous?' If not, then you're cool."

36
Many things, however, have stayed the same. Prince is still very funny. ("You can always renegotiate a
record contract. You just go in and say, 'You know, I think my next project will be a country & western
album.' ")

He can still play the cocky rocker. "I don't go to award shows anymore," he says. "I'm not saying I'm better
than anybody else. But you'll be sitting there at the Grammys, and U2 will beat you. And you say to
yourself, 'Wait a minute. I can play that kind of music, too. I played at La Crosse [Wisconsin] growing up. I
know how to do that, you dig? But you will not do 'Housequake'."

His grasp of history and current events remains quirky. Prince can cite chapter and verse from biographies
of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, but he seems genuinely unaware that his own life story was turned
into a book a couple of years ago by an English rock critic. He knows, blow by blow, the events in the
Mideast, relating the crisis to everything from the predictions of sixteenth-century seer Nostradamus to the
drug-interdiction policy of George Bush. But he hasn't yet heard of 2 Live Crew.

There is still some residue of emotional pain. "What if everybody around me split?" he asks. "Then I'd be
left with only me, and I'd have to fend for me. That's why I have to protect me."

Prince's detractors might diagnose these words as the classic pathology of a control freak. His high-minded
supporters might say those are normal protective feelings for somebody who was kicked onto the streets by
his beloved father at age fourteen. Prince himself, however, echoes Popeye more than Freud as he analyzes
just who he is. "I am what I am," he says. "I feel if I can please myself musically, I can please others, too."

Finally, there's one more philosophy unchanged with the years. "I play music," Prince has said. "I make
records. I make movies. I don't do interviews."

So, what are we doing? "We're just talking," he says. Hence, his decision not to be taped or allow notes to
be taken or even a pad of questions to be brought out. That would inhibit him, he says; that would mean
doing the thing that he just doesn't do.

No, Prince vows, he isn't trying to be a purposeful pain. What he says he simply wants to avoid is "that big
Q followed by that big A, followed by line after line of me either defending myself or cleaning up stories
that people have told about me."

No matter what he might say in a traditional interview, Prince continues, he'd only end up looking
ridiculous. "Some magazines a little while ago promised me their cover if I answered five written
questions," he says. "The first one was 'What are your exact beliefs about God?' Now how can I answer that
without sounding like a fool?"

True. But isn't he afraid of being misquoted? No, he says softly, staring at the holstered tape recorder on the
table before him. When Prince says no, with pursed lips and a slight shake of the head, it carries a certain
finality.

Still, in the coming days he addresses just about everything short of Kim Basinger ("I really don't know her
that well") or anybody else he's dating ("I never publicize that. My friends around town are surprised when
I introduce them to someone I'm seeing").

"And you really wouldn't feel better having your words taken down the second you say them?"
"No."
Okay.

A couple of nights later, Prince is dealing with the painstaking minutiae of piecing together his almost-
finished movie. "People are going, 'Oh, this is Prince's big gamble,' " he says, sitting on the floor of his

37
London hotel room, fast forwarding a video version of his most recent cut. "What gamble? I made a $7
million movie with somebody else's money, and I'm sitting here finishing it."

Prince stops the tape at the point when gospel queen Mavis Staples is leaning out of a window in
Minneapolis's Seven Corners, waxing wise on the night action on the street. The movie appears to be set in
the 1950s, when Seven Corners was a Midwestern hotbed of clubs and hipsters. The Seven Corners set,
raised on the Paisley Park sound stage, resembles the kind of back-drop used in Gene Kelly musicals.
"Yeah, cheap!" says Prince with a laugh. "Actually, that's okay. It's like how we did Dirty Mind. But man,
what I could do with a $25 million budget. I'll need a big success to get that, but I'll get it, I will get it."

Film-speak is now part of his vocabulary; the first director Prince mentions he admires is Woody Allen,
"because I like anyone who gets final cut." Movies have also worked their way into his philosophical
references. "If you're making your movies in life because of money or pride," he says, "then you'll end up
like that dude who got beat up on the grass at the end of Wall Street. He'd been wheeling and dealing, then
oomph! That's what time it was!"

He's been studying, he says, and learning from his own film failures. "I don't regret anything about Under
The Cherry Moon," he says. "I learned that I can't direct what I didn't write." Participating in Batman,
meantime, allowed him to spy on the making of a megaton hit. Composing songs on locations, Prince
mostly stayed on the sidelines and just watched. "There was so much pressure on [director] Tim [Burton],"
he says, "that for the whole picture, I just said, 'Yes, Mr. Burton, what would you like?' "

Burton had hired him on the recommendation of Jack Nicholson, a longtime Prince fan. Prince, who'd
never met Nicholson before, found the inspiration for "Partyman" when he first saw the actor on the set.
"He just walked over, sat down and put his foot up on a table, real cool", Prince says. "He had this attitude
that reminded me of Morris [Day] - and there was that song."

Prince says he'll survive if Graffiti Bridge is less than a blockbuster. "I can't please everybody," he says. "I
didn't want to make Die Hard 4. But I'm also not looking to be Francis Ford Coppola. I see this movie more
like those 1950s rock & roll movies."

Unfortunately, rumors have swirled for months that a better comparison might be the 1959 howler Plan 9
From Outer Space. "I don't mind," says Prince. "Some might not get it. But people also said Purple Rain
was unreleasable. And now I drive to work each morning to my own big studio."

Originally, Graffiti Bridge was going to be a vehicle for the reborn Time, with Prince staying behind the
camera. But Warner Bros. wouldn't go for it, so Prince wrote himself into a new movie. Later, visitors to
Paisley Park saw a version of a script that was allegedly obtuse to the point of near gibberish. "That was
just a real rough thirty-page treatment I wrote with Kim, "Prince says. "Graffiti Bridge is an entirely
different movie."

As in Purple Rain, the plot features Prince as a musician named the Kid. Willed half-ownership of a Seven
Corners club named Glam Slam, the Kid must share control with Morris Day, once again playing a comic
satyr combining Superfly smoothness and Buddy Love sincerity. It's a fight of good versus evil, and band
versus band, for the soul of Glam Slam.

Then there's the unknown Ingrid Chavez, Prince's first female movie lead who doesn't look like she was
ordered out of a catalog. Throw in the talents of Staples, the reborn Time, George Clinton and the thirteen-
year-old Quincy Jones protg Tevin Campbell, and you've got, Prince says, "a different kind of movie. It's
not violent. Nobody gets laid."

It's impossible to judge Graffiti Bridge from just a few selected scenes. Still, they were very good scenes.
Prince fast-forwards to a sequence in which Day tries to seduce Chavez on the fairy-tale-looking Graffiti
Bridge.

38
When Prince is amused, which is almost every time Morris Day comes on the screen, he slaps his hands,
shakes his head and throws himself back in his seat. "I hope Morris steals this movie," he says, recalling the
charge made after Purple Rain. "The man still thinks he can whup me!"

Prince pushes rewind, searching for a scene with the Time. Waiting, he reminisces about the old days,
when he oversaw the band. For a tutorial on the proper onstage attitude, Prince remembers, he showed the
Time videos of Muhammad Ali trouncing, and then taunting, the old champ Sonny Liston. "To this day,"
he says, "they're the only band I've ever been afraid of."

At first it seems strange to hear Prince talking in such fond and nostalgic terms about Day and the band.
Day left the Minneapolis fold right after Purple Rain, with some nasty words about the boss's supposedly
dictatorial ways. Now, Prince says, "I honestly don't remember how we got it together again."

Day's old charge of overbossing, however, bring a quicker and crosser memory. "That whole thing came
from my early days, when I was working with a lot of people who weren't exactly designed for their jobs,"
Prince says. "I had to do a lot, and I had to have control, because a lot of them didn't know exactly what
was needed."

The most often-told tale involves Prince firing the then-unknown Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis from the
Time in 1982. Jam and Lewis, all parties now agree, left a Time tour on a day off to produce their first
record for the SOS Band. A freak snowstorm in Atlanta grounded them for an extra day and the two missed
a gig. When Jam and Lewis returned, they were summarily fired. Jobless, the two missed Purple Rain, so
they set up as producers and went scrounging for clients. In the years since, they've produced everyone
from Janet Jackson to Herb Albert, becoming the other superpower on the Minneapolis music scene.

"I'm playing the bad guy," Prince says, "but I didn't fire Jimmy and Terry. Morris asked me what I would
do in his situation. You got to remember it was his band."

Despite the rap, Prince says, he harbors no ill will towards the now-famous producers working across town
from Paisley Park at their Flyte Tyme studios. "We're friends," he says. "We know each other like brothers.
Jimmy always gave me a lot of credit for getting things going in Minneapolis, and I'm hip to that. Terry's
more aloof, but I know that." And their music? "Terry and Jimmy really aren't into the Minneapolis sound,"
Prince says. "They're into making every single one of their records a hit. Not that there's nothing wrong
with that, we're just different."

With this, Prince cues up the Graffiti Bridge movie sequence in which the Time performs "Shake!" The
scene looks like something Busby Berkeley would have cooked up if he had choreographed funk.

The Time, Prince says, is proof of the good that can come from a group dissolving and eventually coming
back together. "They broke up because they'd run out of ideas," he says. "They went off and did their own
thing, and now they're terrifying."

Prince says this formula was just what he had in mind when, in short order, he broke up the Revolution. "I
felt we all needed to grow," he says. "We all needed to play a wide range of music with different types of
people. Then we could all come back eight times as strong."

"No band can do everything," he continues. "For instance, this band I'm now with is funky. With them, I
can drag out "Baby I'm A Star" all night! I just keep switching gears on them, and something else funky
will happen. I couldn't do that with the Revolution. They were a different kind of funky, more electronic
and cold. The Revolution could tear up "Darling Nikki", which was the coldest song ever written. But I
wouldn't even think about playing that song with this band."

39
The breakup of the Revolution apparently didn't go down easy. Today, Prince's relationship with his
onetime best friends Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman is somewhere between uncomfortable and
estranged. "I talk to Wendy and Lisa, but it's like this," Prince says, moving his hands in opposite
directions. "I still hear a lot of hurt from them, and that bothers me. When I knew them, they were two
spunky, wonderful human beings. I honestly don't know what they're hurt about."

So far, Prince says, the two women haven't listened to the few tidbits of advice he has offered. For their
first video, Prince recommended that they try to announce themselves by making a splash, by "doing
something like jumping off a speaker with smoke pouring out everywhere. Something." When he saw the
video, however, Wendy was sitting in a chair, playing her guitar. "You can't do that when you're just
getting established - kids watching MTV see that and they go click," Prince says, miming a channel being
changed. "They'd rather watch a commercial."

Still, Prince's pronouncements seem proffered more mourning than in malice. "Wendy and Lisa are going
to have to do some more serious soul-searching and decide what they want to write about," he says sadly
and shakes his head. "I don't know what Wendy and Lisa are so hurt about. I wish I did, but I don't".

It's a broiling Summer afternoon in Nice, France, and Prince is performing before an almost completely
empty soccer stadium. It's a sound check, and Prince and his band have been going for over an hour,
segueing from John Lee Hooker's "I'm In The Mood" to the freeform jamming in "Respect".

After the check, Prince retreats to the bowels of the stadium to wait for the night. Camped out in his
dressing room under a gaucho hat, Prince plugs in a tape bearing some early versions of songs he's written
on tour. Prince says the first song, called "Schoolyard", is an inner-city Summer Of '42 that tells the story
of a fumbling sixteen-year-old-by trying to seduce a girl to the strains of a Tower of Power album. "I think
that's something everybody can relate to," he says.

Still, that probably wouldn't prevent the song from getting a parental-warning sticker. "I don't mind that,"
Prince says. "I think parents have a right to know what their children are listening to."

At first it seems an unlikely sentiment coming from the man who once wrote about the onanistic doings of
a woman sitting with a magazine in a hotel lobby. But Prince hasn't turned into a bluenose, he insists - he's
just changed his outlook on how to present his still eros-heavy creations.

The change, he says, came soon after he finished the Black Album, in 1987. The reason the album was
pulled from release had nothing to do with the record-company pressure, he insists, or with the quality of
the songs. Rather, Prince says, he aborted the project because of one particular dark night of the soul "when
a lot of things happened all in a few hours." He won't get specific, saying only that he saw the word God.
"And when I talk about God, " he says, "I don't mean some dude in a cape and a beard coming down to
Earth. To me, He's in everything if you look at it that way."

"I was very angry a lot of the time back then" he continues, "and that was reflected in that album". I
suddenly realized that we can die at any moment, and we'd be judged by the last thing we left behind. I
didn't want that angry, bitter thing to be the last thing. I learned from that album, but I don't want to go
back."

By the time of the album Lovesexy, Prince says, he was a certifiably nicer human being - and a happier
creator. "I feel good most of the time, and I like to express that by writing from joy," he says. "I still do
write from anger sometimes, like in "Thieves In The Temple". But I don't like to. It's not a place to live.

He's been angling for a different effect on each album he has made in the last few years. "What people were
saying about Sign O' The Times was 'There are some great songs on it, and there are some experiments on
it." I hate the word experiment - it sounds like something you didn't finish. Well, they have to understand
that's the way to have a double record and make it interesting."

40
Lovesexy, Prince says, was "a mind trip, like a psychedelic movie. Either you went with it and had a mind-
blowing experience or you didn't. All that album cover was, was a picture. If you looked at that picture and
some ill come out of your mouth, than that's what you are - it's looking right back at you in the mirror."

The Graffiti Bridge soundtrack, a couple cuts of which have been floating around for a few years, "is just a
whole bunch of songs," he says. "Nobody does any experiments or anything like that. But I still want to
know how it stands up to the other albums. I'm always going forward, always trying to surprise myself. It's
not about hits. I knew how to make hits by my second album."

Not that Prince is above appreciating a good old Number One with a bullet - especially when he wrote it. "I
love, it's great!" he claims when asked about Sinad O'Connor's version of "Nothing Compares 2 U", which
Prince wrote in 1985 for the Paisley Park act The Family. Is he sorry that he didn't get to sing the song
before O'Connor? "Nah," Prince says. "I look for cosmic meaning in everything, I think we just took the
song as far as we could, then someone else was supposed to come along and pick it up."

While being so productive on his own, Prince has also found time to produce such disparate talents as
Mavis Staples, George Clinton and Bonnie Raitt. "The best thing about producing is that there are so many
really talented people out there who just never got that push over the top," he says. "Without that push, they
just get lost."

Raitt was perhaps his most talked-about reclamation project. "Oh, those sessions were kicking!" Prince
says. But nothing was ever released - a fact which Prince takes the blame for. "There was no particular
reason it didn't come out," he says. "I was just working on a lot of things at the same time, and I didn't give
myself enough time to work with her. I used to do that a lot - start five different projects and only get a
couple done. That's the biggest thing I'm working on: patience and planning."

What Prince listens to on his own time is a grab bag. He likes rap, he's recently signed rappers T.C. Ellis
and Robin Power to record on his Paisley Park label but denies that he'll be producing songs for M.C.
Hammer. "I like his stuff a lot," Prince says. "We've talked but not about working together." He also gives
highly favorable mentions to the likes of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Patti LaBelle and Bette Midler. "I'm
not real into Bruce Springsteen's music," he says, "but I have a lot of respect for his talent."

Prince and Springsteen occasionally exchange notes; in recalling a Springsteen concert he saw from
backstage a few years back, Prince displays the respect of a general reviewing another man's army. "I
admire the way he holds his audience - there's one man who's fans I could never take away," he says with a
laugh. And how does he compare their stage tactics? "I'm not sure," says Prince. "But at one point, his band
started going off somewhere. Springsteen turned around and shot the band one terrifying look. You know
they got right back on it!"

For his own enjoyment, however, Prince usually relies on himself. "I like a lot of people's music, and I'm
interested in what's going on," he says, "but I don't listen to them. When I'm getting ready to go out or
driving in the car, I listen to my own stuff. Never the old stuff. That's the way it's always been."

Prince walks back over to the stereo and plays with the cassette of his latest creations until he finds a
number featuring Rosie Gaines, his band's unknown keyboardist and vocalist, who may be the next big star
to come out of Prince's camp. "Terrifying," says Prince, shaking his head, "simply terrifying."

It's another sweltering afternoon in another soccer stadium, this time in Lucerne, Switzerland. It's as tame
as a church picnic in the dressing rooms; drugs have long been a firing offense, and even cigarettes have
been forbidden from the entire area.

Killing time in the hallway, the members of Prince's band seem more like the kind of winning, good-
natured characters in a script for the television show Fame than jaded road warriors. Gaines is doing her

41
imitation of Daisy Duck as a soul sister. "Be quiet, boyfriend!" she quacks. "What's happening, baby?" goes
a squawk directed at fellow keyboardist Matt "Doctor" Fink.

Fink, the only member of the Revolution still playing with Prince, has just read in USA Today of a 2 Live
Crew parody made by a group called 2 Live Jews. Sticking on his own estimable Jewish-man voice, Fink
begins rapping: "Oy, it's so humid!" Over in the corner, Michael Bland is poring a purple copy of The
Portable Nietzsche. A corpulent twenty-year-old drummer, Bland is probably the most fearsome-looking
band member. Actually, he's ascholarly innocent who still lives with his parents in Minneapolis and plays
drums in his Pentecostal church. "Nietzsche's cool," Bland says, putting down his book. "But Schopenhauer
- now there's brother with no hope!"

Also lolling in the hall are Miko Weaver, a hunkish guitarist, and Levi Seacer Jr., a thoughtful bass player,
who has been entrusted with speaking to the European press about this roadshow. The Nude Tour is a
greatest-hits production with lean arrangements and non of the Liberace-on-acid costumes and special
affects of the Lovesexy tour.

Prince, hanging out behind a closed door a few feet away from his band, make no apology for the show's
programming. "Kids save a lot of money for a long time to buy tickets, and I like to give them what they
want," he says. "When I was a kid, I didn't want to hear James Brown play something I never heard before.
I wanted to hear him play something I knew, so I could dance."

For now, Prince has no plans to bring his tour to the States. The main reason, he says, is that he wants to get
back to Minneapolis and the studio. Prince also says that Warner Bros. is pouring increasingly large
amounts of cash into Paisley Park Records, which means he must "put in some serious time behind the
desk." It was only a couple of years ago that Prince was rumored to be in financial straits. But Forbes
magazine estimated that in 1989, Prince earned $20 million in pretax profit, and the New York Times
recently reported that his Paisley Park empire was quite solvent. "We're doing okay" is all that Prince will
say.

He has other reasons for wanting to get back home. Prince wants to get rolling on a screenplay he has been
working on with Gilbert Davison, his best friend, his chief adjutant and the owner and proprietor of the
soon-to-open Minneapolis nightclub Glam Slam.

Prince has lent the club his full-endorsement as well as its name, the motorcycle from Purple Rain and
some of his more-historic guitars. "Glam Slam's going to kick ass," Prince says. It'll be one of those joints
that's remembered! I've just always wanted to have a place where I knew I could just show up and my stuff
would be there, so I wouldn't have to jump onstage with equipment meant for Dwight Yoakam."

The point of helping Davison, Prince says, goes far beyond nepotism. "Glam Slam will be another thing to
center Minneapolis in the national eye," he says. "People talk about Minneapolis sound or the Minneapolis
scene, but they don't really know what the place looks like or means. I want it to mean something.

For Prince, the place still mostly just means home. "It feels like music to me there," he says. "You don't feel
prejudice there. I know it exists, but you don't feel it as much. I can just drive around the lakes or go into
stores without bodyguards or just hang out."

Nursing a cold and chewing on Sudafe, Prince excuses himself to rest up for the show. The next time he
appears in the doorway, his intimidating game face is on. The band comes in for a last-minute huddle;
Paisley Park costume designer Helen Hiatt fixes a crucifix necklace big enough to scare off Nosferatu.

"It's raining," Davison says to Prince. "It's raining" is Prince's mumbled reply, accompanied by a thousand-
yard stare. Moments later, an army of damp and screaming Swiss teenagers hear the first beats of "1999".

42
The oldies come, as do some nifty hommages beyond the requisite James Brown footwork. prince sings
"Nothing Compares 2 U" with a Wilson Pickett wail, the song with him crucified on a heart. "Blues", sung
with Rosie Gaines, hearkens to Otis Redding and Carlo Thomas doing "Tramp". "Baby I'm A Star" lasts
twenty-four minutes, and after two encores, Prince is whisked to a backstage BMW that is gone well before
his fans stop screaming for more.

"Oy, it's so humid," raps Dr. Fink.

At four in the morning, flying into their third country in the past twenty-four hours, the band and the entire
entourage of about thirty are sacked out in what looks like the sleep of dead. Everybody's unconscious on
this charter, including one of the flight attendants.

There's movement, however, up in row 1. Prince's headphones head is bopping against the back of his seat,
his arms pounding the armrests. From the back, it looks like a prisoner is being executed in an upholstered
electric chair.

Earlier in the day, Prince had refused to make any predictions about his future. "I don't want to say
anything that can be held against me later," he'd said with a laugh. "Mick Jagger said he hoped he wouldn't
be singing 'Satisfaction' at thirty, and he's still singing it. Pete Townshend wrote, 'Hope I die before I get
old'. Well, now he is old, and I hope he's happy to be around."

And himself? "When I pray to God, I say 'It's your call - when it's time to go, it's time to go'," Prince had
said. "But as long as you're going to leave me here" - he slapped his hands - "then I'm going to cause much
ruckus!"

Now, while his band mates and support staff snooze around him, Prince keeps air-jamming beneath the
glare of his seat's tiny spotlight. Listening to a tape of his own performance that day, Prince stays up all
night, all the way to London.

The Little Prince Grows Up

Interviewed By Robert Sandall
Sunday Times, August 25, 1991

A mile or so down Highway 5 from the Paisley Park studio complex, where Princeand his band New Power
Generation are currently rehearsing the show to be premiered at Blenheim Palace this Saturday, there is a
sign which reads ''Life is too short to be little''.

Who put it there and why are not clear as you drive past, but, like so much else in and around Minneapolis,
it immediately brings to mind the city's most famous son: his protean ambitions, his prodigious work rate,
his tiny size and, last but by no means least, his ineffably cryptic public persona.

For of all the superstars to have emerged from the razzmatazz of rock in the 1980s,Princeis the most
musically respected and the least personally understood. Madonna has just made a movie out of bits of her
private life; Michael Jackson's autobiography, Moonwalker, deals at length with the pets and the
amusement parks which comprise his.

Prince,by contrast, exists only in his work and in our imaginations. The Garbo-esque silence and secrecy
which surround his off-duty self are, in these media-mad times, remarkable. There hasn't been a full Prince
interview since 1983 the year before Purple Rain earned him major league celebrity. ''I play music,'' he
revealed at the time. ''I make records, I make movies. I don't do interviews. ''

43
And he isn't exactly doing one today, either. But he has granted a tour of his $10m recording, film and
rehearsal complex, prior to the release of a new album, Diamonds and Pearls, on September 9; he is
allowing a private viewing of the 90-minute show which will be supporting the album in Europe and
America this autumn. And, before the performance, he is prepared to say hello, or something on a strictly
off the record, no-note-taking-or-tape-recorders-allowed basis, of course.

Whatever Prince's reason for keeping away from journalists may be, shyness doesn't sem to have much to
do with it. As he skips coquettishly on and off the triple-tiered set in Paisley Park's ''sound stage''
aerobically stretching his improbably petite 5ft frame over monitor speakers and casually issuing technical
instructions as he goes Prince looks like a kid in a high-tech sandpit. You would never guess that this
hyperactive sprite in the citrus-yellow chiffon top, high-waisted magenta trousers and tiny, pointy boots
with high heels has just turned 33.

When he shakes hands, he surveys his inevitably taller interlocutor with playfully twinkling eyes and
adopts a slightly fidgety manner which, again recalling a clever child, is both engaging and distracted at the
same time. He talks, though, like a cool dude, laconically, in a voice much lower than the one you usually
hear on record. As often as he can,Princereverts to gesture rolling the big brown eyes, nodding and shaking
his head, smiling slow, wide smiles.

But however he chooses to communicate,Prince doesn't put out much. He likes to say Yes, Uh Huh, or
failing that, No. If he scents criticism as he does when asked about the sparing use of his guitar and the
abrupt inclusion of rap, a genre he has previously disparaged, on the new album he takes polite but swift
umbrage: ''Everybody has the right to change their mind.'' Another favourite tactic is to turn questions back
on the questioner. ''What do you think?,'' he frequently asks.

At all times you are aware that he has at least half an ear on the drum sound-check jack hammering away in
the back no, make that fore ground. The situation, in fact, almost seems calculated to make the would-be
interviewer feel like an irrelevant intruder upon more serious business. The abiding impression is of a
person impatient with the loss of control that having to field inquiries implies.

Which isn't to say that the guy is a rampant egomaniac.

In the current show the individual skills of the band are more prominent than ever before. Reflecting the
eclectic range of theDiamonds and Pearlsalbum which makes up half the set, this is a perfectly arranged
marriage of funky rhythmic teamwork, pop-rock virtuosity and soul-revue showmanship. It isn't just the
efforts of the boss that ensure that versions of repertoire classics such as Kiss and Purple Rain are delivered
here with an unrivalled passion and precision.

Rosie Gaines the most mature female soul-singer he has so far shared vocal duties with gets several
opportunities to take the centre stage alone and performs a thrilling cover version of Aretha Franklin's
Respect. A trio of male dancers cut comical capers on the trampoline and off the high walkway at the back.
And although there are several visual stunts which featurePrince variously sprawled atop a blue baby-grand
piano, or spreadeagled, Christ-like, on a hydraulic moving heart, he has thankfully given up those tedious
and tacky X-rated humping routines. In general, he seems now to be devoting more of his on-stage efforts
to making us listen than, as used to be the case withPrince, frenetically devising things for us to watch. This
show breathes without panting.

The change of emphasis was corroborated by the band-members I spoke to. Locally recruited for the most
part, they are, with the exception of a new bass-player, Sonny Thompson, the same bunch who came here
last year on the Nude tour. He called it that, one of them told me, because of its deliberate lack of visual
frills: '' Prince thought that if this band could cut it without the sauce, they must be good.'' The reportedly
heavy losses sustained by the Lovesexy extravaganza in 1988, of course, never entered the equation. ''
Prince has to do less babysitting with us. In the past he had to work to make up for other people. This is the
band he's always wanted.''

44
Maybe. But not all of them are so keen on him. Another member, who begged to remain anonymous, talked
of tyranny of 18-hour days, of being forced to attend rehearsals while running a fever, of having to survive,
asPrincehimself does, on three hours of sleep a day and of an intense longing for the next tour to be over.
This person has no plans to remain in New Power Generation beyond the present contract and claims to
know of others who have left ''burned out, basically''.

Well, we always knew thatPrincemodelled himself in part upon ''the hardest-working man in
showbusiness'', James Brown, a man with a military instinct for discipline. More surprising, though, was
this disaffected employee's insistence that, contrary to the Paisley Park anti-materialist rhetoric,Princeis
deeply concerned about his record sales. In recent years these have fluctuated wildly: 1989's Batman sold
4m worldwide, but neither Lovesexy (1988) nor Graffiti Bridge (1990) made it into seven figures. None of
the seven albums with which he has flooded the market since 1984 has come close to equalling that year's
15m seller, Purple Rain.

Touring,Prince believes, is a good way of selling albums. It is certainly a more reliable way than through
the cinema as he learned with last year's flop movie Graffiti Bridge and with a previous stiff in 1986, Under
the Cherry Moon. With his first American tour in three years about to begin and the slightest question mark
now surrounding the durability of his mass appeal,Prince's decision to open his doors just a crack to the
media, seems significant. Life, after all, is too short to be little.

Fresh Prince
Interviewed By Scott Poulson-Bryant
Spin, September 1991

As Prince unveils his new album and prepares for his first U.S. tour in three years, Scott Poulson-Bryant
asks, Can he ever regain his crown? A rare interview.

In people's minds, it all boils down to "Is

Prince getting too big for his britches?" I wish
people would understand that I always
thought I was bad. I wouldn't have gotten into
the business if I didn't think I was bad.
Prince, 1985

SPIN: How did you manage to get Prince to

sit down and talk?
ME: I don't really have the answer to that
question. I just sorta showed up at Paisley
Park and, well, we chilled out.

Phase One
There's this guy, see. He's from this
midwestern metropolis that's majority white
and not really known for a whole lot of
musical innovation. He comes out with this
record, For You, full of falsetto vocals and
sexual come-ons, and word is he played all the
instruments himself, wrote all the songs, sang
all the parts, the works. And his name is
Prince. Not his chosen name; his given name.
And he's black. Then another recorda huge
black radio hit. Called "I Wanna Be Your

45
Lover." Lyric: "I wanna be the only one who makes you come . . . running." Then another record: Dirty
Mind. And the brother is decked out in bikini drawers and a raincoat, high-heeled boots, hair a tattered
mess of straightened locks. A screaming-guitar, keyboard-driven half hour fairly dripping with the barely-
20s precum imagination of a brother who might as well be from another planet. Masturbation, incest, and
an early Saturday Night Live appearance, complete with a funk-punk toppling of the mike stand, and a star
is born. Rock critics can't get enoughthought Hendrix died?and hipper listeners settled in for a bumpy
ride across the start of the Republican '80s.
Controversy: some wack political stuff ("Ronnie, Talk to Russia"?) and some necessary questions asked. Is
he black or white? Is he straight or gay? And 1999, an apocalyptic worldview at 23. Aprs a? Le dluge:
Purple Rain, Purple Rain, in which the Kid does his own dang, conjuring up the spirits of masters past and
going crazy, crying like a dove, taking us with him, telling us he's a star. Fifteen million folks worldwide
agreed.

SPIN: So you met the band members first, right?

ME: I got to Paisly Park on a Saturday. Everything was quiet. Driving up, through the wooded terrain of
Chanhassen, Minnesota, you don't expect to find this gleaming metropolis of sound production nestled back
from the road. The outside is a glittering, eye-catching white. I imagine that it might get lost in the snow of
those Minneapolis winters.
It's Saturday, so nobody's really around except for a few engineers chomping away on cookies in the
lounge-kitchen area who let me in. Everything is wood and pastels. Gray, blue, green, pink, and, of course,
purple pastels. The couches in the waiting area, the tables in the dining space. Through here, I go to Studio
B, where Rosie Gaines, keyboardist and vocalist and recent addition to the New Power Generation, Prince's
new band, is behind the spit-polished glass, tapping her feet to the beat of a slammin' demo. Her blond hair,
an amalgam of 'locks and braids and loose strands, is a colorful addition to an already colorful recording
space, dominated by a sprawling mural (circa Graffiti Bridge) depicting Prince-ian signs of symbols of love
and hope and sex and dreams.

Should they punch in a vocal here? Where's the sample in this part? Questions asked in the serene blanket
of recording hums, but none of the frantic hubbub often encountered in a recording studio, particularly
when there's a tour to rehearse for and multiple parts to learn and...

"I sang this melody to Prince, and he immediately wanted a demo put down. So I was up all night, in here
all day, laying down these tracks," Rosie says, smiling. "Prince makes you want to work. You learn. I've
had my own band before, so I know how it can be to get people together to work." We talk about the new
Prince album, on which Rosie's gospelized vocals are prominently featured, and the live dates already done
in L.A., where Prince is now, doing Prince things. "He said you'd be in town," Rosie says.

Oh, well, no meeting with Prince. Guess I'll go to his new club.

Glam Slam is an old warehouse turned into a nightspot by Prince and Gilbert Davison. The crowd mixes
hip hop hippies and tall white women in skin-tight dresses. Eight TV monitors play the Sign o' the Times
concert film, and it occurs to me that the oft-requested concert album is actually a concert film, filled with
the fronts and poses that even a musician of Prince's ability couldn't convey on vinyl. The DJ from L.A.
spins much Prince. I can't remember a time when I danced to "When Doves Cry," "Kiss," "I Wanna Be
Your Lover," and "Alphabet St." all at the same party.

I meet Damon Dickson and Tony M., dancers in the New Power Generation (Tony also raps). Cool guys,
chatting with women, dressed to kill, guys from Prince's 'hood who've waited out their talented time and
joined the crew. Like Rosie, they don't seem to be disciples of Prince, but rather members of a band,
bringing their own funky cogs to a smoothly running machine. Quips Tony, "The New Power Generation is
a band Prince doesn't have to babysit."

I didn't speak to Michael Bland, the new drummer who rehearses eight hours a day with the band then plays
several nights a week with local jazz or blues or rock bands. I didn't have to get quotes from Blandhe

46
speaks through the sticks and kit. His big drum sound says, "My addition to the band is a necessary
addition. The drumming is real, the time changes are real. If one considers the new record to be kind of T.
Rex meets the Ohio Players, my playing might have something to do with that. Whatever. I can play."

Phase Two
So then he comes out with Around the World in a Day. The critic's darling (All of them love you in New
York, he reminded us on 1999), the cinema heir apparent to all those rebels without causes, the pop
craftsman who proudly dangled an uncut heady mix of rock licks, synth-pop, and funk-fusion before the
mass public locker room called popular culturewhat does he do? A "psychedelic" album, the first under
the Paisley Park auspice, and according to most, the beginning of the end.

Prince has shot his load, people seemed to say. Didn't help that there were supposed to be no singles, no
more touring, just this "artistic statement" to end all artistic statements. All the talk obscured the regal
balladry of "Condition of the Heart" and customized brio of "Pop Life." Classics both lost in the mix. Then
a movieUnder the Cherry Moonand a brilliantly wobbly foray into classicism. Parade's orchestrally
arranged strings and horns bumped up against grinders like "Kiss" and "Girls and Boys" and
"Anotherloverholenyohead." More classics lost in the mix.

Mix, did you say? Did anyone hear that mix on BLS the other night? That rap stuff, yeah, the DJ mixed
Run-D.M.C. into L.L. Cool J, then spun right into something else hard-as-hell, taking no shorts, wearing no
heels, perming no hair, not crying like any dove we've ever heard.

Questions asked, "Have you heard the new Prince album?" "Nah, but Raising Hell is dope. That shit is
real." Nubian princes strutting their stuff, out of the ghetto and into many other neighborhoods. This is the
new black music power. No androgyny, all masculine brawn.

Then the masterpiece. Sign o' the Times, another double-album effort, all over the place and in the pocket.
Isn't this man a musician? Five minutes and 34 seconds into "Adore": Listen to the piano arpeggios, the
harpsichord dipping and spinning under the multitracked voice of Prince. But who needs musicianship? We
want beats.

Lovesexy replaces The Black Album as the 1988 release, introduced by "Alphabet St." a perky, danceable
number that doesn't prepare you for the incredibly fluid flotation sensation of "Anna Stesia," a song with
waves of raw emotions you can ride. Then Batman, with "Vicki Waiting," the best Stevie Wonder cut
Stevie never wrote after Hotter Than July. Set free by the movie's utter ridiculousness, Prince's sure-footed
pop craft, fueled by some up-to-the-minute studio cutting and sampling only serves to bring him to the
unfinished funk of Graffiti Bridge. Okay movie, one perfect song ("Joy in Repetition"), and boom, critics
still loved him, but the fans said no go. (This is the Daisy Age, remember.)

Questions that don't get asked. Everyone's always ready to call Prince an heir to the self-styled antics of
Hendrix and Clinton and James Brown and . . . but who stood up to say that Prince's sex and race and faith
debates filtered down through the minds of those hip hop nationals? The '80s belonged to a newfound black
expressionwho were all these black folks, black men, adopting new names, flaunting their difference,
grabbing their thangs, and talking about it? They were the nephews of one Prince Rogers Nelson, whose
work said, "Here I am. I'm religious, I'm spiritual, but I like to fuck." Sexuality is all I'll ever need. Marcia,
I'm not saying this to be nasty, but I sincerely want to fuck the taste out of your mouth. . . . Can you relate?

SPIN: So what was Paisley Park like? Did you meet Prince?
ME: Well it's like this. Paisley Park is different during the day. A group of kids wearing Batman T-shirts
are leaving as I arrive. They might have been recording gospel tracks in one of the studios. I meet Prince's
people in the upstairs office. I go to the wardrobe department and look at Prince's shoes and the
mannequins his clothes are fitted on. There are doves in a cage.

47
I go downstairs to a side-room where Grammys and American Music Awards and gold and platinum
albums line the walls. To the left there is a heavy steel door, leading to what I'm told is the vaultwhere
master tapes are stored. There are rumored to be hundreds of unreleased Prince tracks, including, I'm told,
Prince's version of Madonna's ecstatic "Like a Prayer."

Hmmm. Now let's see, how can I get in there. I don't have TNT, and I sure as hell can't ask for the key. I'm
thinking this as we make our way to the soundstage downstairs.

Thoughts of pillaging Prince's proud paradise of old and new cuts diminish, though, as I enter the rehearsal
studio. There he is, dressed in red from neck to toe, a halter-type vest covering his surprisingly well-built
upper body and skin-tight red pants over red shoes. He's doing a handstand. Prince can walk on his hands.
All right! Directly across from the band's setup, there's a slide projector. And the slide is of LaWanda
PageAunt Esther, Fred's nemesis for the old sitcom Sanford and Son. Hmmm.

Finishing the song"Elephants & Flowers" from Graffiti Bridge, Prince strolls over to me. We're
introduced. And what is my first question to Prince? "Why Aunt Esther?" And what does he do? He laughs
a long laugh and says, "She's our inspiration." Shyly, he almost whispers, "Do you need anything?"

"I haven't heard the new album yet," is my answer, trying not to sound too greedy.

"You'll hear it before you go," he says, and goes back to the band.

They run through the songs: Prince at the piano for a "Nothing Compares 2 U," the Ohio Players "Skin
Tight," a funky, trimmed arrangement of "Alphabet St.," "Partyman" with snippets of "Party Up" chipped
into the chorus. None of these or all of these could end up in the final show. They're just rehearsing,
loosening up to tighten up as a band. The Revolution has left a muscular mark on the live performances of
Prince songs, but this new band, predominantly blacknotablythrives on challenges. As Levi Seacer, Jr.,
bassist-turned-guitarist, and the obvious bandleader when the real leader isn't around, sums it up: "You got
to learn your part. Prince can always come over and play your part."

Rehearsal's over for a few. Prince walks over again. "I'm going to play the album for you."

I look at the publicists. They shrug. Who knew? He doesn't talk to the press, he doesn't do interviews, but
you're in there, go for it.

"Meet me in Studio B," he says.

Damn.

SPIN: So did he talk?

ME: Oh yeah, he talked. With no tape recorder, no pen or pencil or pad, I went into Studio B. Is this the
same place I was in Saturday? There's incense burning, there're candles. Colorful cloths are draped over
lights and the walls. With Prince, you get ambience.

Prince comes in, changed into black pants with a white shirt tied at the waist, carrying a CD. He directs me
to the center seat behind the sleek, knobbed-down console as he puts the CD in. We get lyric sheets and the
adventure begins.

Drums. Big, loud, funky drums announce "Thunder," the first cut, and we're off. The vague middle-eastern
feel of the songAround the World in a Day with a kickin' bass and drumprompts Prince to tell me that
he's writing a ballet for a corps of belly dancers. "I saw the Joffrey Ballet in New York, got interested, and
the dancers asked me to do it," he says, leaning in close, not really talking over the musicwhich is loud
but blending in with it. He has a flat speaking voice that sounds like several voices at one time.

48
I tell him about Rosie recording the demo on Saturday.

"I love her voice. Can you imagine her voice with some kickin' rock track," he says. And I can, because
soon "Daddy Pop" is playing and Rosie's voice is in there, complementing Prince's. "This song is about
people who talk shit." And I can tell by his hooded eyes that he's talking about critics like me.

I recognize "Willing & Able" from the rehearsal earlier that day. "I had a dream that I was playing this on
MTV Unplugged." The free-floating mid-tempo cut would work perfectly acoustic.

"Why don't you?" I ask him.

"I want to. I will."

Most of the songs on Diamonds and Pearls, written with the band, performed and recorded in the studio
with the band, easily lend themselves to acoustic arrangementssmart, economical songs that deserve
close inspection.

I ask him about the drum sound on the record, the most notable change from his earlier work. His answer?

"Everybody else went out and got drum machines and computers, so I threw mine away."

As the album plays, one by one, the band members stroll into the studio. Prince receives the liner notes for
the album, inspects them, and passes them around, even giving them to me to check out. This guy doesn't
come off as a control freak, I'm thinking, this homeboy in heels, telling me jokes about the women who
come to his house when he blasts "Insatiable"the ballad herestripping off their clothes to the beat. Or
when he talks about playing it for Patti LaBelle, stopping it mid-song before the climax, and watching her
get mad. The most telling thing he said here was about the music. "If I was somebody else, writers and
critics would be all up in the way the chords work and the keyboard lines. They just write off my slow
jams."

Now the whole band is in attendance and the album is starting again. "Thunder" gets people moving, as
"Gett Off," the funky first single did a few minutes ago. Soon Prince is spinning around, moving to the
beat, air-playing every instrument on the track, leaning across me to turn the volume up and up and up.

Then, in his office upstairs, equipped with a bed, weights, a desk, couch, chairs, and a massive video
console, Prince plays a Martika video for me. "I can't watch it, too emotional," he says.

The pastels and stained glass give the room a soft, otherworldly feel that is also rich with self-satisfied
achievement.

Just outside the office, afterward, he asks, "Is there anything else you need?" And I shake my head.

I mean, I want to ask him a million more questions. But I don't ask anything else.

This is the beginning of phase three. The hip hoppers have started sampling his stuffthat's paying respect
if ever there was paying respect. And Prince, always accused of being too into his own stuff and not paying
attention to the stuff of the day (as if his day were done) has some rap stuff on his new record. It all evens
out.

They called him pretentious. He was. He is. But no more pretentious than some of the hard-headed new
jacks that spawned during the righteous days of late-'80s "realness," carving out their own quasi-
political/racial/sexual treatises.

49
Prince is pretentious. Prince is bad. Prince, dare I say it, is back.

The Man Who Would Be Prince

Interviewed By Chris Heath
Details, November 1991

Prince. He never writes, he never phones.

After six days of waiting, of standing in the same room as him, of being passed in corridors, of being
blanked at nightclubs, I am getting touchy and I am getting paranoid.

I sit in the Paisley Park boardroom. As usual, I am waiting. In a few minutes, I am told, I can hear Prince's
new LP, Diamonds and Pearls. But I've been told that before and there's always been some problem: busy
studios, incorrectly sequenced CDs, missing CD players. So I wait, not expecting anything to happen, and
spend some of Prince's royalties phoning up friends in London. As I chat, one of the other phone lines
flashes, but I ignore it. A few seconds later, in strides Gilbert. Gilbert used to be Prince's bodyguard; he is
now president of Paisley Park Enterprises and Prince's closest confidant. I look guilty. I think he is going to
tell me off for using the phone.

He gestures toward the flashing light. He looks surprised by what he is about to say.

"That's Prince. For you."

Six days. Forever breathing the same air but ignoring each other, I out of etiquette and he out of . . . well,
those are the sort of things I'm here to find out. I've come halfway around the world and we're going to talk.
. . on the phone.

"Hello, Chris. This is Prince."

He says he just wants "to say hello." Still, I am talking-to him. It's the first time we've spoken since Prince
seemed to finger me as a disciple three years ago, after I had given Lovesexy one of its few positive
reviews. (Apparently, he had appreciated my interpreting his nude cover pose as a spiritual statement.) In
Paris, on the opening night of the Lovesexy tour, Prince and I were introduced. He stood and grasped my
hand for an unusually long period of time and said, quietly, with a smile, "You understand." There was no
irony; this was some form of induction. By way of a reply, I simply mumbled, "I hope so."

Drifting in and out of Prince's world over the next few years, visiting Paisley Park and talking to those
around him, I began to see that understanding is only the first obstacle. The destination that Prince has in
mind for his disciples is belief-unconditional, devotional, and just slightly kooky. As a journalist, I was
never going to qualify. Besides, living so deep inside Prince's head didn't seem a good prescription for
anyone's mental health.

Like his records, like his stage shows, Prince's Paisley Park headquarters is a monument to this system of
beliefs. It's a strange place, even to visit. Something in the water, as Prince once so memorably put it, does
not compute. It's not anything physical, not the two doves in their cage or the purple galaxy painted on the
boardroom ceiling or the obsessive cleanliness. It's something more intangible, and you see it in the faces of
the people who work there. They're like students taking a long, perplexing exam, trying to work out what
the question means before they can start writing. And the question is this: What does Prince want? "Ask
him!" you want to shout. But there are few, if any, people here who can ask him a straight question or
demand a straight answer. There was a tabloid story once that claimed Prince fired employees because they

50
weren't telepathically responsive. It wasn't true, but they were onto something. There's a lot of second
guessing going on-a lot of people who believe but are still muddling through the messy, day to-day
business of understanding.

The last time I was here was the summer of 1990, just before the release of the Graffiti Bridge movie and
album. Things then had seemed a little fractured, and those around Prince didn't always contribute the most
flattering portraits. He was a genius, yes, but one who had exiled himself from all but his own brand of
reality-and, by extension, from all but his most devout followers. There was, of course, no testimony from
Prince.

Before this year he has answered questions publicly only four times since 1984's Purple Rain. Now, it
appears, some effort is being made. Those around Prince, if not Prince himself, clearly feel that there is
some work to be done on his image, some transformation from what Boy George once called "a midget
dipped in oil and rolled in pubic hair." Though "Gett Off" is Prince at his most lewd, his staff play down
what they see as his sexual threat. They gloss over his more spiritual leanings, the core of his finest music,
and treat the mixed-up, muddled-up Graffiti Bridge as an unfortunate incident best forgotten. Not a failure,
mind you. Prince doesn't have failures. Ingrid Chavez, his co-star in the film, told me that Prince would
never admit Graffiti Bridge was a failure-he would simply blame the world for not "getting it."

Nevertheless, it's clear that Diamonds and Pearls is a crucial LP for Prince. Lovesexy, a religious record
with a naked man on the cover, did little to consolidate his superstar status. Batman, a success, was
associated more with a hit film and a comic-book hero than Prince. Graffiti Bridge was a multi-artist
soundtrack saddled with a flop film. Diamonds and Pearls, however, is a Prince LP. Pure and simple. If it
sells poorly there are no excuses. If it sells poorly it will be because people don't want to buy a Prince LP.

So I wait to hear Diamonds and Pearls. The proffered deal was that I'd spend a week at Paisley Park, listen
to the record, talk to his band, go into rehearsals, and, perhaps, if things go well, if the stars are right, Prince
will talk to me. A little. Perhaps. Without it being recorded, of course.

It doesn't start well. I arrive on Tuesday night, and when I call in on Wednesday I'm told I wasn't expected
until Thursday. Oh. And when Prince was told I was coming, he apparently moaned that I had "dogged him
in Rio," where I hadn't enjoyed his show, and that I obviously wasn't a fan. Oh. So I wait. Can I go into
rehearsals? No, not just now. Er, Prince isn't in a very good mood this week. Oh. I pass the days mooching
around and talking to his employees. Though they must have his consent to speak to me, when they do talk
they're sweet and loyal, but also quite open. Prince is a workaholic. He expects you to work Saturdays.
Prince always tells you that he works you so hard because he knows you've got it inside of you. The people
who have trouble with him are the people who can't accept that he's the boss.

They tell you all this, patiently and with good humor, but it's embarrassing. They know why you're talking
to them, and in Prince's absence the conversations take on a disconcertingly religious tone. Because it is
obvious who you are both talking about, it isn't necessary to mention Prince by name. It is just Him and He.
The one whom you can't see but who's the reason for everything you're both doing.

Rosie Gaines is the keyboard player and singer Prince drafted for 1990's Nude tour. This afternoon Prince
has been asking her questions on camera for a documentary he's making. I ask her whether she asked him
any questions.

"Nooo," she says, grinning. "I wish I could have."

Like?

"I want to ask him just to come out to my house and meet my husband and have a barbecue, just not be
Prince for a day."

51
He has been around her place once, actually. In the driveway, anyhow. Prince called up one night after
midnight. He'd just done some new music, and it was so funky he had to play it to someone. She was the
closest. So she gave him directions. When he was outside he phoned from the car and she came down and
sat for half an hour in his blue BMW, listening to new tunes: "The Flow," "Walk Don't Walk." While the
music played they didn't say anything. It was so funky Rosie didn't want to get out of the car.

Rosie listens to Prince's music and knows he has love in his heart. Also, he made her feel good about her
looks; he told her she was sexy inside. Prince calls Rosie "cousin." She calls him "Prince" but says she'd
like to call him "baby."

Tony M. (for Mosley) is another initiate in the New Power Generation. Tony has written some of the raps
on the new LP. Prince coaches him. Tony tends to write "straight from the 'hood." Prince steers him toward
a more "worldly aspect." But one day Prince asked him to write a "Gil Scott-Heron thing on black-on-black
crime, cops, and the community." I ask him why he thinks Prince wanted something like that. "I think black
awareness is really taking an upturn today," Tony replies, "and he really wants to be a part of that." Tony
knows a lot of people in his neighborhood who don't like Prince, who think he's just a pop thing. "They
didn't get Van Gogh, did they?" he asks rhetorically.

THAT NIGHT I GO TO GLAM SLAM, THE CLUB opened last year by Prince and Gilbert. Downstairs,
where the normal people mingle, Prince's Purple Rain bike sits behind a chain fence, and there's a shop
selling Prince-style designer clothes from cheap T-shirts to customized leather jackets with fractured
Minnesota license plates on the back (a snip at $1,500). If you go up the back stairs-and you can only if
you're a member or a special guest-then you can see lots of graffiti on the stairwell: "Music will guide us
and love is inside us," "It's almost 1999" (in mirror writing), "New Power Soul," and "For a good time
phone 777-9911" (don't bother-it's been disconnected). Upstairs is the members' balcony, from which you
can lean down and watch the action below.

Prince likes to watch. He's famous for it. One night in Minneapolis, eating dinner, I'm served by a waitress
who's wearing a Glam Slam badge. "I like the club," she tells me, "but not the owner."

She should. Everyone in Minneapolis should. Prince deserves to be a hometown hero. He has stayed here,
built a studio and film complex that has attracted performers as diverse as R.E.M. and Barry Manilow. He
regularly plays local club concerts and supports local charities. He loves this town. But he's not a hero here.
At best, he's ignored. Minneapolis radio is white FM rock at its most pure. You hear "Gett Off" only on
KMOJ-FM, an urban radio station supported by donations, and even they are far more likely to be playing
D.J. Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. At worst-and one fears Prince doesn't even realize this-a lot of people
here despise him. They think he's a snooty weirdo, cruising around in his limousine with his bodyguards.
Sitting in clubs and summoning girls to do his bidding. Creepy. The waitress thinks so: "I introduced him to
my friend and told him she was a big fan. He didn't say anything." So the waitress gave Prince a piece of
her mind. "I said, 'You're always in clubs and you don't drink, you don't dance, you don't do anything, you
just sit in the corner. . . ' "

What did he say?

"Nothing. His bodyguard said, 'He likes to people watch.' I said, 'Why doesn't he go people watch on a park
bench?' "

IS THIS THE REAL PRINCE? IT S HARD TO KNOW for sure, not least because many of those in a
position to know-the people from his past-now work for him. As soon as he became successful enough,
Prince began reeling in his competitors and childhood heroes, giving them jobs, setting them up in bands.
He talks now of Paisley Park being "much more than a studio." It is; it has become Prince's extended
family, over which he presides as benevolent patriarch. When a new member is to be brought in, Prince
insists on issuing the invitation personally. (Seduction, in all its forms, is one of his favorite acts.) Once in
the family, everyone is looked after. All that's expected in return is a limitless belief in Prince.

52
Creating a model family seems like a natural impulse for someone who never had one.

Though he has always denied that Purple Rain is autobiographical, the troubled father-son relationship the
movie depicted has a strong grounding in fact. Prince's father had been an unrecognized jazz musician
whose relations with his son deteriorated disastrously as Prince came of age. On at least one occasion, he
was thrown out of the house. Pleading to be allowed back, Prince spent two hours in a phone booth crying.
He later claimed that this was the last time he ever cried.

He has said that he was able to forgive once he had a record contract and money in his pocket. A less
charitable view would be that he found peace when he acquired the power to control. Prince's immediate
world-Paisley Park, his various bands, and side projects-is driven by the controlling power of his talent and
originality. It is the uncontrollable world that causes problems. Even as he puts himself beyond the media's
reach, he obsessively monitors everything that's written about him. And though he regards his failures as
the world's failure to "get it," it apparently doesn't ease his pain. To Prince, every career setback assumes
the dimensions of a personal betrayal. Most pop stars want the world, and they want it now. Prince also
wants the world, but he has the hardest time tuning in to it.

ON SUNDAY, I'M SUPPOSED TO HEAR THE LP, but it doesn't happen. The next day, when I'm once
again installed in Paisley Park's boardroom, Prince calls.

I pick up the telephone and we exchange pleasantries. His voice is huskier, more manly than you might
imagine. He says he just phoned to say hello and to tell me about his LP. He says he's sorry that he can't be
there to play it to me but that he has to go into town. Right about now he starts moving into good-bye
mode. Quietly I begin to panic at what I'll be taking home: "Prince speaks! He says 'Hello! How are you?' "
So I try to engage him, desperately following any line of conversation from his last answer so he has no
chance to sign off. Surprisingly, it works.

We talk about his new LP. "All my last records . . . have been connected to films. This is just my music . . .
I just wanted to tell you how long we took making this."

It seems silly, but the point seems to be that Prince views Diamonds and Pearls as a collection of songs that
showcases the breadth of his talents as a songwriter, producer, and performer, a record that would express
many perspectives, not a single theme. He contrasts this with Lovesexy. After recording The Black Album,
with its hard beats and rough language, he shelved it and resolved to make a very different sort of record,
one that would celebrate a particular idea. It flew out of him. "I did Lovesexy in seven weeks from start to
finish, and most of it was recorded in the order it was on the record," he tells me. "There were a couple of
funky things I did at the end and put earlier on, but it's pretty much how you hear it." The Lovesexy tour
was part pop spectacle, part evangelical fervor. Prince would beseech the crowds to love God, over and
over. I mention that people thought in his more recent work he'd backed off from his evangelical position.
It's something he jumps on.

"People got that wrong," he insists. "Batman was all about that same feeling. Graffiti Bridge was probably
more about that feeling than Lovesexy was. Lovesexy was a state of mind I've come to, and I know it is still
there." He gets increasingly impassioned. "If I didn't have it, I wouldn't make records anymore. When you
have that. . . you know who you are, and you know what your name is. I didn't know that before. I thought
there were places I had to get to. I thought there were things I had to do. I was a lot more competitive
because of it. Now I realize that's not what's important."

I ask him whether he minds having records that aren't very successful. "No," he says. "They all serve a
purpose. I've already made money, all the money I need. I was never that interested in money anyway."

He launches into his thoughts on critics. Though his tone is more playful than resent- ful, he has a genuine,
almost beautifully naive anger toward them. "I would never criticize someone else who gave me something
for my head," he says. "I remember what happened to Stevie Wonder when he did the Secret Life of Plants

53
record. Stevie was our friend and we'd gone through so many things, and then we turned our back on him.
The critics said it was no good. But we can't say that if he's our friend, and if we do say that, he won't be
our friend anymore, and he doesn't want to play music for us . . .

"It was the same with Joni Mitchell," he continues. "They said she was off her rocker and that she'd gone
away. And the more they said that, the more she went away."

It seems appropriate to mention Graffiti Bridge. He is not the slightest bit defensive.

"Some people got it," he counters. "Martika saw it six times."

His own mention of Martika leads him into a rapturous appreciation of the young Cuban pop singer. She is
clearly the type of person he wishes all his audience, all the world, might be. "She is," he says, "like a
flower unfolding."

"That's nice," says Martika when I speak to her a few days later. "I feel the same way about him. Though
he's sort of unfolded already, I guess." Martika had been thinking about calling Prince for months. When
she saw Graffiti

Bridge (she says it's true, she has seen it six times) she noticed that a lot of the words were about the same
things she had been jotting in her notebooks. So last December she flew out to Minneapolis to be with
Prince. They sat down and she showed him her notebooks. He was impressed. She visited several times,
taking four tracks they worked on together away to New York to finish on her own. She flew back to play
him the whole LP and the video for their hit collaboration, "Love. . .Thy Will Be Done." When he watched
the video, he was moved.

Martika asks me about my time in Minneapolis, and I hint at some strangeness. Sometimes, I say, you have
to think: he's a person, and I'm a person . . . and he's rude.

"I know what you're saying. He's difficult to understand like that. But I don't think he means to be." Her
position is clear. If he was rude, so what? You can excuse all that, you must excuse all that, because what it
allows to exist-his music-is ultimately much more important.

Prince enjoys explaining why he makes music. His first explanation is flip: "I like music to play in my car,
and when I need something new to play I record something. Instead of buying a tape, I make music." And
at the moment in his car?

"Diamonds and Pearls, of course." He usually cues up "Push," a frantic band-rap business, then goes from
there. Unless it's sunny, in which case he plays "Strollin'."

There's nothing else he could play.

"I don't listen to any of my old music, you know," he announces with strange pride, as though it would be
some awful thing to do.

And as far as other people's music?

"You know when you buy someone's record and there's always an element missing? The voice is wrong or
the drums are lame or something? On mine there's nothing missing."

He talks some more about his new projects. I mention the possible video with Kate Bush. Frequent
transatlantic phone conversations with the floaty Ms. Bush have been openly alluded to during my tenure at
Paisley Park, but Prince denies any knowledge. Strange. I mention Spike Lee's video and he is a little more

54
open. "It's scheduled, hopefully," he says. I ask whether they share a common thread. Prince draws his
breath playfully, as though I'm asking naughty questions.

"Oooh," he says finally. "I don't know that I want to answer that. That's getting into philosophy."

No harm in philosophy, I say.

"I don't think so," says Prince with a chuckle, meaning he does. I ask him whether he feels the public's
perception of him is accurate. "There's not much I want them to know about me," he says, "other than the
music."

I'm not controlling this conversation, just clinging onto it by my fingertips. He mentions his work with
other artists and says he writes songs for them "because they ask me." He names Paula Abdul, Louie Louie,
and Carmen, whom, rather disingenuously (as though I wouldn't have noticed her walking around the office
or seen her photo on the hallway wall- the latest female protege on the scene), he describes as "this new girl
out of Cincinnati." He raves about the New Power Generation, genuinely thrilled. "Rosie," he says, "is like
a tornado. There's never enough hours in the day for her voice. There's never enough tape for her voice..
.and my dancers, they've waited seven years for this . . . "

Eventually, after several more desperate pieces of stalling from me, he really is going. He signs off by
breaking out of his conversational tone and heading into declamatory soul-star theatrics. "Don't come to the
concert, y'all," he shouts down the phone, laughing. "Don't come to the concert! I've got a band of
assassins. . . "

I FINALLY GET TO HEAR THE LP. GILBERT LEADS me into Studio A and gives me a copy of the
Lyrics to borrow during the listening, but tells me I mustn't write any down. Prince and the New Power
Generation have been in here working on some new songs. One seems to be called "Standing at the Altar."
On the soundboard Prince has four channels for himself: two for his vocals, one for "guitar," and another
for "guitar/dirty."

The record sounds fantastically good, and after spouting quite genuine overenthusiasm, I go out to lunch.
I'm expecting to be here a few more days. But on my way out Gilbert says good-bye in what seems a very
conclusive manner. I put it down to Paisley Park paranoia, but when I phone later I discover I was right, I'm
to leave. Later I find out that Prince has been asking how much longer I'm going to be in town.

I head home. I don't know if I found anything. I don't know if I fitted into some little game of Prince's, or
whether I've caused upset in it. He's made a record that the world will like, and that's a good thing. But can
a record alone redraw Prince's personality, make him more human? His music, sleeves, videos- even his
films-are littered with clever, sweet, sharp messages, but most of the world just picks up a picture of an
awkward, pervy, self-indulgent geek. The man I talked to on the phone was smart, polite, charismatic, and
playful, but it's another man-the people watcher, the one who doesn't say hello, the narcissist who's so into
himself all he needs is mirrors and foot servants-that so many people imagine being the real Prince. There's
one bit of our conversation that keeps playing over in my head. Written down, now, it looks a bit silly and
precious and all those things that people who don't like Prince don't like about him. But at the time it was
moving. He was telling me, in a different, more intense way than the first time, why he makes music.

"I make music because if I don't, I'd die. I record because it's in my blood. I hear sounds all the time. It's
almost a curse: to know you can always make something new."

Have you always been like that? I ask him.

"No. When I was younger I had . . . other interests. . . but you know how the very first song I learned to
play was 'Batman' . . . ?"

55
He leaves the sentence open. Yes, I say, and I fill in the inference. You don't think that's an accident, do
you?

"There are no accidents," he says. "And if there are, it's up to us to look at them as something else. And. . ."
At this point he pauses, and even though we're talking over the phone I can see him do one of those long
fawn-eyed stares that make you believe every curious syllable he speaks. "And that bravery is what creates
new flowers."

Whenever I tell anyone about it, they say it sounds weird. It sounds like he should grow up. But it sounds
like the real Prince. It makes perfect sense to me.

In The Realm of Pop's Prince

Interviewed By Chris Heath
The Daily Telegraph, June 10, 1992

The reclusive star performs here next week. Chris Heath was granted a rare interview at his Minneapolis
studio.

Should there be a poll of the pop stars' pop star then the winner would be, by a wide margin, Prince. Others
sell more records, but no one over the past12 years has been more admired than this petite eccentric
showman fromMinneapolis. Nevertheless only Michael Jackson has shielded himself more effectively from
close public scrutiny - and Prince is more fascinating because his records and perrformances touch on more
levels.

One moment he is trashy, flippant and doing a somersault in tasteless lingerie, the next he is parading his
bewildering virtuosity and an ability to write some of the few pop songs that reach - if you'll pardon the
notion - some kind of transcendence. The basic biographical details have long been available. He was born
Prince Rogers Nelson on June 7, 1958 (for years his publicity material insisted on 1960, but recently
relented), in Minneapolis. His mother had sung in his musician father's jazz trio. They separated and Prince
spent his teenage years shuttled between various homes, by all accounts a shy youth obsessed with music.
He was precociously talented.

By the age of 19 he had a record contract. His first LP, For You, only hinted at his songwriting promise, but
on it he was listed as playing 27 instruments. (He still performs most of the parts on his records, layer after
layer, for which he once offered the following rationale: "When I'm recording I could have an orgasm on
my mind and my bass player could have pickles on his.")

His early reputation was as a maker of lewd funk records. One song, Head, was a celebration of oral sex;
another, Sister, was a paean to incest. His libidinous activities on-stage remain notorious. One of his
perennial favourites is to seduce his microphone stand as though it were a woman. Spitting Image nicely
lampooned his technique in a sketch where a jealous microphone stand bursts into Prince's boudoir to find
him unfaithfully bedding a second microphone stand.

The pervy sex-play was a good way of getting noticed, but it was his 1984 film Purple Rain that made him
a star. Despite some terrible acting and its wafer-thin semi-autobiographical plot about a young musician
trying to get through to both an indifferent audience and his battling parents, it was charming and thrilling,
and a perfect advert for all his real talents: his songwriting, his charisma, his singing, his performing.

The film grossed $ 80 million; the soundtrack became one of the best-selling records of all time and earned
him an Oscar. "People said Purple Rain was unreleasable," he would later brag, "and now I drive to work

56
each morning to my own big studio." He chose to build his kingdom where he was reared. Paisley Park, his
recording and film studio complex, sits next to a cornfield beside Highway 5 in the Minneapolis suburb of
Chanhassen.

At least once a year ever since, Prince has released a new album from there (far more often than any of his
peers), each one a deliberate sidestep away from the last, touching on most of pop music's vocabularies.
There have been some wonderful, if inevitably patchy, results, but it has been hard for the public to keep
up: his most recent LP, Diamonds and Pearls, is his most successful for some time probably because it
largely backtracks and summarises his styles.

A workaholic, he has also written and produced records for a wide range of other artists including Sheena
Easton, Paula Abdul, Martika, the Bangles and Madonna, sometimes under his own name but usually under
one of his pseudonyms: Jamie Starr, Alexander Nevermind, Joey Coco are just three. These collaborations
don't always work and greatest success has come when other artists have reinterpreted his songs without his
guidance. Chaka Khan's version of I Feel For You and Sinead O'Connor's of Nothing Compares 2 U were
both worldwide number ones.

Nevertheless he writes and records the whole time: five years ago he estimated his stockpile of unreleased
songs, kept in a vault beneath Paisley Park, at 400 and rising. There have also been more films: after Purple
Rain there was an unconvincing farce set in the south of France, Under the Cherry Moon; a fine concert
film, Sign O the Times; and the disastrous Purple Rain sequel, Graffiti Bridge. A lot of work, but Prince
has offered few explanations. He has only spoken on the record a handful of times since the early Eighties.

In the vacuum of his silence, tales of his strange behaviour abound, making him a tabloid favourite.
Probably one or two of the following stories are true. He expects assistants to receive his commands
telepathically. He eats nothing but macaroni cheese. He has a food taster. Five bodyguards accompany him
everywhere, even to the lavatory. He takes his own bed on tour. He likes baths filled with lemon juice and
sour cream. My favourite is of how he held up shooting of Under the Cherry Moon because the Rolls-
Royce in a particular scene wasn't purple, his favourite colour. The film was being shot in black and white.

I spent a week in Minneapolis trying to discover a little more. It was a frustrating time, hanging around
Paisley Park, mostly waiting for meetings that never seemed to happen, either sitting in his boardroom,
which has a purple galaxy painted on the ceiling, or wandering around the eerily pristine complex. Paisley
Park is, incidentally, not just the folly of an egotistical pop star but has put Minneapolis on the map as a
film-making and recording centre. I would pass Prince in the corridors (he was wearing a different outfit
each time I saw him, often only an hour or two apart), and watch him entertain at his Minneapolis nightclub
Glam Slam, or chat with Warren Beatty and Kirstie Alley at a Paisley Park party, but for five days could
not even force a "hello".

On the sixth, he telephoned me, not, he said, for an interview per se but to tell me about his Diamonds and
Pearls LP. In fact, he had little of interest to say about that record (his main point seemed to be that he
thought it was rather good), but he chatted amiably and lucidly, rather enjoying the game of it, shying off
trickier questions by objecting they were "getting into philosophy".

He spun an amusing tale of why he makes new records. It's because he only listens to his own music, and
he likes cruising in his yellow sports car. "I like to play music in my car," he told me, off-hand, "and when I
need something new I record something, instead of buying a tape." (He denied listening to any other
contemporary music. His own music is so well-informed it's an improbable claim and, anyway, one of his
band members told me Prince's current favourites include Bon Jovi, Fishbone and the Cocteau Twins.) He
also provided another, more melodramatic explanation for his creativity. "I make music because if I didn't,
I'd die. It's in my blood. I hear sounds all the time. It's almost acurse: to know you can always make
something new."

57
Prince's music is laced with both sexuality and spirituality; the cliched critical observation is that he treats
sex as though it were a religion and God as though a lover. Perhaps because of the latter attitude, his
religiosity is often underestimated. Though talk of God is littered over his earlier LPs, he has hinted at a
particular religious experience in 1987. His subsequent LP was a spiritual tribute called Lovesexy and he
was extremely hurt when his pose on the LP sleeve - his eyes heavenwards, wearing nothing but a crucifix -
was seen as pornographic, not devotional. He was cagey to me about this change in his priorities, simply
saying there is "a state of mind I've come to . . . when you know who you are and you know what your
name is . . . If I didn't have it I wouldn't make records anymore." In recent years it has been for his live
shows that Prince is most celebrated.

He offers a rare combination. The great show people - those who demand your eyes stay fixed upon their
every twitch and shimmy, are rarely great virtuosos. And the great virtuosos, determined that their skill
should stand out from the show man's ersatz tomfoolery - rarely condescend to entertain. Prince juggles the
two better than anyone. He'll break from some captivating theatrical shenanigans and, on the spur of the
moment, play a heart-breaking 10 minutes of songs alone at the piano.

His bands - the latest are known as the New Power Generation - are trained to be able to drop into any of a
large catalogue of songs at a flick of their master's fingers. Of course he knows he's good. As is
fashionable, he advertises his forthcoming concerts by proclaiming them to be too potent for the average
spectator to stomach. "Don't come to the concert, y'all," he shouted to me, by way of farewell. "Don't come
to the concert. I've got a band of assassins . . ."

Prince is at Earls Court in London on June 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23 and 24, at Manchester Maine Road
football ground on June 26 and at Glasgow Parkhead Stadium on June 28.

My Name Is God
Interviewed By Chrissy Iley
VOX Magazine, June 1993

Jesus' disciples had it easy compared to the chosen members of the New Power Generation, whose slavish
devotion to their mentor knows no bounds. But can their blind faith restore the Purple Patriarch's flagging
fortunes in the USA? VOX seeks an exclusive backstage audience with He who must be obeyed.

Prince. He is invisible, yet He sees everything. That's what they say when they talk about Him. And when
they talk about 'him' they always mean Him. It's easy to be spiritual, easy to be mystical when you're
backstage at San Francisco in the multi-coloured tented temple with Prince's musical army. That's how The
New Power Generation sometimes think of themselves - spiritual soldiers.

"We go to boot camp, we are a team, we train, we plan, we pay attention. We will not lose this musical war.
Anything might happen out there. We learn to move quickly, we don't argue and it works well." So says
Levi Seacer, guitarist and the longest-serving Prince soldier. He's been with Him ten years. With Prince,
love, war, sex and God all seem to be the same thing. If you can understand that, you must be telepathic
and you must belong to Prince.

The particular battle in hand is a long-haul trek across America, Prince's first in five years. And although
it's acknowledged that He is God, He is a God who's been a little too invisible, just a little bit too culty, and
oh-so-European; too chic, too ahead of his time. In America his time came and went with Purple Rain. He's
everywhere in small 3,000 seater venues, but nowhere in the charts.

58
While we in Britain keep the diminutive Purple Pop Prince close to our hearts and think he's a superstar, in
the rest of the world, the truth is somewhat different. In his homeland, Prince is without honour. His last
album, Symbol, has sold half as many copies as the dbut release by the Spin Doctors, two million less than
Kenny G's latest offering, and even Sade's Love Deluxe fared better in the Billboard Hot 200. Perhaps God
can sometimes be misunderstood.

Michael Bland, big and loud and open-faced, is the drummer, and says bluntly: "This album is so good, but
it's time-capsule material. Maybe if we release it again in ten years' time people in America will understand
what we're doing. It's a shame they don't get it right now. The English love Prince. This Western
Hemisphere (sic) has lost it. They don't have a clue anymore. Overseas people are so progressive. Look at
Holland," he says, trying to be saucy.

"My biggest delight is to be part of this time when we are seeing the renaissance of the man who is the
most prolific writer of our time," he continues "I am absolutely in awe of him. I couldn't leave this gig, oh
no. When I see other people play they are never as good as he is." Michael has a point. The rush, the
adrenaline, the polish, the chaos, the intimacy, the energy, the spectacle, the crafting: all of that stuff you
get at a Prince show may well be the nearest thing to heaven on earth - certainly it is for Michael Bland.

"I could never work for Michael Jackson or Madonna, after working for Prince. They don't have that
understanding of what it takes to make music." His eyes are spinning with enthusiasm, and he piles a
second whole chicken and rice and some gungy looking pasta onto his plate. He is vast.

Prince doesn't emerge backstage. Prince wouldn't eat this food. In fact no-one has ever seen Prince eat.
Still, "he must have adequate sustenance to be the performer he is," concludes Michael.

No one has ever seen Prince sleep. Partly because he doesn't do much of it, and partly because he is
invisible. "Yet he's a visionary. He has a way of being in a place when people don't know he's there; he
sends people in, he stays abreast, eyes and ears always vision

"You can't find him. You can't audition for Prince," says Michael, dismissing the thought with a chicken
bone as he smacks his lips. "He has to seek you."

"We were all chosen," says the rather surly Tommy Barbarella, one of the keyboard players, He has rock-
babe big hair, dark, and a skin so pale he looks like he's been in a box for six years. "We're not together
because we want to be. We just got the tap from the man." They cackle and talk about a "babe fest" when a
few things in Lycra limber over. Then they try to be a rock band. They try to remind you how they are the
ordinary ones; being a member of The New Power Generation might just be as photofit as being a member
of Spinal Tap.

Then the disciples spring to attention. They remember that you can do sex like an art form. Put the crudest
of slithers on stage and it's creative, but this kind of dirty talk, it's destructive and not focused, and Michael
adds: "We have to be focused, we have to be concentrated. You can't do that if you're cruising for babes."

They nod in unison, and all of the gathered beloved have a unified glint on their ring finger, or in Michael's
case, it's a ring on a string around his neck. Prince is so giving that he has had all their names cast in gold, a
few sparkly bits thrown in, and made into rings. "Prince thought they were stylish," says Maurice Hayes,
the other keyboard player.

"He knows about all things, like fashion, and I want to step up to that level. Before I was in a bar band, and
it was a different mental loop. Now it's a concept attitude thing. This is bigger. This is imagination and I
would change, no stretch any part of myself for that man. If he says there is any facet about myself that I
should change, anything he wanted, I would do anything because he's bound to be right."

59
They say Prince demands loyalty and telepathy. You could be fired for less than psychic intuition. No one
knows exactly what going to happen on the stage until it happens. Michael Bland says: "It can be a look, or
it could be something you listen for. Your attention span has to be wide. People in this organisation are
removed, if the attention span is too short, before they are able to do any serious damage. You have to be
fearless. He changes his mind so quickly. He makes so many elusive statements and I like that; to test all
the time. He shows you; you show him you can keep up. We never know, for instance, if we are to do an
aftershow gig at a club. He'll have changed his mind four times before we get to hear of the decision."

Jimmy Johnson is the tour manager. He was once lighting director for Elvis and he cruised the '70s with the
Eagles. He comes over to give the 'in costume' call. He's never met Prince; "No need," he says. "I get my
orders from the management." Prince, the unseen one, is about to be seen. It's show time San Francisco.

For one who is so in exile, who can hardly speak for the music that pours out of his head (cut him and he'll
bleed it) Prince is incredibly intimate. He smiles and you think it's at you. He puts those hooded eyes
heavenward like an all-seeing, all-suffering Madonna, but like he knows you as well. The performance is
full of those fawn-eyed stares that make you believe every syllable he speaks.

The other night at the Club USA after-gig gig in New York, someone tried to take His picture. Just a quick
snapshot. An ordinary punter, But He doesn't like his picture being taken and He who sees everything
noticed the little boy with the camera. "Please don't take my picture," he fluttered. "I'll give you a thousand
dollars." The boy stopped, mesmerised. He didn't want a thousand dollars, he just wanted Prince to look at
him. The moment was slashed: a couple of security men stepped in, plucked the film from the camera and
the boy from the gig.

You don't imagine that this frail, vibrant figure is capable of ordering such cruelty. But he'd probably have
a line that said only those capable of the greatest cruelty can be capable of the most tenderness. Because he
doesn't speak much, everything he ever says tends to get repeated like a mantra, taking on an inflated
significance. One thing he says a lot (he said it in interviews and he said it in the programme): "There are
no such things as accidents, and if there are, it's up to us to look at them as something else. Tears are more
believable when you can't hold them back. Here, music is made out of necessity, just like breathing. The
voice inside tells you when there is a song to be born. All children are born beautiful "

Written down it looks silly, but seeing him there on stage he's totally believable. When he sings "Damn
You" he gets into every crevice. It's a shuddering intimacy. You feel he really is playing in your hair,
giving you a hundred million little heart attacks; but at the same time he's distant. Some curious voyeur to
his own theatricality.

The tour differs from its predecessors in its voyeuristic quality. It's like these are his players, his disciples,
his army, and he puts them on show for us, he lets them take centre stage. Gone are the days of writhing
around on a four poster bed with Cat. Sure there's simulated fellation, but it's other people doing it.

The show comes in two halves. The first is basically a recreation of the new album. He makes his entrance
in royal purple with a mask that's like a dangling beaded curtain. The rest of the ensemble are smoochy in
satin smoking jackets. The microphone is a gun. Princess Mayte does a yashmak strip routine. There are
mock TV reporters and Prince does big flounces and sweeps over the piano while Mayte writhes about a bit
in her yashmak mode.

The second half is party party. '1999' starts it off and he's all streamers and guitar. He's actually become
very good at playing the guitar, he really pours himself into it. Then there's lots of old favourite Prince
songs that you wouldn't want to miss. Apparently they're different every night.

No-one knows yet if there is an after-show gig. During the interval the publicist, Karen Lee, said: "Yes,
there is." Now, apparently, there is not. No one knows what he's up to. But it won't be sleeping. It's the
norm for them to do two shows a night and party 'til dawn; it's the norm to get 1.00am studio calls if Prince

60
fancies showing you a track. And all the chosen ones feel that because they are chosen, they must forego
sleep if required.

Tony Mosley feels it's all part of the test, the paying of the dues. Mosley is Prince's Number Two man, the
rapper. He's been in and out of the Prince organisation since the Purple Rain days, but was never taken on
quite fully until the last tour. "Of course, it was frustrating not to be chosen to tour with Purple Rain," he
says. "I know now everything happens in its right time. We were some angry young men. I speak for
Damon and Kirk (the other dancers) as well as myself. We had to wait until we had learned other skills to
bring to him. He wanted us to pay our dues. He had to."

Tony Mosley grew up in the same neighbourhood as Prince. "I knew him since he was 13. I watched as all
that Minneapolis scene grew. I watched him with Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. He was not an enigmatic
figure then. He learnt because he watched and watched other people play. What he had was determination.
By his very stature it meant that he often had to stand his ground and knuckle up. He was just another
homie, but he stayed hard-headed. And if there is anything that this band has in common, it's a band of
winners. We are all hard-headed.

"He's really put me in the spotlight, and I don't think that was easy for him - to let the female leads go and
have me. Former Prince protg Maurice Day, from The Time, said: "what are you doing there with those
big old tall basketball-playing brothers?" Prince said: "I like it that way".

Prince himself has been known to play basketball, incredible as it seems that he would compete with the
long, luscious Tony. "He's fast, incredibly fast, he has a good game." Sometimes Prince will hire out a
theatre and the whole band and their friends will see whatever is the latest movie to be seen. But as Michael
Bland says: "That's about it for relaxation for Prince. You can't shoot pool with a man who always has a
song in his head. You can't get much of a conversation when he's always thinking about getting away -
'Where is the quickest place I can go and write that down?'"

The mystery is that the greatest songs come from intense emotion - and one wonders when that emotional
exchange can ever occur with Prince. His band talk about themselves as being family. They talk about
family values. It's all very ordered, the very opposite to the chaos of passion.

In ten years Levi hasn't liked to trouble Prince with any emotional trauma he might have been going
through. "Maybe two times he's been there to listen. But I think he's the leader. He's got a lot of things on
his mind. If I bring him something it must be very important."

Michael Bland, who's pouring a mound of pepper into his tomato juice, explains: "Sure, Prince is my
friend, but if we did have anything in common we'd never know it. His life is his work. We have a
camaraderie. We are brought together by our love of music. We are one mind, one goal. And he is the
vortex. Does that sound cultish? Someone on the radio said was it like working for David Koresh. I was
deeply offended. I'm in awe of him, and he is my employer. He has made me more confident, more like
him, more hard-headed. He has made it harder for me to deal with mere mortals.

"Fortunately I have a sweet woman who understands me and still wants to marry me. But all musicians are
bigamists. While we all look for a soulmate, we must first find our soul."

If this is a family, Prince is indeed the Father. The giving, generous, patriarch, and also the stern despot.
The other night Tony Mosley had a voice that was sore and he begged for one less number. Instead Prince
added another two numbers. "By the end my voice was raw. He looked at me like: 'I am going to work you
tonight'. It was a test to see how much I love it, how much I was willing to work for it."

If Prince is God, then he's a very Old Testament one. A genius, certainly, who manages to be on top of
everything; but set apart, rewriting reality, plucking people so that they can become a new integral piece of
the jigsaw of Prince; so he can look at them in wonderment as he often does, like they are his children.

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Tony Mosley feels that there is a link. "Both Prince and I come from broken homes, were brought up by
single parents. I was brought up by my mother, and Prince was brought up by his stepmother. Maybe that's
why there is a strong sense of recreating the family situation. But you would never be able to ask him about
any of that. I don't see Prince doing an interview. He's gone beyond that. Why should he drop his life to
anyone he meets? Anyway, he's too busy writing so much. Ten songs a day."

Michael Bland can't conceive of severing himself from the Prince family. "I can see I may have to work in
another band if Prince tires of me, but spiritually, once He has touched me there is that connection, and
what He has given me - my way of working, my work ethic, my way of seeing - will always be there.
Spiritually I will always be with Him "

"The Guitarist Formerly Known As

Prince"
Interviewed by Alan Di Perna
Guitar World, November 1994

Call him "funky", call him "bad", but don't call him "Prince". A rare conversation with { - visionary
composer and one of the best guitarists of this generation.

The room is small and cave-like, maybe five feet long, with a low, rounded, gold ceiling that slopes
gradually down to a floor covered with a snow white, shag pile carpet. The space has a slightly
claustrophobic feel and smells vaguely of perspiration and Lord knows what else. If there were a
whorehouse in Disneyland, it might look something like this. At the big end of the cave, right behind a red
velvet curtain, stands a huge mixing console. Down at the smaller end there's a mirrored dressing table and
a throne-like chair upholstered in leopard skin.

Welcome to the Endorphin Machinethe on-stage inner sanctum of The Artist Formerly Known As
Prince.

Who else but {as he wishes now to be identifiedwould design a stage that includes a place where the
artist can hide from his audience? Exclusive and withdrawn, { is a man of mystery. Ticket holders will
never see behind the red velvet curtain. Perhaps they are meant to imagine scenes of deliciously unutterable
decadence unfolding in that lair every time { retreats inside. But now the truth can be revealed: he goes
back there to primp and mix the show.

The mirror and mixing board are fitting symbols for the boundless ego encased within the 5-foot, 3-inch
frame of The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. If it weren't for the incredibe, genre-bending, funkier-than-
God music created by that Artist, the ego might be totally unbearable. You think that (1) singing his heart
out, (2) make his { guitar wail like St. Theresa on ecstasy, (3) leading his awe-inspiring band and (4) being
the all-round focal point of the whole damn show would give the guy enough to do. He's gotta be the sound
man too? Everybody in the music business knows you can't mix house sound from the stage.

Or can't you?

"It's been a real trial-and-error process, but it's getting a lot better", says Michael Bland, the drummer for {'s
current band, The New Power Generation. "Right now { doesn't trust any sound manand rightfully so .
Back in 1990 during my first tour with Prince, as he was called then, he would go into his guitar solo on
'Purple Rain', and sometimes it would be like four bars before the sound man would boost the signal and

62
the guitar would finally kick in. Now, where's that at? The whole solo would be shot. { is a very hands-on
person. His attitude is, 'If you can't give it to me, I'll get it myself.'"

It certainly sounds good inside {'s Glam Slam club in Minneapolis, where the man is leading mighty New
Power Generation through a set that comes on as hard, strong and relentless as a lubed-up locomotive. The
whole crow is dancing three feet above the groundelated seeing their hometown hero at such close
quarters, in the intimate confines of his own night club. Chalk up another one for {. If anyone can mix
house sound from stage, it's this slender enigma, who can get utterly slammin' funk out of everything
from a "cloud" guitar to an SSL mixing computer.

He has in fact, made a lifelong career of breaking all known showbiz rules. At the tender age of 17, Prince,
as he was known, was singed to Warner Bros. and given complete artistic control over his music -the
youngest artist in the company's history ever to be so privileged. Since then he has resolutely refused to
conform to anything resembling a safe or predictable career path, always taking chances that many would
deem reckless, if not downright foolish. He's never been afraid to expose himself to potential ridicule. And
he has consistently been vindicated by the superlative quality and imaginative intensity of his music.

Speaking of imagination, { designed the entrance and interior of his onstage mixing cave as a stylized
replica of the female sex organcomplete with a two-foot high, faux gold clitoris. This may seem sexist
but it should be remembered that his stage set also includes a massive gold tower that in no small way
suggests the main anatomical peculiarity of males. The fact is, { has never been one to discriminate. His
bands have always included musicians of all genders and races. His music spans a wide spread of styles,
from rock to funk to bop. The man has always delighted in taking what appear to be irreconcilable
opposites and demonstrating that they are really part of the same cosmic Love Vibe. Typical is the new
name he's taken on: {, a combination of the symbols for male and female. Even the design of the form-
fitting bodysuit he wears at the Glam Slamone black trouser leg, one white, and a bold interweaving of
the two colors up and down the garmentreflects his obsession with the true harmony of apparent
opposites.

But there is a down side to all this. With one foot squarely in funk and the other one firmly planted in rock,
{ has never gotten his full propers in either field. And his talents as a songwriter, singer, multi-
instrumentalist, producer and all-around image maker have tended to obscure the fact that he is one kickass
guitar player.

But he certainly isn't hiding his mastery from his Glam Slam audience. { opens his show with several
thunderous hard rock numbers, tearing up the fretboard of his eponymous "love symbol" guitar. The set is
heavy on brand new material, mostly from albums the public may never get to hear (see below). Never one
to pander to audience expectations, { isn't performing any of his old hits tonight. (they were, in any case,
recorded by a forgettable someone named Prince). His one concession to commercialism is his performance
of his newest single, "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World". Not surprisingly, the concert is compelling
from beginning to end. It's clear is that { is currently going through one of his most rock-guitar-intensive
phases since the glory days of Purple Rain. He even closes his set with a medley of classic Santana guitar
moments, deftly evoking Carlos's hot phrasing while adding something of his own unique tone and style.

"I always wanted to be thought of as a guitarist," { quietly admits. "But you have a hit and you know what
happens..."

The interviewer must content himself with such tantalizingly brief pronouncements when dealing with The
Artist Formerly Known As Prince. Just as he disdains showbiz conventions for concerts or albums, he
ignores the rules when it comes to playing the interview game. Journalists are forbidden to even use the
word "interview" in his presence, use a tape recorder, refer to a question sheet or take any form of notes
during their "conversation" with {. ( Of course, the "P-word" is verboten). Reporters are simply supposed to
remember everything he says. This seems a daunting taskuntil you realize how little he does say: {'s
responses are monosyllabic and often deliberately evasive. The man seems to harbor a deep mistrust of the

63
written or spoken word. Even his new name is a symbol that cannot be expressed verbally or represented in
the alphabet of any language. Knowingly or otherwise, { has allied himself with those post-modernist
intellectuals who feel that language is inherently deceitfula tool of oppression wielded by those in power.

On the other hand, the possibility does exist that { is something of an idiot savant. (Who ever said that
musical genius has anything to do with intelligence?) Or perhaps his long time friend and current bassist,
Sonny Thompson, has the best take: "He'd just rather say it through his music. His thing is, 'I'll put out as
much music as I can and express myself that way'".

In any case, inquiring reporters are given little opportunity to learn whether the Man Who Calls Himself {'s
mind is like Albert Einstein'sor more like Forrest Gump's. Audiences with { are typically brief.
Journalists are generally kept waiting for hours and hours, typically till two or three in the morning. It
should be noted that the press aren't the only ones { singles out of this kind of treatment. On the evening of
my own appointment with him in Minneapolis, he also had Barbara Streisand's lighting director flown in all
the way from New York, presumably to discuss hiring him for the big upcoming { tour. This poor fellow
was kept cooling his heels for five hours before being ushered into {'s presence, where he was told, "My
work is my love. My love is my work. We'll talk".

My own first meeting with the Man Whose Name You're Not Supposed To Say comes a few hours after the
Glam Slam gig, at an after-show party held upstairs at the club. Two of his functionaries lead me with due
reverence up to a spot next to the DJ's console where { is standing, holding court. Despite the strenuous set
he's just played, he looks quite fresh. He's changed into a striped polo shirt and flaresthe sailor boy look.
(The Hendrix-cum-Little Richard bouffant seems to have gone out with the P-name). His pencil-line
sideburns and mustache are connected in a single sinuous line. My research on { has prepared for me for
his slight stature and the quarter-inch thick layer of make up on his face. But the real surprise is his
everyday speaking voice. He sounds so normal, like a regular guy from the Midwest. This comes across
with particular force over the telephone, where he is carefully-preened physical presence can't serve as a
decoy.

As the crowd around him thickens, { abandons his post and scoots up onto a brick window ledge behind the
DJ booth. He's said to be sensitive about his height, and from this vantage point he's able to look over the
heads of most of the other people in the room. { was purportedly eager for an interview that would deal
with music and guitar playing instead of focusing on issues like his sexuality or what Kim Bassinger was
like. So I start by inquiring whether he considers the guitar his main instrument. He replies reasonably
enough, that he doesn't considers any instrument his "main" one. He just reaches for whatever seems
necessary to bring a song into being.

"I start with the city. Then I choose the street." he adds somewhat cryptically.

GUITAR WORLD: And what instrument did you start on?

{: Piano, I went to guitar later on, when I was about 13.
GW: What is your idea of the ultimate guitar tone?
{: A woman in climax.
GW: Do you plan your solos on record or are they spontaneous?
{: Spontaneous.
GW: Which solo or guitar track of yours is your favorite?
{: All are different.
GW: What was the genesis of the Santana medley you performed tonight?
{: It was Sonny's (Thompson) idea.
GW: Is Carlos a particular favorite guitarist of yours? Have you two ever met?
{: I would consider Carlos a friend.
GW: Who are your all-time favorite guitarists? Your biggest guitar influences?
{: I listened to everybody. My favorite of all time is Sonny T.

64
The influence question is a sticky one with {there's no making him cite any name players who's affected
his guitar style. Not that he doesn't wear many of his musical antecedents on his sleeve. Whether it's
because he grew up black in whiter-than-white-Minnesota, or because of the man's own voracious musical
appetites, the young Prince cut his teeth on a mixture of R&B and early-Seventies FM radio rock: Sly And
The Family Stone and Earth Wind and Fire, along with vigorous helpings of the likes of Grand Funk
Railroad and Chicago. According to the account, the ability to play the solo from Chicago's album rock hit
"25 Or Six to Four" was the acid test for aspiring guitarists in Prince's high school. And an early band of his
was named Grand Central, in homage to Michigan's own Seventies trio, Grand Funk Railroad. Also, as the
son of a working jazz pianist, John Nelson, the young Prince must surely have picked up on that side of the
African-American musical tradition.

But today there's no getting him to acknowledge any of this. It's as though he wants to create the impression
that he was created ex nihilofrom nothing, like Venus springing fully formed from the forehead of Zeus.
So he won't play the name game when asked about his influences. Perhaps he's afraid of leaving someone
out, or naming someone who might be considered unhip. The more he is pressed to identify role models on
the guitar, the more he returns to Sonny Thompson, the bass player in his own band. Thompson played
guitar with several Minneapolis groups before joining the New Power Generation.

"I thought Sonny was God," says the man many speak of in similarly exalted terms. "Sonny was my hero.
A lot of what I do on guitar, I learned from him. I'd go over to his house and we'd play records and he'd
show me things on guitar."

Thompson seems agreeably surprised when informed of his boss high praise: "Oh, man! He said that?
Wow!" Sonny has known { since childhood. "We grew up together," the bassist narrates. "I met him on the
south side of Minneapolis. I was carrying my guitar somewhere and he was carrying a guitar too."

Sonny remembers what he and the young { listened to during their formative stages as guitarists: "At that
particular time, I was about 13 or 14. I was listening to a lot of Hendrix and Grand Funk Railroad. I had a
band I was playing guitar in then. Chick Corea and them were around and I was just starting to get into
them. A whole bunch of wild stuff."

Sonny adds that { was a fast learner .

"Oh, man! Photographic memory. Anything you played for him, he could repeat it. I've never seen anything
like it. He's definitely got perfect pitch. Anything he hears, he can play. "

It's hardly surprising that { and Sonny worked out on Hendrix riffs during the early Seventies: what
guitarist who grew up in that era didn't? At times, specially during the 1984-85 Purple Rain phase, {
seemed intent on turning himself into Jimi Hendrix. The lace neck cloths and spangly frock coats were a
defiantly blatant rip from the cover of Hendrix' Are you Experienced? album. Many of the stage moves for
his lengthy in-concert guitar solos during this period also seemed carefully copied from Hendrix film clips.
One wonders whether the whole thing was just another costume change for him -another disguise,
something new to wear, like his Sign O' the Times terrycloth miniskirt or the Zorro get up in the front cover
of {. But in donning Jimi's stage weeds, { seems to have taken the man's music deeply to heart as well.
Even his latest album, Come, concludes with a free-form solo guitar track called "Orgasm," which finds {
erupting on the fretboard in a manner that bears no small resemblance to Jimi's Woodstock rendition of
"The Star Spangled Banner". Only, { has added his own inimitable touch of the proceedings. The only
other sound on the track is that of an unidentified female experiencing a prolonged, and rather vocal sexual
climax.

GW: You've often been compared to Jimi Hendrix. How do you feel about that?
{: People make the world go 'round.
GW: Was your guitar solo on "Orgasm" directly inspired by the track's title/subject matter?
{: Yes.

65
GW: So many people think of the guitar as a phallic symbol. Do you?
{: People make the world go 'round.

Sonny Thompson has his own respective: "A lot of people say he sounds like Hendrix; but to me, he doesn't
really. His vibrato is different. Just the way he attacks the guitar is different. I think his guitar sound is
coming into its own at this point. I think he incorporates whatever he hears into his guitar playing, like from
different instruments and all. It's like his absorbing all this stuff and spitting it back out."

One reason why it's difficult to get a fix on { the musician is that he's so incredibly prolific. In addition to
his own prodigious outputroughly an album a year since 1978 plus a slew of singles, remixes and non-
albums B-sideshe's said to have some 500 songs in the can that have never been released, not counting
bootleg material. And let's not forget his activities as a film and video actor/director/screenwriter. Or the
hits he's written and/or produced for other artists, including Sheila E., the Bangles, Sheena Easton, The
Time, even Kenny Rogers. He's all over the just released 1800-NEW FUNK album which includes his duet
with Nona Gaye (daughter of Marvin), "Love Sign". Beyond this, songs are always turning up on
soundtracks and he even finds time to play keyboards on recordings by the jazzy instrumental group
Madhouse. The man is almost perpetually writing and recording. His whole existence is apparently set up
so he can do as much as possible.

The paisley Park headquarters is located near {'s house out in Chanhassen, Minnesota, a suburb of
Minneapolis. It's a sanitary, corporate-looking building that could easily be the headquarters of a
prosperous Midwestern insurance company. Not a rococo phallus in sight.

"People are always disappointed that there aren't women in bondage gear hanging from the rafters",
deadpans Paisley Park's house publicist. Instead, the place is staffed by clean-cut, efficient-looking young
woman and menagain racially mixedall of whom seem able to say "The Artist Formerly Known As
Prince" with an entirely straight face. "Hope you have a good conversation with The Artist Formerly
Known As Prince", one told me, beaming. Or "have you seen this new picture of The Artist Formerly
Known As Prince?" Among themselves, though, they usually just refer to him as "The Boss".

The top floor at Paisley Park houses {'s many business operations. This includes his newly created NPG
Records, headed by Levi Seacer Jr., who left his post at the New Power Generation's consummately funky
second guitarist to concentrate on the biz. On the main floor, there's justly famous Paisley Park recording
studio which houses, among other things, one of the slickest SSL consoles on the planet, and certainly the
only one that bears a symbol in place of the manufacturer's logo. Down a level is a massive sound stage
which is used for everything, from video shoots to full-scale tour rehearsals and impromptu jams.

Basically, whenever the inspiration strikes him, { will slip down from his house and futz around with any
of these state-of-the-art facilities. People at Paisley will tell you that their Boss "is very hands on" with the
business, and that he's in his upstairs office by 10 or 11 every morning. But far more of his time is spent in
the studio. Apparently, { sleeps very little. It's not unusual for his band members to be awakened at three or
four in the morning and summoned to a recording session.

"It's like being a fireman" Michael Bland suggests. "If there's a fire, you get up, put your rubber pants on
and you slide down the pole. The turnover rate in terms of writing material and recording it, is incredible. {
works quicker than anyone could imagine. He has a tendency to walk around with this notebook that has
words in it -just lyrics looking for a song. And if he hears something he likes while we're jamming, he'll
pull [the book] right open and we'll be working on a new song. Other times, he'll come into the studio with
a completed song that he'll have finished at his house, at his grand piano and a cheap little cassette deck."

{ himself doesn't like to talk about songwriting; "childbearing," he calls it. "Those questions are too
personal. Thank you for not asking." But if we talk to the people around { you learn things. From the guys
at his band, you learn that { is a virtual antenna for song ideas. He's perpetually in receive mode, ever ready
to snatch a new song idea from the air around him.

66
"A lot of ideas for songs come from our soundchecks" says Levi Seacer. "I mean our soundchecks are
sometimes longer than our shows! We just start jamming. If someone has a good idea, we put it on a
cassette and we may go to the studio after the show and cut the song. Like Diamonds and Pearlsthe basic
tracks for that album came together in like a week and a half. I remember one night we cut three songs:
'Money Don't Matter,' 'Willing and Able' and [the non-lp B-side] 'Horny Pony'. All three of those in one
evening."

{ tends to go for spontaneous, first take, live-in-the-studio trackseven when he's cutting a complex,
episodic piece like "Three Chains Of Gold" from the { album. "That's one of many we had to do in one
take," Michael Bland remembers. "We had to cut that all in one big hunk, and it was murder man. All { had
was all these little sections that he'd written while he was in Paris. We had to piece it all together and then
play it."

Another artist { has been compared to is Frank Zappafor the staggering amount of high quality work he's
released, for his ability to play instruments, and for his obsessive, workaholic perfectionism. And like
Zappa, he meticulously composes and arranges some of his records in advance, while on other discs, like
Come, he trusts more to improvisation.

"The Come album really evolved from a boredom during Christmas vacation", Michael Bland laughs.
"Sonny and I were the only two cats in the band who hung around Minneapolis during Christmas vacation.
And { got bored, as he usually does. Because when he's not creating he's not alive, you know. So he went
down to the soundstage where we were set up for rehearsal before vacation began. And he just played by
himself all day; they say he stayed in there for like eight, 10 hours, just messingb around with ideas. And
then the second day he got up the courage to call us and ask, "You guys bored too?" So we came out and
worked on a good half dozen tunes. And we went in the studio and started cutting themwe cut the rhythm
tracks for 'Dark,' 'Come,' 'Papa' and a few other things like that."

As his band members returned to town, { did quite a bit more work on these basic tracks, and Come
ultimately turned out to be a pretty slick album. But the idea of just working in a trio context with just
Sonny and Michael triggered in { the idea for another kind of record. In the midst of work on Come, the
three of them set up together on the soundstage at Paisley Park, their amps cranked up full, and did some
bluesy jamming. The result is an album called The Undertaker.

"Picture this" says Michael: "A DAT machine, a 32-channel board, two techs and three players. It was
about three o'clock in the morning. We got our sounds together and just let the DAT roll. We took about an
hour to make that record, from start to finish, playing straight through with no overdubs. The sequence of
songs on the record is exactly the way we played it. The guitar guitar segues from one song to the next, like
when we do live stuff."

There'd been talk for a while of a straight-up blues album from the Artist They Used To Call Prince, but
The Undertaker, says {, is not that album. "It starts off in a blues vein," he admits, "bit then quickly goes to
funk. But because of the first song, people tend to want to put it in that [blues] glass of water."

I take a seat behind the SSL board in the control room at Paisley Park's big studio. An engineer cues up a
tape and a lean, powerful three-chord blues called "The Ride" flows from the speakers. The song is
squarely in the classic automotive double-entendr tradition: "If you got the time baby, I got the ride". But
{'s guitar solos (and there are many of them) fling themselves violently outside the confines of traditional
blues riffing. The first solo is fluid and slippery, with a tone that combines honking wah and the envelope
filter sound from a Zoom 9030 effects processor. (apparently { has become infatuated with the Zoom. He's
currently using it heavily, much in the same way he used a harmonizer on the Diamonds and Pearls
album). And with the second guitar solo, all hell breaks loosemega-distorted, dissonant madness which
in its own guitarristic way, is the most excessive thing yet from an artist noted for always going over the
top.

67
"He tends to really start opening up and playing a lot of different things when me and Michael do a trio
thing with him" Says Sonny Thompson. "There's no keyboards thereno nothing. So he can venture out
and play what he wants to play."

As for {, he says he's really pleased with The Undertaker; "It's real garage, you know? But Warners won't
release it..."

Which brings us to the real sore point for The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. To the essence of his
dispute with Warner Bros. To put it as simply and naturally as possible, { produces more music per year
than the label feels it can profitably release. So they don't.

"Don't you think there's restraint of trade?" { demands, who has avidly followed singer George Michael's
lawsuit with Sony Records over artistic freedom. His own impasse with Warners has been building to a
crisis over the past several years. The public's first awareness of the struggle came circa 1988, with the
notorious Black Albuma scathing disc full of gansta rap material that the Artist Then Known As Prince
was originally going to release through Warners, but then decided to pull. The reason generally cited for the
record's withdrawal was its "dark subject matter", but there were also gripes from the Princely camp about
"scheduling conflicts" with Warners. Meanwhile the Lovesexy album apperared so quickly that the Black
Album was soon forgottenby all the bootleggers and collectors, that is.

Cut to 1994. After losing money for some time, the former Prince's Paisley Park Records label (distributed
by Warners) finally folds. Meanwhile the Artist Who Formerly Owned the Label, has at last three albums'
worth of material in the can. Warners says it will release only one. So what happens? The Artist announces
that he is no longer Prince, that he has changed his name to {. Thanks to a special dispensation from
Warners, he is allowed to release his first work under his new identitythe hit single "The Most Beautiful
Girl In The World"on his newly created NPG label. The record is distributed not by Warners, but by a
r&b entrepreneur All Beller's Bellmark Records.

What will happen with The Undertaker? If Warners won't release it, will they permit the Artist They
Continue To Market As Prince to put it out on NPG/Bellmark? In other words, was "The Most Beautiful
Girl In The World" deal a one-off courtesy or was it a precedent-setting policy move on Warners part?
Apparently, lawyers and managers are ducking that out right now. Ask { about the whole affair and you'll
get a characteristically enlightening answer.

GW: Will The Undertaker come out on your own NPG label?
{: I don't know. Levi runs the label.

Ask the same question to Levi Seacer and you don't get much further: "As to when it's gonna come out, I
don't know. The thing is that he's always working on something. But I think this needs to be heard. "

If the controversy were only about some bonus jam-out disc, it wouldn't be worth all the ink that's already
been spilled over it. But also in the can is a brand-new, full-fledged { and the New Power Generation studio
album called The Gold Experience, which was a much more deliberate effort than Come, says Michael
Bland, who drummed on both discs. "I think { wanted to write some strong songs that are classics".

Hearing { and the New Power Generation perform songs from The Gold Experience in concert, one is
inclined to believe he succeeded. Songs like "Acknowledge Me" and "Days Of Wild" are stupefyingly
funkyamong the best stuff { has recorded under any name. And yet, according to Bland, The Gold
Experience will probably never see the light of day. { is presently attempting to release it by himself. But
his contract prohibits him from doing so. "There's no release date," says Bland. "We don't know where it's
gonna goexcept for into the hands of the fans. There's a possibility that we might just give the record
away. It's about time that we actually gave something back to our fans who have supported us for so many
years".

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Distribution of the album via the much-vaunted "information superhighway" is another possibility that
seems to be under discussion. { is reportedly quite interested in the new computer technologies and recently
issued his own CD-ROM disk. So does his mane change signal {'s entry into the new cyber eraperhaps
like Todd Rundgren's decision to change his name to TR1? In adopting his new name, The Artist We've
Been Talking About All Along Here had purportedly decided to release only old material on Warners
things laying around in the can that he'd recorded back when he was still Prince. Yet according to his
sidemen, the Come album dates from the same period as The Undertakerand is, consequently, a fairly
recent work. Yet, it has been released on Warners under the name of "Prince." So is the name change a
merely a business conveniencea thinly veiled ploy to bring out extra product under another imprint? Or
is it a personal thing, as { has alleged in interviews? Perhaps a rejection of the identity his parents thrust on
him at birth? Or is it yet another artistic persona? Questions, questions.

GW: Does your name change signal a shift in your approach to marketing music?
{: We'll have to see, not deliberately.

In the midst of all this there exists the intriguing possibility that the Ego Formerly Known as Prince is
simply and finally spinning irrevocably out of control. If the Paisley Park complex resembles your average
mid-sized American corporation (and it soes), it seems distinctly like the kind of company run by a real
"cut-to-the-chase", "shoot-from-the-hip" kind of CEO. You know, the kind of guy who's got so many plates
spinning in the air that a crash seems inevitable. Around Minnaepolis, there's talk of the high employee
turnover rate at Paisley Park. "If you want to talk to disgruntled ex-employees, you can do plenty of
interviews", one local informs me. There's also talk of money leaving the company under mysterious
circumstances.

There certainly have been moments in the past when the Artist Then Known As Prince looked like he was
really losing it. He followed the rampaging success of Purple Rain with the lackluster Around The World In
a Day, and the willfully obscure (but musically fascinating) Parade. It seemed he'd never have a hit again.
Ultimately, however, { had the last laugh over his detractorsmany times over. There can be sensed
among the people who work with { an almost cultic faithunshakable belief that, no matter how things
look to the outside world, everything is really and truly okay. The capacity for this kind of faith of seems to
be a requirement for working with {.

GW: What do you look for when hiring a musician?

{: Sickness.

Up on the stage at Glam Slam, in full cry, the New Power Generation are a sight to behold. Keyboardist
Morris Hayes, his hat resembling a Hostese Snowball leans over a transparent plexiglass Hammond B-3
that is festooned with George Clintonsque white feather boas. Tommy Barbarella, the other keyboard man,
with his floor-length hair, looks like somebody's hippy mom who picked the wrong biker bar to get drunk
in. Michael Bland pounds a 14-carat gold drum kit -a gift from "the Boss"- while Sonny Thompson
wrestles a five string bass bigger than he is, his dreadlock-style braids half obscuring his face.

And then there's Mayte (pronounced My-Tay). Schooled in every form of dance from belly to ballet, NPG's
resident temptress knows more ways to shake her remarkable derrire than her boss knows ways to dodge
interviewers' questions. During {'s extended guitar solo on "The Ride", Mayte ascends the clitoral tower
atop the Endorphin Machine. A magician's top hat crowning her long, dark, silky hair, she performs a series
of splits and squats that defy the laws of both gravity and anatomy, and which must surely be illegal in
certain Southern states. What heavy metal shred god would ever consent to be upstaged in this way during
his Big Guitar Moment? As guitar heroes go, { is a breed apart.

And he's such a loose guy that he'll even introduce a new song to the band right on stage. About mid-way
through the Glam Slam set, the energy of the show changes drastically. The rock concert vibe gives way to
the ecstatic feel of a hip hop show. { has slipped on a demo tape he'd recorded earlier that very day.

69
"Right in the middle of the show he asked us, 'Y'all wanna hear a new song?'" Michael Bland later explains.
"And he went back to the Endorphin Machine and put it on." The song called "Pussy Control," inspires
three women from the audience to leap on the stage and dance in a manner appropriate to this title.
Ostensibly, they're just ordinary concert-goers but the woman in the almost non existent red dress is most
certainly a pro.

"You mean was that, like, staged or something?" Michael Bland laughs later. "No . Un-uh. We did'n have a
clue it was going to happen. But then I gotta sayand I mean this totally respectfullyall sorts of freaks
come to our shows. And we see 'em. You can identfy them a mile away. So sometimes you just let 'em get
on stage and do their thing. 'Cause you know, we're pretty freaky too."

'I Am Normal!' - { Talks to Q

Interviewed By Adrian Deevoy
Q, July 1994

Pleased to meet you... Hope you've guessed my name. For the first time since God alone knows when, the
artist formerly known as Prince talks exclusively and extensively about identity, insecurity, George
Michael, Nelson Mandela, ballet, boogie, opera, orgasm, freedom and the future. "I follow the advice of my
spirit," he tells Adrian Deevoy.

His name is not Prince. And he is not funky. His name is Albert. And he is lurching across the dancefloor
in search of accommodating company. Slightly balding and chunkier than he looks in photographs, he
moors behind a gyrating female and clumsily interfaces.

Up on the stage another man whose name is not Prince says, "This is dedicated to Prince Albert, the
funkiest man in Monaco." It's a wonder he can get the words out with his tongue buried so deep in his
cheek. Prince Albert beams and grinds arhythmically on. Prince laughs, throws a swift shape and stops the
funk on the one. It's his party and he'll lie if he wants to.

One hundred and twenty people have been invited to the Stars & Bars club in Monte Carlo for this most
exclusive of celebrations. The champagne is free, the spirits are freer and the house band is possibly the
best live act on the planet. You probably remember them as Prince And The New Power Generation.
They're still the NPG but he's not Prince any more. He is { (to give him his full title). Sir Hieroglyphicford
for short.

Ursula Andress is at the bar, sipping sensually at a flute of champagne. A few generations and a couple of
yards along, Claudia Shiffer is doing likewise. It's that sort of a do. Everyone is wearing impossibly shiny
shoes and gold epaulettes. If God weren't resting his suave old soul, you'd expect David Niven to walk in
with Peter Wyngarde on his arm. Without trying too hard, you can imagine Fellini standing in the corner
saying, "Christ, this is weird!" Quit what the gnarled jet-setters are making of the music programme is
anyone's guess. At 1:15am the Barry Manilow tape was exchanged for a stripped down five-piece (and non-
stop disco dancer Mayte - pronounced My Tie - Garcia) who have just embarked upon the most daunting
funk experience of a lifetime. A knot of maybe 15 perfumed debs cluster around the lip of the stage.
Naturally you join them and find yourself standing so close to { to use the diminutive that you can here him
singing unamplified behind his microphone.

As the franc-trillionaires dance like your dad or simply stand looking bemused, a set of entirely new
material is unleashed: a slamming funk madhouse named "Now"; a total headshag of a thing called
"Interactive"; "Glam Slam Boogie", a swinging R & B shuffle; this scorching rap, Days Of Wild; "Space",
a superb mid-paced chug; a Prince-of-yore smutathon which boasts the chorus "Pop goes the zipper";

70
"Race", another blistering rap and a freshly minted song which may not have been called "Jogging
Machine".

Amazingly, despite performing for over two hours and dancing like an amphetamined primate, he doesn't
break sweat. It's only during the very last song (during which he takes to calling out "Bass - hallowed be
thy name" and "You know you're funky!") that minute moist tresses begin to glisten at the back of his neck.
Shirtless now, you can't help but notice as he cavorts on the floor with Mayte that here is a man who has no
truck with underwear. The trained medical eye can also detect, through sheer yellow matador trousers, that
he is circumcised. And she isn't. It is indecently, maybe even illegally, sexy. "Doesn't anyone have to go to
work tomorrow." he asks rhetorically as the monied merry-makers bay for another encore. "Guess not."

The Prince camp are an odd crew: all are deeply aware of the idiosyncrasies of their bonsai boss - and they
call him "Boss" - but they hold him in unutterably high esteem. One lunchtime, his American PR, face
poker-straight, tells me that her charge is "an instrument of God." Over drinks, his European PR is a little
more terrestrial: "He doesn't talk a lot," he says, reflecting on Prince's visit, a few days ago, to his newly
opened London shop. "He just came in and sat on the stairs sucking a lollipop. Then he wandered around
for a while, looking at things. Of course, the next day I get long lists of changes he wants made."

The band plainly find his celebrity both a convenient distraction and a bit of a laugh. They are more than
used to fencing questions about their commander, invariably dismissing enquiries with "He's just a regular
cat like you and me", but in their hearts they know he isn't. I ask them one Fleet Street-type question about
their shrift: "Is he Mayte's boyfriend?" "No," they say firmly. "She don't have a boyfriend."

Amusingly, among the entourage, the P word is rarely mentioned for fear it might result in the P45 word.
There is a mild panic when a poster advertising his appearance at Monte Carlo's World Music Awards is
spotted with the dread legend on it. In the blink of an eye the name is erased and the now familiar gold
unisex symbol drawn in its place. "If he'd seen that," says a relieved minder, "he might have just have
turned around and gone home."

A telling scene occurs one night as the band are sitting around talking nonsense and drinking beer in the
lobby of the oppressively posh Hotel De Paris. A huge horde of fans have gathered outside having heard
that their hero is dining with Prince Albert tonight and will soon be emerging from the hotel. At 8.30,
Prince ghosts up by your side (you soon learn that he has this unnerving habit of just appearing) and in an
unimaginably deep voice asks, "Shall I go out the front?" He is resplendent in full battle dress: a jacket
made from what once must have been fold doily, lace strides, heels, walking cane and lollipop. "Yeah," cry
the band, "go out the front! Freak 'em out!" With the cheekiest of smirks, he pops the lolly decisively into
his mouth and steps boldly out through the revolving door. The crowd screech his old name as, surrounded
by three minders, he steps - head down, mouth corners curling knowingly - into a waiting car.

Only once during our five-day stay do we see Prince out of his stage gear. He is in a lift heading down to
have his hair re-teased and is wearing a black jumper, leather jeans and impenetrable dark glasses,
presumably because he hasn't bothered to put on any make-up on. He looks remarkably pale but then he has
just got up. It's 5pm.

Similarly, the only time you truly find him off-duty is when you wander early into the empty Stars & Bars
club and he is standing on the dance floor on his own picking out a riff on a bass guitar. After thrumbing
absently for a while he mutters "Sounds like shit" to himself. Then the enigmatic song and dance man looks
over to the technicians and says, "Can we get separate EQ for the bass in the monitors?"

Such was the success of the gig at Prince Albert's party, a decision is made to play the same club the
following evening. Sadly, the show isn't nearly half as good. It is merely transcendent.

"Do you feel ready to meet him?" It's been four days now. It's a little after midnight. You're not going to
feel much readier. I'm escorted up to a small room that features a large white bed and not much else. The

71
doors are open and, below, the guano-festooned roof of the Monte Carlo Casino looks monumentally
unimpressive. The junior suite is the temporary home of Prince's brother and head of security, Duane
Nelson. In keeping with the name change game, he has been re-christened The Former Duane. Prince's
personal minder, a mightily be-blazered individual called Tracy, who looks and sounds alarmingly like
Mike Tyson, informs us that "he" will be arriving soon.

Within a minute, there is a tiny commotion in the doorway and Prince is suddenly standing before you like
a virgin bride on her wedding night. Dressed completely in white silk and wearing full make-up, he only
breaks a long floor-bound stare to flash one coquettish glance upwards by way of a greeting. I'm introduced
by name. He isn't. We are left alone.

An agreement made prior to this meeting stipulated, in no uncertain terms, that three rules were to by
obeyed if intercourse of any description were to occur: firstly, that no tape recorder be used; secondly, that
no notepad or pen be brought into the room; and thirdly, and most strangely, that no questions be asked. He
wanted to enjoy a half-hour conversation unencumbered by the paraphernalia of nosy journalism.

He paces around the cramped boudoir in deliberate, even steps, as if he needed to fit the place with a new
carpet and had forgotten his tape measure. He wanders out on to the balcony, still having not uttered a word
and then comes back in, shutting the doors behind him. He is small but in perfect proportion, like a scale
model of an adult. A doll, an Action Mannequin. He sits down next to me on the bed in a semi-lotus
position and fixes his gaze on the middle distance, smiling secretly. No-one has said anything for a full
minute. Then he turns with this curious expression. It's somewhere between the shamed but surly look of
someone that has been wrongly reprimanded and the suggestive yet intense glare of someone who is about
to shag you. Oh no! He leans forward and you can smell him. It is just like the band said: he smells of
flowers, music and innocence. I smell of lager. Eventually, he says this:

"I don't say much."

Oh dear. Silence.
Why not?

He shrugs in slow-motion and looks sideways and downwards. It's a sad, apologetic gesture, like he just
killed your dog. This will serve as an answer for many of the questions he's initially asked. Once again.
Why is that? Why don't you say much?
"You don't need to."

That doesn't bode well for this conversation really, does it?
"Guess not."

A different tack: "Speak to me only with thine eyes." Have you heard that phrase?
"Mm".

He turns on the bed and laughs, rolling his eyes to heaven. He is wearing an extraordinary amount of slap -
foundation, eyeliner, black mascara (on lashes of which Bambi is alleged to be fiercely jealous), brown eye
shadow on the outermost corners of his lids. He has the most slender line of facial hair that runs from one
temple, down his cheek across his upper lip and up the other side. There are black, phallic rockets on the
sleeves of his shirt.

We look at each other for a while. It isn't quite uncomfortable, more exhilarating, like a first date. In
keeping with this, I say: "You look lovely, by the way."
He exhales almost sexually, bites his lower lip and whispers, "Why, thank you."

This is becoming ludicrous. We've got 30 minutes and 10 of those have just been swallowed up with
nothing more than a handful of sighs, some peculiar body language and one dodgy chat-up line to show for
it. I decide to forget the rules and fire a volley of questions at him.

72
How did you feel when you heard Jimi Hendrix for the first time? He stops and thinks and arranges his
hands in a steeple in front of his mouth.
"That was before Puerto Rico," he says quietly and, to be honest, mystifyingly. "I can't remember much
before then. That was before I changed my name."

Why have you changed your name?

"I acted on the advice of my spirit."

Do you normally do that. Is it reliable, your spirit's advice?

"Of course."

Is it significant that you've changed your name?

"It's very significant."

Did you dream last night?

He frowns. "No, can't remember. Although I had a dream recently and I was telling Mo Ostin (Chairman of
Warner Brothers Records) to be all a man and not half a man."

Last night I dreamt I saw this article in print. Believe it or not, the headline was Funny Little Fucker.
Seriously.
He laughs. "Oh."

Do you fall in love easily?

"No."

You're a slow burner then?

"Un-huh."

It isn't going tremendously well. Knocking it on the head and suggesting we just go out for a curry begins
to seem like an excellent idea. Then something highly bizarre and Prince-like happens: a sound starts to
crackle through a previously unnoticed and inert TV. Without missing a beat, he nods towards the set and
says, "It's a sign. It's a sign that we should go to my room." He makes for the door, leading with his
shoulders. Duane appears in the hall and asks what the problem is. "A sound came through the TV,"
explains Prince. "It's a sign." "Nah, says Duane, "you probably just sat on the remote control." And with
that, he ushers us back into the bedroom to continue our "conversation".

Q: Do you think you're underrated as a lyricist?

"Well, underrated by who? Against what? You know? Some people get them. That's what counts."

Q: Do people not get the humour in your work?

"Maybe, but there's a lot of things that I don't get the humour in."

Q: What's the most moving piece of music you've heard recently?

(Long, sigh-strewn pause) "Sonny's bass solo last night."

Q: What is your preoccupation with sex all about? it features in nearly all your songs. Does sex really loom
that large in your life?
"My songs aren't all about sex. People read that into them."

Q: But sex is such a dominant theme. Your new song called "Come" is unarguably about orgasm.
"Is it? That's your interpretation? Come where? Come to whom? Come for what?"

73
Q: Oh, come on!
(Laughs) "That's just the way you see it. It's in your mind."

This is the first subject he warms to: different perceptions. How one man's meat is another man's muesli.
This, he explains, is why we can't label music, feelings, people. He says something convoluted like:
everything is something else to everyone. When I begin to ask him about how he thinks other people
perceive him, it obviously touches a nerve. He adopts the voice of an especially demented mynah bird and
asks, "Are you normal? Are you normal? Is that what you're asking me? Do I think I'm normal? Yes, I do. I
think I'm normal. I am normal."

Q: What happens in your life when you're not doing music?

(Hikes, eyebrows, looks incredulous) "When I'm not doing music?"

Q: Do you have a life outside of your work?

"Yes."

Q: And what does that involve?

(Pinteresque pause) "Have you never read about me? I'm a very private person."

Q: I'm not prying, I'm just interested.

"I know. I understand."

The subject of his recording contract with Warner Brothers comes up, as does the topic of Prince's work -
he speaks about Prince in the third person. Whether or not Prince the recording artist is finished, consigned
to the bunker of history, is unclear. He says several times that the body of work is complete but later admits
that he hasn't ruled out the possibility of adding to it, under the name Prince or otherwise, in the future.

Q: Is it possible to shed a entire personality?

It's not like it's a real personality."

Q: It's a person then?

"Yeah, I think it is."

Q: Have you turned your back on pop music?

"What's pop music? It's different things to different people."

Q: Beatles-derived four-chord tunes that everyone can sing along to.

"Still don't help. Is The Most Beautiful Girl pop music? I can't say? You can't say."

He mentions George Michael's court case for the first time. It's a subject he'll return to with astonishing
regularity and persistence. At one point, he almost shouts, "Why can't George Michael do what he wants?
Why can't he write a ballet if he wants to?" What he is talking about is artistic freedom and its place in the
future. By the end of the rant, and it is a rant, I suggest that he should get in touch with George Michael as
he might find such supportive words encouraging. "Oh," he says breezily. "We speak."

Q: What do you think about when you're playing a guitar solo?

"I'm normally just listening."

Q: You look like you're about to cry sometimes.

"Really? Mm. Maybe."

Q: You seem at your most relaxed on stage.

"If it's all going well, I'm pretty happy up there. It's a very natural thing for me."

74
Q: Offstage you seem to be having a good old laugh at us sometimes.
He laughs.

The categorisation of music is another area which gets his goat. How on earth can we categorise something
like music when everybody hears and feels it differently? How many people do you know that have just
one type of music in their record collections? Non, right? You don't get home and think, I'll listen to some
ambient jazz punk, do you? You just have a mood in your head and yet we, or at least the record
companies, feel the need to compartmentalise everything. Tell you what, when you play a song live, and it's
a jam, man, and you think up some little vocal line and everyone is still singing that when you've left that
stage. That's marketing. Period. Wouldn't it be great if someone made an album and gave it away for free?
Like air. You could just have it. Anyway, what type of music do The Sundays play? Is it pop, indie, rock?
Who cares?

When eventually, I say that anyone who heard Prince play would assume that his new direction was big
funk, he says cryptically, "You could ask those people what they saw and they might say that they didn't
see Prince play at all..."

Q: Do you ever have a problem translating the sounds you hear in your hear into music?
"No, that's never been a problem. The problem is getting it all out before another idea comes along."

Q: Do you exhaust people?

(Laughs) "Yes, I do."

Q: A joke: you used to be called Prince and then you were Victor. Why not just call yourself Vince?
"I read that somewhere. I was never called Victor. That was the line in the song, 'I will be called Victor,' I
never called myself Victor."

He launches into a stream of consciousness monologue about names. What they mean. This seems to
confuse him. He has, he says, a friend called Gilbert Davidson, and one day he said to Gilbert, Who is
David? Is he your father? No, said Gilbert. Is he your grandfather? No. Then, man, you'd better look back
and find out who he is. Then Prince started thinking, My name is Nelson. Who was Nel? My mother? No.
My grandmother? Uh-un. Then he thought, Maybe she's someone that I don't want to know about.

Q: I asked the band, individually, what you smell of?

"What I smell of? What'd Sonny say?"

He said you smell of music.

(Delighted smile) "That's a good answer, Sonny. That's a like, yeah, yeah, let's have the next question type
answer, isn't it?

Q: And I asked them to sum you up in one word. The word one of them chose was, Wow!
(Laughs "Who said that? No, let me guess. Was it Michael?

Q: Yes.
"That's funny. Wow. We don't normally talk about that kind of stuff."

Now he's getting excited. He has moved to a chair and is sitting with his boots - high-heeled silver stage
numbers covered in mini mirrors - up on the counterpane. At one pint, whilst agreeing about something
with particular enthusiasm, I grab hold of his boot. He doesn't flinch, but his toes wriggle inside. He has left
behind the cautious customer of yesterhour and is freewheeling through the thoughts as they enter his head.
Suddenly it strikes you. Blimey! It's just like having a chat with a normal bloke.

75
Q: Tell me about the opera you've written.
"I don't want to give too much away. It's just a story.

Q: What sort of story? A love story?

"Could be."

Q: Did you write the libretto?

"Yeah, (he laughs at the pretentiousness of the word) I wrote the story."

Q: Did you find opera difficult to get into?

"I don't really listen to opera."

He had spoken to Placido Domingo earlier in the evening. "He said some very beautiful things and you
could sense that he had a feeling of all the power that was in the room and what it could achieve if we did
something with it." While they were talking, Prince got this tune in his head that he's going to get down
pretty quickly.

Q: I've been told that you're an instrument of God.

"Oh yeah, stuff's been written about that. Who said that?"

Q: Your PR.
(Laughs) "Really?"

Q: Do you seriously feel like you are a conduit for some higher power?
"No, I just practice a lot."

Q: Do you ever feel a certain telepathy exists between you and the NPG?
"Sure, musically, that happens sometimes. But we rehearse too."

He tells a long story about the making of the video for The Most Beautiful Girl In The World. They placed
ads and got shedloads of letters and home videos back. They selected a cross section of women all from
different backgrounds and invited them to meet Prince. He asked them what their dreams were and then to
the best of his mortal abilities set about making those dreams come true. Like Jim'll fix it with "O" Levels.
Then they filmed the women watching footage of their fantasies. One of the women, and he get suite
emotional as he relates this, wrote to him afterwards saying that although she was overweight, he had made
her feel beautiful and she would lose weight with the intention of modelling one day.

Q: Is physical beauty an overrated virtue?

"Yes. See, you understand."

Q: Did you sit on The Most Beautiful Girl In The World so Warners couldn't have it and you could release
it on your own terms?
No, I didn't sit on it. I heard that I did that but I only wrote it recently."

Q: What would you have done if it had stiffed?

"If it had stiffed? (Laughs) It wouldn't have mattered. I put the record out, that was the important thing.
People got to hear it."

Q: Did you feel vindicated when it was so successful?

Well, it's nice when people appreciate what you do."

We discuss the future again. He says, "That's why I wanted you to help me - and I need some help with this
- because you think that anything is possible." He peels off at a tangent. "In the future," he announces, "I

76
might be interactive. You might be able to access me and tell me what to play." It's certainly a thought. He
says he's found a young drummer "who plays things you can't even think. And if he wants to do an album
of drum solos, then I'm prepared to go out on tour to finance that." He reveals that he's got a blues album
completed and in the can and lets out a vocal wail of anguished guitar to illustrate just how good it is.
He brings up Nelson Mandela and the current situation in South Africa. Mr. Mandela, as he calls him, must
have had a very clear vision of what would happen. He envies this and would like to have that gift.
Something of a basketball fan, he alludes to Magic Johnson time and time again. "He wants to form his
own team," he says. "How long will that take?" He looks at his non-existing watch and shoots a look to the
ceiling. "Look at South Africa," he says, palms upturned. "Bosnia. You can't tell people what to do for that
long." He appears to be equating racial and artistic freedom, then he has to be prepared to put up with that
Mick Hucknall jazz harmonica album, which, under these terms, could easily emerge. "But would that be a
bad thing?" he asks, his argument crumbling. "OK", he concedes, giggling. "I guess you wouldn't have to
listen to everything."

Q: Won't people say, It's all very well Prince banging on about artistic freedom when we've got bill to pay
and mundane reality to cope with? Aren't you speaking from a privileged position?
"If you're shackled and restricted, it doesn't matter how much money you got. Money don't help. And I've
got bills to pay. People at Paisley (Park), they're like my family, I have responsibility towards them."

Q: Would you like to have children?

"That's something I haven't thought about."

Q: You've been thinking about the future so much and you haven't considered children?
"No, but I'd like to contribute to the future generation."

He's tearing up and down the room now, having talked for almost an hour and a half. His voice has become
excited and slipped up a key. Not suite Kiss standards but getting there. Now and then, he slips into black
slang. He even belches once, very gently but it's a belch nonetheless. It's like the Queen farting and lighting
it. He enthuses about his new songs, Now and Days Of Wild. "What the fuck is that all about?" he asks,
shimming around the bed with one arm stiff behind his back, rapping the opening lines, which involve
copious use of the Oedipal compound noun. He raves about the genius of George Clinton, froths about his
Smell My Finger album and is plainly in awe of his talents. "George is the funk," he explains breathlessly.
He speaks about purity in music. "Rock N' Roll, man", he says, "was so much better when people were
hungry. It was better when you didn't automatically make money. When James (Brown) was putting out an
album every four months, that was the stuff."

It's getting on for 2am now and we have one final bash at distilling what he really wants to convey. Before
that, he asks about magazine editorial practice and is stimulated by the fact that an article can go from
writer to reader virtually untampered with. He speculates about producing music that you would listen to as
you read this article. "That would be great, wouldn't it? And although I am an artist without a contract,
that's just the sort of thing I can't do."

He recaps one last time: artistic freedom for everyone with fearlessness and limitlessness well of the fore;
love and care to be liberally distributed and accepted; peace to reign; dolphins to leap; choirs of children to
sing and, um, George Michael to write that ballet.

"So," he says spinning on his spangly heels. "Are we gonna party?" He dances towards the door, flicks a
final seductive glance over his shoulder and sashays out. Funny little fucker.

77
 THE NEW POWER GENERATION GAME
TOMMY SONNY MICHAEL MORRIS
BARBARELLA THOMPSON BLAND HAYES
Can you "It's the derivative "It's like having a "It's as vital to "The funk is like
explain of the hyperbole of piece of greasy our constitution, a vibe, it's a feel.
"the pi squared minus chicken. I play physically, as It hits you and
funk", the circumference of bass, and funk for marrow and you can't sit still.
please? the kick drum. me is just blood, so how It makes the neck
There's no such something you do I explain come loose. Then
thing as a funky feel. You can that? It's you get a hump
note. It's the spaces almost damn eat something that in your back and
between the notes." it." pervades my you know you
existence. I'm got the funk. In
going to try and my opinion."
avoid sexual
metaphors here
but you know
how to do it or
you don't."
Is there "It would have to be "Sly & The "You could "Any Sly track.
one song Sly & The Family Family Stone - probably put on It's so hard to
the whole Stone. Any track, Fresh." Lovesexy and pick a definitive
band, pretty well." we'd all stand track but let me
Prince around just pick one out
included, speechless. But of the box: Thank
would other than that, You (Falletinme
agree upon Graham Central Be Mice Elf
as being Station's first Again)."
the record."
greatest
funk
record?
You get in "We just try to "We just say a "Pray that God "We pool our
a huddle come together and prayer. Thank will bless us thoughts and it's
before you focus as a group and God and ask Him with the funk." just a quiet
play. What give thanks for the to protect us and moment to think
goes on opportunity to share the audience and about what's
there? our music." ask Him for us to ahead. It's
do good." execution time."
Is there a "I think it's a "We definitely "Oh yeah. That's "I think there is,
type of combination of have a second pretty well what because we all
telepathy telepathy, sight when it it is. We know get the grit in our
involved musicianship, comes to locking over 500 songs teeth when we're

78
when you rehearsal and into certain and we have to listening to
play knowing each other things. Michael be prepared to certain songs.
together? very well." (Bland, drummer) pull out And it's the same
and I often hit a anything. We when we play.
lick together, no have to just It's like, Ooooh, I
matter how about be able to looove playing
complicated it is. read his mind." this one."
It's crazy."
What was "Hi. He said it in "'Let me borrow "He came up to "Prior to getting
the first this particular way. your guitar'. We me in a club in in with him, I had
thing Quite serious were real young, Minneapolis in done a remix on
Prince said sounding. The work we both came up '88 and he used Shake and he'd
to you? ethic was very together and I'm to hang out and heard it. And he
obvious from the real proud of him. watch a group I came by at
start." But that was the was in called Dr. Paisley park and
first thing he said Mambo's said, Hey, that
and I'm kinda Combo. He used mix was pretty
glad I gave it to to get up and great. It was a
him." play with us. very heavy
And after I think moment for me. I
the first time we was in awe of
played together, him. He doesn't
he came over say a whole lot.
and said to me, You see him and
'Man, you're you see this
scary.'" image and you
see him on TV
and you think,
Oh, that's just
TV, but he's like
that all the time.
He's a very
majestic person."
Do you "Yeah, I do. It takes "Well, no. We do "Sometimes, but "He's the
find his the heat off us in a what we do I think he deals lightning rod, the
celebrity way. But being because we're with it very centre of
amusing? under such scrutiny musicians and he intelligently and attention. So
is pretty tough." don't think he's gracefully." yeah, that makes
any better or any us feel more
worse than comfortable. But
anyone else. We what he does is
try to be normal give us the space
people but he's to be ourselves
just such a hard and get out there,
worker. That's his which a lot of

79
 thing. He wants guys in his
to create great position wouldn't
music." do."
What's "The Question Of "Too many, man, "A week ago I "It ain't on a
your U. Or Condition Of too many." was in the record yet but
favorite The Heart." kitchen bustin' people have just
Prince suds, and I put got to wait until
song? on 1999 and that they hear Days
really hit home. Of Wild. We just
That sparse get into a groove
electronic thing. on that and it's
Musically, it's like being in
not a very church - you're
complex, just going to keep
ground-breaking right on going
record, but it has until they turn the
real feel." lights out."
What's "There were a lot on "At the moment "All The Critics "Playing
your the 'symbol' album it's the song Now, Love U In New keyboards, I
favorite because we did although that's York off 1999. I remember the
moment quite a bit of that not on a record. never used to keyboard solo on
on a live and all the parts But that's the one understand that Head so much. I
Prince evolved as we were I get to use all my but I get it now used to have a
record? going to tape. Some toys on." and I love it." big eight-track
of that was really tape and back
spontaneous. The that solo up over
climax of The and over again."
Beautiful Ones, I
love that too."
What does "Flowers and "Music, man. He "He reeks of "He smells like a
Prince petals." smells of music." innocence and million bucks, all
smell of? naivet and a the time."
sense of time,
space and
dimension."
Sum
Prince up
"Genius." "Fantastic." "Wow." "Prolific."
in one
word.

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 {
Interviewed By Alan Light
Vibe, August 1994

PROLOGUE
Monte Carlo
May 2, 1994
"So how can we do an interview
that's not like an interview?" asks {
as he spoons a dollop of jam into
his tea. We're sitting in the Cote
Jardin restaurant in Monte Carlo's
historic Hotel de Paris, overlooking
a small garden that overlooks the
Mediterranean Sea. He is here to
accept an award for Outstanding
Contribution to the Pop Industry at
the 1994 World Music Awards. I
am here at his request, the final step
in a full year of putting together his
first lengthy conversation with a
journalist since 1990.

Those 12 months have been an

especially remarkable time for
{whom some call "the artist
formerly known as Prince," or any
number of variations on that theme;
others, of course, will always call
him Prince, much to his dismay.
The year has included--in addition
to the controversial name-change
that signaled the "retirement" of
one of this era's biggest pop stars and the songs that made him famous--a sales slump and the closing of his
Paisley Park Records label. He went through four publicity firms in nine months. But this run of hard times
was quickly followed by a triumphant rise with the single "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World," his
biggest hit in several years. And at the end of this particular peculiar period, {has emerged with some of the
best music he's ever made--though whether the world will ever be able to hear it is another question, in the
hands of managers and lawyers and Warner Bros. ecords as they negotiate how or if all this music will be
released.

Which, perhaps, is why he feels that now is the time to talk after a long silence. It seems to be part of a
campaign to generally increase his visibility by appearing at events like the World Music Awards, for
instance--exactly the kind of thing the reclusive Prince of old would have avoided like the plague. Or to
introduce three new songs on Soul Train or publish a book--titled The Sacrifice of Victor--of photos from
his last European tour that presents him much more up close and personal than he has been shown in the
past.

Meanwhile, he continues to move forward, exploring new, alternative outlets for his music, like an
innovative CD-ROM extravaganza, {Interactive, that incorporates dozens of songs into a kind of video
game/video jukebox--or the Joffrey Ballet's wildly successful Billboards, set to his music, which may lead

81
to his writing a full-length ballet score soon. And through it all, he has kept writing and recording new
songs--or "experiences," as he now likes to call them--and struggling to find a way to get as many of them
as possible released to the public.

"I just want to be all that I can be," {says in his dressing room at the Monte Carlo Sporting Club, site of the
World Music Awards. "Bo Jackson can play baseball and football--can you imagine what I would do if I
could do all I can? If they let me loose, I can wreck shit."

ACT I
San Francisco
April 10, 1993

"Can you keep a secret?"

These--I kid you not--are Prince's first words to me. (And since the answer is yes, all I can tell you is that
you really wouldn't be all that interested.) This is back when things were simple, when Prince was still
Prince, blasting through a lengthy international tour.

I receive a call in New York on Friday saying that Prince has read something I wrote about the tour's
opening shows. He wants to meet me in San Francisco on Saturday.

The driver who picks me up in San Francisco shows me the erotic valentine his girlfriend made for him,
then tells me about the work he and his wife are doing for the Dalai Lama. It's time to wonder, Is this whole
thing a put-on? But no, I get to the arena and there is Prince, sitting alone in the house, watching his band,
the New Power Generation, start sound check. He is fighting a cold, so we speak quietly back and forth for
a while, and then he leads me onstage to continue the conversation while he straps on his guitar and
rehearses the band.

Mostly, Prince talks about music--about Sly Stone and Earth, Wind & Fire. He leads me over to Tommy
Barbarella's keyboards to demonstrate how he's utilizing samples onstage now (such as the female yelp in
the new song "Peach," which came courtesy of Kim Basinger, though she doesn't know it yet). He sits
down at the piano to play a new, unfinished song called "Dark"--a bitter, beautiful ballad.

The band sounds ferocious and will sound even better at the evening's show. Prince works them
unbelievably hard: A standard day on tour includes an hour-and-a-half sound check, a two-hour show, and
an after-show at a club most nights. "The after-shows are where you get loose," he says. "It's that high-
diving that gets you going."

The NPG have gotten noticeably tighter from all this old-fashioned stage sweat, funkier than any of his
previous groups. Watching him cue them, stop on a dime, introduce a new groove, veer off by triggering
another sample, you can only think of James Brown burnishing his bands to razor-precision, fining them
for missing a single note. "I love this band," says Prince. "I just wish they were all girls."

He is talkative, with that surprisingly low voice that loses its slightly robotic edge when he's offstage. He is
indeed tiny--what's most striking isn't his height but the delicate bones and fragile frame. He is also pretty
cocky, whether out of shyness with a new person or the swagger needed to keep going through a tour. "You
see how hard it is when you can play anything you want, anything you hear?" he asks underneath the
onstage roar of the NPG. They play "I'll Take You There" at sound check, and Prince and I talk about the
Staple Singers and Mavis Staples, whose new album he is just completing.

He leads the way to his dressing room--a blur of hair products and Evian water, with off-white mats on the
floor and paintings stuck on the walls--and plays some of the Mavis album, singing along with her roof-
raising voice. "Jimmy Jam is going to hear this and throw all those computers away," he says. "This is what

82
we need now--these old kind of soul songs to just chill people out. The computers are as cold as the people
are.

"That's what I went through with the Black Album. All this gangsta rap, I did that years ago. 'Cause if
you're gonna do something, go all the way in. But there's no place to go past the samples. You can only,
y'know, unplug them!"

There's a knock on the door, and a bodyguard says that someone named Motormouth wants to see Prince.
He laughs and waves the visitor in--turns out to be an old Minneapolis DJ, a neighbor for whom Prince
used to baby-sit. The gentleman lives up to his name; Prince listens politely and giggles softly, as
Motormouth talks about his ex-stripper wife and his daughter and the days back in Minnesota.

Prince desperately wants to play a club show after the San Francisco gig, but his throat is too sore. Instead,
there's a party at the DV8 club. He arrives with a phalanx of bodyguards, clears out half the room, and sits
alone on a sofa. One of the security guys grabs me and sits me on the couch.

Prince hands me a banana-flavored lollipop. "I would have brought you a cigar, but I didn't think you
smoked," he says. He pours us each a glass of port ("I learned about this from Arsenio"). Occasionally,
acquaintances manage to make their way through the wall of security, but he is wary of touching them. "I
don't like shaking hands," he says. "Brothers always feel like they got to give you that real firm handshake.
Then you can't play the piano the next day."

We chat about the new contract he signed with Warner Bros., which was reported to be worth as much as
$100 million. He says the deal is nothing like it is being is being reported, and though he wants most of the
conversation to remain "just between us--I just wanted to talk about some of these things," he makes a few
mysterious comments that will prove crucial to the next stage of his continual metamorphosis.

"We have a new album finished," he says conspiratorially, "but Warner Bros. doesn't know it. From now
on, Warner's only gets old songs out of the vault. New songs we'll play at shows. Music should be free,
anyway."

Before he heads off into the night, Prince lifts his glass of port and offers a toast.

Leaning closer, he whispers, "To Oz."

INTERLUDE
June 7, 1993

Having announced his retirement from studio recording on April 27, Prince takes the occasion of his 35th
birthday to inform the world that he is changing his name to , a symbol that, in one form or another, has
been part of his iconography in recent years. (After starting as a simple combination of the symbols for
male and female, it sprouted another flourish when it became the title of his last album; he has also signed
autographs with the symbol for some time.) He adds that he will no longer be performing any of his old
songs, as they belong to the old name. The rumor floats that he wants to be called Victor (which, happily,
proves untrue), while the media struggles with the whole idea; Warner Bros. sends out software allowing
the new name to be printed, but many jokes and frequent references to "Symbol Man," "the Glyph," and
"What's-His-Symbol" start turning up in the press.

Some in the industry combine the two announcements and speculate that changing his name might be a
way to finesse his way out of his Warner's contract. With 500-plus finished songs in the vault, is Prince, or ,
or whoever, planning to use the name-change as a renegotiation strategy or some kind of scheme to get out
of the Warner deal?

83
ACT II
Chanhassen, Minn.
July 12, 1993

Past the Chanhassen

Dinner Theatre, past the
American Legion post
where a Little League
game is in progress, after
miles of fields and open
spaces lies the gleaming,
towering Paisley Park,
the studio and office
complex that houses
Paisley Park Enterprises.
There are dozens of
people on the Paisley
staff--an entire industry
built around one man in
heels--working to keep
the studio and the songs
and, mostly, the person
at the center of it all
humming and creating at
their maximum potential.
There's a lot that seems
like star-tripping inside 's
world, lots that can make
you impatient--and
multiple costume
changes, even on off
days, don't help matters--
but over time it becomes
clear that the whole
structure exists so that
absolutely nothing gets
in the way of the music,
nothing touches { that he
doesn't choose to
address.

Tonight { will go
through his final
rehearsal for a greatest
hits tour of Europe.
Several hundred tickets
have been sold to benefit
local radio station
KMOJ, and the mixed-
race, well-to-do crowd
mills around the Paisley
Park soundstage in
flowery prints and orange suits, waiting for Minneapolis's favorite son.

84
The NPG and gospel singers the Steeles play brief opening sets. { makes no reference to the name-change
or the retirement when he ambles onstage to the opening chord of "Let's Go Crazy." In fact, he hardly talks
at all through a loose 90-minute set. He closes the show with two new songs: a sexy shuffle called "Come"
that he occasionally dropped into the U.S. concerts, and "Endorphinmachine," a metallic rave-up that kicks
and stomps like the Purple Rain hits that made him a household name exactly 10 years ago.

He has asked me to fly out for this show, but we never speak. After the performance, his publicist says that
{ wants to know what I thought of the NPG's set and how I liked the new songs.

What really happened tonight, though, was 's final appearance in this country as part of what is now a
farewell tour. Which means that if he keeps to his word, this is the last time he will ever play such songs as
"Purple Rain," "Kiss," and "Sign O' the Times" in America.

INTERLUDE
Fall/Winter 1993-94

On September 14 Prince releases The Hits/The B-Sides, which sells steadily, if unspectacularly for such a
long-awaited retrospective. Two new singles, "Pink Cashmere" and "Peach"--the last he will issue under
the name Prince--are released; "Cashmere" grazes the pop charts, "Peach" doesn't even do that well. It is
subsequently announced that his label, Paisley Park Records, is being dissolved, leaving Mavis Staples and
George Clinton temporarily without a home and putting an album by former backup singer Rosie Gaines on
permanent hold.

In the winter, ads turn up in several national magazines saying, "Eligible bachelor seeks the most beautiful
girl in the world to spend the holidays with," and asking that photos be sent to the Paisley Park address. On
Valentine's Day, {drops his first single under the new name. It is a pleasant enough trifle, a Philly-soul-
style ballad titled "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World," and it is debuted at the Miss U.S.A. pageant. The
video features some of the women who responded to the ads. "Beautiful Girl" is released not on Warner
Bros. but on NPG/Bellmark Records. (Bellmark, whose president, Al Bell, was the pilot of the legendary
Stax Records in the '60s, stormed the charts last year with "Whoomp! (There It Is)" and "Dazzey Duks.")
"Beautiful Girl" climbs to No. 3 on the U.S. pop charts, the biggest hit for under any name in several years
(although 1994 also marks the 12th year in a row that he has landed a single in the Top 10). It is also,
believe it or not, his first No. 1 ever in the U.K. And suddenly, the artist formerly known as Prince is a hot
commodity again.

ACT III
Monte Carlo
May 2, 1994

SCENE I

So how do you pronounce it?

"You don't."

And is that ever a problem when people around you want to address you?

"No." A very final, definite no.

But what becomes clear is that there are reasons for the name-change, and after sitting with {for several
hours, it even starts to make some kind of sense. "I followed the advice of my spirit," is the short answer.
But it is, first of all, about age-old questions of naming and identity.

85
The man born Prince Rogers Nelson goes on to explain, "I'm not the son of Nell. I don't know who that is,
Nell's son,' and that's my last name. I asked Gilbert Davison ['s manager and closest friend, and president
of NPG Records] if he knew who David was, and he didn't even know what I was talking about. I started
thinking about that, and I would wake up nights thinking, Who am I? What am I?"

But as always, what it really seems to come down to is the music. Prince decided that it was time to close
the book on one stage of his musical development and find a way to move on to the next. "Prince did
retire," says { emphatically in the Cote Jardin, waving away the pastry delivered with histea. "He stopped
making records because he didn't need to anymore." Later, at the Sporting Club, he'll add that "it's fun to
draw a line in the sand and say, 'Things change here.' I don't mind if people are cynical or make jokes--
that's part of it, but this is what I choose to be called. You find out quickly who respects and who
disrespects you. It took Muhammad Ali years before people stopped calling him Cassius Clay."

He is, quite simply, fixated on one thing: He has too much music sitting around, and he wants people to
hear it. As {explains it, Warner Bros. says it can handle only one album per year from him, while he's
recording the equivalent of at least three or four every year. By the time an album makes its way through
the corporate machine for release, he's finished another one. By the time he goes on tour to promote the
first album, he's done with a third.

So what's a {to do? The plan he is devising works like this: He will fulfill his Warner's contract--he still
owes them five albums--with Prince material from the vaults at whatever rate they want (and, he adds, "the
best Prince music still hasn't been released"). Meanwhile, {will work with a smaller label to put out new
music under his new name.

From almost anyone else, the whole thing would seem like a scam; from someone with a legitimate claim
to having wrested the Hardest-Working-Man-in-Show-Business title from James Brown, it starts to sound a
little more reasonable. Reasonable, that is, to everyone but his bosses at Warner's. "I knew there would
come a phase in my life when I would want to get all this music out," he says. "I just wish I had some
magic words I could say to Warner's so it would work out."

{ emphasizes that he has no beef with Warner Bros. or chairman Mo Ostin, that he understands their
concerns about this proposed plan and respects them for allowing him to try out this arrangement with
Bellmark for "Beautiful Girl." "I really think they would find a way to let me do this," he says, "but they're
afraid of the ripple effect, that everybody would want to do it." His problem, ultimately, is with the
structure of the music industry.

"Did you see The Firm?" he asks. "I feel like the music business is like that--that they just won't let you out
once you're in it. There's just a few people with all the power. Like, I didn't play the MTV Music Awards;
suddenly, I can't get a video on MTV, and you can't get a hit without that. I've come to respect deeds and
actions more than music--like Pearl Jam not making videos."

What {is seeking is the opportunity to get more involved in the presentation of the music, which is why an
indie label like Bellmark appeals to him. He's shot a video for a song called "Love Sign," directed by Ice
Cube, and he's looking into possible outlets for its release. He wants to be able to sell records at concerts
and in clubs--a logical move, especially for someone like George Clinton, best known for his tireless
touring--but Warner Bros. feels, according to , that such a move would cause problems with retailers. He
wants to use his music to raise money for charities, but "they don't want to hear about giving music away."

"Shouldn't it be up to the artist how the music comes out?" he asks, shaking his head and staring at the floor
of the spartan Sporting Club dressing room. Several times, he points to George Michael's lawsuit with Sony
Music U.K. over "restraint of trade" as an example of how twisted things have gotten in the biz. "They're
just songs, just our thoughts. Nobody has a mortgage on your thoughts. We've got it all wrong,
discouraging our artists. In America, we're just not as free as we think. Look at George Clinton. They
should be giving that man a government grant for being that funky!

86
"People think this is all some scheme. This isn't a scheme, some master plan. I don't have a master plan;
maybe somebody does." He shakes his head again. "I just wish I had some magic words," he repeats. "It's
in God's hands now."

SCENE II

There are three DO NOT DISTURB signs on the door. A desk and a white upright Yamaha piano face the
floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean Sea. A bowl of Tootsie Pops and
assorted sweets sits on a coffee table. Tostitos, Sun Chips, and newspapers lie scattered in the corners. 7Up
fills the bar, and various colored cloths are draped over all the furniture in the room.

{'s room in the Hotel de Paris is fancy, if not exactly elegant. It is here that he wants me to check out two
albums that may or may not see the light of day: the next Prince album, Come, scheduled for an August
release, and the first {collection, titled The Gold Album, both pressed on CDs with hand-drawn cover art.
This time I'm the one fighting a cold, and he expresses concern, keeping the tea flowing, pouring for us
both when it arrives.

First comes the Prince album, which includes "Endorphinmachine" and "Come" and a fleshed-out version
of "Dark," complete with a slinky horn arrangement that completes the sketch I heard a year before. {skips
back and forth between tracks. It all sounds strong--first-rate, even--but he seems impatient with it, like it's
old news.

The Gold Album is another matter. He lets the songs run, playing air guitar or noodling along at the piano.
The songs are stripped-down, taut, funky as hell, full of sex and bite. "Days of Wild" is a dense, "Atomic
Dog" style jam with multiple, interlocking bass lines. "Now" (which he debuted on Soul Train this same
week) is a bouncing party romp; "319" is rocking, roaring, and dirty; and "ripopgodazippa" is just dirty.
This album is more experimental, more surprising structurally and sonically. Hearing the two albums back-
to-back, it's clear that the Prince album may be more commercial than 's, but it's also more conventional--as
conventional as he gets, anyway.

{ says that since the name-change, he's writing more about freedom and the lack thereof, and that's it
exactly: The {songs sound freer than he has in years. He sounds energized, excited, and also humbler and
more focused than he did a year ago in San Francisco. His album covers used to include the phrase "May U
live 2 see the dawn." This album opens with the words "Welcome 2 the dawn."

That night, the songs take on even more life at a late gig at a Monte Carlo "American blues and sports bar"
called Star's n Bars. The occasion is a private party for Monaco's Prince Albert. Earlier in the evening,
{committed a faux pas that received international coverage when, dressed in see-through gold brocade and
toting one of those lollipops, he left a royal reception before Albert did. To make up for his breach of
protocol, {is on especially good behavior at the show.

"Much props to Prince Albert for having us in his beautiful country!" are his first words onstage, and he
later refers to Albert as "the funkiest man in show business." After the show, he autographs a tambourine
for our host, inscribing inside, "You're the real Prince!"

The NPG are lean and in prime fighting shape, trimmed down to just Tommy Barbarella and newcomer
Morris Hayes on keyboards, Sonny Thompson on bass, monster drummer Michael Bland, and
dancer/visual foil Mayte. No more rappers, extra dancers, or percussionists. "This band is just beginning to
play to its strength," {said earlier. "The Lovesexy band was about musicality, a willingness to take risks.
Since then I've been thinking too much. This band is about funk, so I've learned to get out of the way and
let that be the sound, the look, the style, everything. They've never played together like this before."

They storm through 11 new songs, winding things up at 3 a.m., a pretty early night by {standards. The next
night, they're back at Star's n Bars, and even at sound check this time he's really ready to rip. We talked

87
earlier about the title track to The Gold Album, which members of his entourage were raving about but he
didn't play for me. He said then that he's worried about playing some of the new songs because the
bootleggers will have them out on the market before he will. Here in sound check, though, he lets it go, and
it's a stunner--a soaring anthem of "Purple Rain" scale, a gorgeous warning that "all that glitters ain't gold."
(He recently quoted these lyrics as part of his speech at the Celebrate the Soul of American Music show,
directing his comments toward the music industry.)

{ bounds off the club's stage and strides over, greeting me with a big smile and even a handshake. He's
excited for tonight's show because "tonight we're playing for real people."

Well, as real as people get in Monaco, anyway. Before the band starts, at around 1:30, talk of international
finance and the restaurant business fills the air. You could choke on the Chanel in here, and the number of
coats and ties makes it feel like a boardroom instead of a barroom. But let me tell you: People in Monaco
are ready to party.

Soon they're dancing three and four to a tabletop, screaming along chants, soul-clapping straight outta
Uptown. "Days of Wild" goes on for 20 minutes, and an obviously impressed {says from the stage, "I didn't
know I had to come all the way over here to get a crowd this funky!"

They don't respond as much to the slower songs, though, not even to a drop-dead knockout version of
"Dark," a reminder that this man not only has the most emotionally complex falsetto since Al Green but
plays the baddest guitar this side of Eddie Van Halen. But when he takes the tempo up, they can't get
enough. "Don't you got to go to work tomorrow?" he asks. "Oh, I see. I'm in Monte Carlo--everybody just
chills."

Finally, at 3:30, he closes with "Peach" ("an old song"), and everyone puts their heels and sweat-stained
blazers back on and calls it a night. He has played 14 songs, and--other than snippets of John Lee Hooker's
"I'm in the Mood" (a longtime jamming favorite) and Sly Stone's "Babies Makin' Babies"--no one had
heard a note of them before. No one was calling out for "Little Red Corvette." No one seemed to mind.

Earlier, I asked if the idea of never playing all those Prince songs again made him sad at all.

"I would be sad," he replied, "if I didn't know that I had such great shit to come with."

SCENE III

At the Monte Carlo Sporting Club, {is checking out the set for his performance at the Awards. The
backdrop is a big, silver, fuzzy {symbol. "They got my name looking like a float," he whispers, more
amused than annoyed.

But then, if your tolerance for tackiness is low, the World Music Awards is no place to be. The nominal
point here is to honor the world's best-selling artists by country or region, plus some lifetime-achievement
types. The presenters and hosts--the most random aggregate of celebrities imaginable--seem to have been
chosen based on who would accept a free trip to Monaco. Ursula Andress? Kylie Minogue? And in clear
violation of some Geneva convention limit on cheesiness, Fabio and David Copperfield are both here to
present awards.

Honorees include Ace of Base, smooth-sounding Japanese R&B crooners Chage & Aska, Kenny G (who
annoys everyone backstage by wandering around tootling on that damn sax), and six-year-old French
sensation Jordy (who runs offstage and kisses Prince Albert in mid-performance, which somehow does not
create an international scandal). Whitney Houston wins her usual barrelful of trophies, and the whole thing
is almost worth it to hear Ray Charles sit alone at the piano and sing "Till There Was You."

88
{ sits patiently through it all, not something he usually does (but again, this is royalty, you know). Before
receiving his award from Placido Domingo (!), he puts as much as he can into "Beautiful Girl," though the
show is making him do something he hates: lip-synch.

"It's cheating!" he says backstage, adding slyly, "Lip-synchers, you know who you are. See, if I would lip-
synch, I'd be doing backflips, hanging from the rafters, but to cheat and be tired" I ask if he thinks people
feel too much pressure to live up to the production quality of their videos. "Concerts are concerts and
videos are videos. But I'm guilty of it myself, so that's going to change.

"Concerts, that whole thing is old, anyway. To go and wait and the lights go down and then you scream,
that's played. Sound check is for lazy people; I want to open the doors earlier, let people hang out. Make it
more like a fair." In his room, he has a videotape of the stage set he's having built for the next tour--a huge,
sprawling thing, something like an arena-size tree house.

But still, the first thing { does when he finishes "Beautiful Girl" at the Awards is ask for a videotape,
wondering how one dance step looked, concerned that he has reversed two words and rendered the lip-
synch imperfect. Even here, he is simply incapable of just walking through it.

And that's what it always comes back to. There is only the music. Look at him, putting more into a sound
check than most performers put into their biggest shows. Laugh at his ideas, his clothes, his name. But look
at what he is doing: He's 15 years into this career, a time when most stars are kicking back, going through
the motions. But he is still rethinking the rules of performance, the idea of how music is released, the basic
concepts about how we consume and listen to music, still challenging himself and his audience like an
avant-garde artist, not a platinum-selling pop star. And we still haven't talked about his plans for simulcasts
and listening booths in his Glam Slam clubs in Minneapolis, L.A., and Miami, or about the 1-800-NEW-
FUNK collection of other artists he's working with for NPG Records, or his thoughts on music and on-line
and CD-ROM systems, or the two new magazines he's started....

Of course, from where it stands, Warner Bros.' objections to his ambitious (some would say foolish) plans
make conventional business sense: Would the increase in new music, coming from so many media, create a
glut and cut into the sales of all the releases? Is it financially feasible? But these kinds of questions seem to
be the furthest thing from {'s mind. And okay, maybe the unpronounceable name is a little silly, and let's
not forget--he retired from performances once before, back in 1985, and how long did that last? But there's
no arguing with the effort, the seriousness, the intensity with which he is approaching this new era in his
life.

"There's no reason for me to be playing around now," says , { laughing. "Now we're just doing things for
the funk of it."

Prince: Come
Rolling Stone
By Tom Moon
September 8, 1994
More News
On the Charts: Drake's 'Views' Recaptures Number One Van Morrison on Blues Roots,
Beat Poetry, 'Rock & Roll Bulls--t' How David Bowie, Brian Eno Created Sci-Fi
Experiment '1. Outside' Drake Flips 'Indecent Proposal' in Short Film 'Please Forgive Me'
See Morrissey's Earnest Ramones Cover at Brooklyn Concert All Stories

89
Hmm ... let's see. Tombstone on the cover proclaiming 1993 as the year of Prince's death. A dramatic
recollection from an abused child, complete with a scarifying warning: "Don't abuse children, or else they'll
turn out like me." Vague talk about change, cosmic and otherwise. Could this be the major career
announcement that has been pending since Prince, with a wave of his press agent's wand, became (The
Symbol)

Not so fast. Turns out that not much has changed except the name. The former Prince is still playing Artist
Knows Best: When Warner Bros. shut down Paisley Park Records and cautioned him about flooding the
market, what did this royal pain do? He set up another label, arranged independent distribution for his
overflow goods and promptly scored a told-you-so hit with the puzzlingly Princelike "The Most Beautiful
Girl in the World," Then he announced that he would fulfill his contract with Warner Bros. by issuing
material from the countless reels of studio tape he made as Prince. Come, whose songs carry a 1994
publishing registration, is the first such archive collection. Naturally this "old" material is not to be
confused with the music and worldview of the new, unpronounceable (The Symbol).

Whatever you do, appreciate these latest moves as part of what has become the most spectacular slow-
motion career derailment in the history of popular music. Ordinary artists just make duds; this guy
specializes in public-relations catastrophes that confuse his loyal following and erode his stature as the
major genre-busting innovator of the last decade. Ordinary artists tear up albums and start again; he's
tearing up his entire identity and starting again.

So far, however, this grand makeover-in-progress feels like another layer of pancake plastered onto the face
of a tired actor. (The Symbol) might not be Prince anymore, but he still has the same toolbox. There's
nothing on the uneven Come or the 1-800 New Funk compilation, which was written and produced entirely
by (The Symbol), that will change anybody's impression of this artist. He's still horny. Still adventurous. He
can't escape his sonic signatures, which derive not only from his Jekyll-and-Hyde voice and its gymnastic
falsetto but also from his rhythmic exactitude, ability to imply different harmonies and rare gift for
insinuating melody. Nobody builds a vamp the way he does. No other guitar crackles with that dry, tart
tang.

In the past, as he balanced these elements with the agility of a master orchestrator, Prince never left his
imagination behind. He recognized that the interpretation had to sell the goods: He could give the
raunchiest idea a sense of righteous grandeur and make a high-minded spiritual quest sound like an illicit
affair. Not this time. Come features the most blatant soft-porn pillow talk Prince has ever released. At one
point the lazy pulse of the title track becomes a forum for Prince to discourse on his (surprisingly ordinary)
oral-sex techniques, and the closing "Orgasm" comes off as a you-are-there live remote recording of a
sexual encounter.

Following a pattern established albums ago, Prince all but abandons the convoluted spiritual concerns he
voiced on "7" and other tracks from "(The Symbol)" (1992). He's back to earth talking Slylike and direct
about "Race," moaning about being done wrong in the taut gospel ballad "Dark," returning to the relatively
innocent seduction strategies of "Soft and Wet" on the blazing, funky chant "Pheromone."

But that stuff always was easy for Prince. Indeed, portions of Come, including "Space" and "Loose!,"
exhibit so little creativity, you wonder whether they were born during studio catnaps. Ever since "Alphabet
St.," his challenge has been to broaden the music and allow it to address real issues, to move away from the
cartoon image that dogged him after Purple Rain and Under the Cherry Moon. It's possible to interpret the
gospel-tinged "The Sacrifice of Victor," from "(The Symbol)," as part of that campaign an account of
Prince's childhood that was, for an artist who is obsessively secretive, a major step.

With the graphically violent "Papa," which chronicles the disciplining of a 4-year-old, Prince elaborates on
the hints in "Victor" that he has been abused. "Papa" probably won't make the box set, but its coda is a fiery
eruption worthy of the subject matter, and its candor is clear evidence that Prince wishes to be less
restrained.

90
The same sense of forthright introspection marks the sauntering strut "Letitgo," which many will read as an
apologia for the excesses of the Prince era. In a regretful tone, it offers a past-tense acknowledgement that
Prince, that notorious workaholic, wasn't always the most pleasant creature. An indictment of his self-
absorption, the song suggests that whatever comes next will represent a change in attitude: "Lover here,
lover there/Who cried, who cared/Foolish pride/Never was a good seat at any of this man's shows/Until
now, all I wanted 2 do was/Do do do what I do.... But now I've got 2 let it go."

That admonishment aside, Come documents Prince at a surprisingly mediocre point still able to pop out
thumping, genuinely new grooves but unwilling to leave them alone, cluttering them with banal lyrics and
overwritten horn parts and missing wildly with indulgent experiments like "Solo," one adventure in reverb
best left in the vault.

So it's tempting to look to the compilation 1-800 New Funk as the true start of the (The Symbol) era. If
"Letitgo" serves as a preview of the attitude change that accompanies the name change, then this collection
might be seen as its first reel. It's odd that he would choose a compilation: Back when he was Prince, one of
the thorns in his side was the inability to use his own success to generate interest in other artists. Paisley
Park Records despite the presence of Mavis Staples and George Clinton never really established
anybody. Yet the Purple One is still a magnet for talent, and this collection shows off his skills as writer
and as a producer even when the artists turn out to be wretched does it really come as a surprise that
kinetic dancer Mayte, of the New Power Generation, isn't much of a singer? Prince-philes will already be
aware of the Clinton ("Hollywood") and Staples ("You Will Be Moved") tracks, which appear on their
most recent albums. There's a rousing performance by the Steeles ("Color"), the return of the instrumental
funk terrorists Madhouse ("17") and "Love Sign," a duet between (The Symbol) and Nona Gaye that is
appropriately twitchy. The biggest surprise comes from Minneapolis native Margie Cox, whose "Standing
at the Altar" is a buoyant single that finds (The Symbol) paying affectionate homage to the Motown hit
machine.

Still, no big meaning on this set. Maybe it's a mistake to expect such things from an artist whose focus is
drifting from his art and who is increasingly settling on semantic games about what he should be called.
Maybe someone who has contributed so much, whose ideas have broadened the very canvas on which
everyone else works, deserves to trash everything while waiting for the next inspiration to arrive. That
doesn't mean we have to suffer patiently beside him.

GLITTER SLAVE
BY JULIE BAUMGOLD

Amid pomp and circumspection,

rock's crown prince extends his purple reign

THE DARK CAR slid into the well-guarded alley. On the day after his second birthday
as 0{+>, he got out of the car and walked quickly into the Glam Slam in South Beach,
Miami. For twenty years, 0{+> has had a life of rear entrances, underground passages,
announced and plotted arrivals, usually when night is well tipped into day.

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He owns the Glam Slam and two other clubs like it and was here to perform on his
birthday, make a video, and straighten out a little business problem. He stared straight-
ahead, the master of the place, with debutante posture and, as is usual, "Slave" written
artistically with marker on his right cheek.

His white silk shirt floated back from his frail body, a white Borsalino rode high on his
hair, which glowed with glitter like stardust. He wore a mask of absolute expressionless
stillness. His vacant face is his armor. It allows him to think without being bothered. It is
convenient for creation, and it keeps the mystique.

Living in mystery is a stage of stardom, a reaction to early fame. Sometimes it is risky

because silence can be misconstrued, but this is how 0{+> wants it. No interviews -- or if
he does agree to one, he cripples the writer by removing his pen.

The big disco room had become a movie set since he left it after performing until five
that morning, his wet body wrapped in a robe. As he had reminded the Glam Slam
audience many times, "Prince is dead." He was feeling good, for each day was bringing
him closer to the end of the contract with Warner Bros. Records that he feels enslaves
him.

No one approached him. Those who did not know him well quickly averted their eyes
when they passed, as though even to look on him were forbidden. He is the perfect
combination of tininess and threat: Though he is thirty-seven in his past life as Prince
Rogers Nelson, with a deep voice and a hairy chest -- this is still a boy-man. With his
long, slender fingers, slightly pointed ears, and large beautiful eyes, the effect is elfin. He
is very small and so dainty in his visible proportions that it is hard to imagine his
childhood in a rough part of Minneapolis.

HERE, AS HE SITS with Carolyn Baker, a vice president of artist development for
Warner Bros. Records, and two members of the band, the NPG, he is completely
accepted as the genius, the boss, the coddled star, and the reason everyone is in this room.
They are used to his ways -- the fabled sleepless energy that leads him to do aftershows
in clubs following is performances. They know his talents as songwriter, performer, star
of four movies, producer, autodidact on sixteen instruments, miniature sex machine. They
know he is so prolific he could put out four albums a year if the record business worked
that way. They know him in the many reincarnations as he redefines himself with the
times. They know the things that make him an artist: the fact that he changes and gives
himself the possibility to fail, that he moves through different mediums, that his life is the
stuff of his work and the reverse. They accept -- it goes with the job.

"He's a genius...like a Miles Davis, who sounds like no one else heard. They hear, see,
feel something we don't, and their job is to interpret for us," Baker says a few days later.
"His whole world is colored differently from mine. People used to say, 'Will you tell him
to do something?' And I'd say, 'No, you need to work around it.' He has a vision. He has
got to be able to do it his way.... It's kind of like being an alien."

92
The large, heavily fringed 0{+> eyes are sneaking a peek at me, checking me out
although I have been preapproved or I would not be in this room. One does not approach.
One waits as the big white hat swivels slowly, the outlined eyes blink and consider. A
little pencil line of hair surrounds his mouth. When he is ready, he comes over sucking a
cherry Tootsie Pop, smiling redly. Juli Knapp, his director of operations, privately refers
to and introduces him as "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince." Everyone is very
scrupulous about this name thing.

0{+> and I go up into the balcony to talk. His bodyguard sits down in the row behind us,
but 0{+> sends him away. "I'm a terrible interview," he says. His speaking voice is very
low, like his low-register singing voice. I think he is afraid of not being as interesting as
this whole edifice he has created, happier to hide behind his scarves and costumes and
characters. With the press, as with his record company, he has trusted people and been
burned. Actually, he is the perfect star in this era for which, as someone said, the best
way to get attention is to shun attention. At least until the next album.

The stage 0{+>, historically dirty with his "motherf---ers" and sex talk, is obviously
showbiz. He is very well-spoken, intense, funny, dipping into funk speech when he wants
to, and very smart. He leans forward to tell me he feels angry at himself. When he signed
the Warner deal he didn't know what he knows now, and sold what he feels is his
birthright. He sold his master tapes. And now his future children won't have them. This is
why he turned in disgust from "Prince" -- taken as a seventeen-year-old boy, his image
controlled -- and the work that was Prince. This is why he became 0{+> and does not
sing Prince songs: If I can't have me, they can't.

Of course he took the money, a deal worth a variously reported $30 million to $100
million. But they are not releasing or promoting his work the way he wants. Warner Bros.
Records refuses to put out albums at the fast rate he writes songs, preferring to promote
one album and one tour a year, as more might overwhelm the market.

All of this is involved in the name change. It was both a spiritual conversion and a
business move. Just when he had been around long enough to have generations of fans,
he became someone else and was reborn, artistically recast. He has his slave self, which
is issuing a new album, The Gold Experience, and his semifree self, which contributed to
Exodus, by the NPG. And there is a third self, a big hidden album.

For some time, he has been working on Emancipation, which will be his first album when
he is free -- maybe fifty new songs. Then, he says, he will reemerge. He will speak to the
press. His face has changed now, as though the plastic boss face was to keep everyone
else calm. He tells me that his heart and perhaps his best work are in Emancipation. This
album is a big surprise to people to people at Warner. No one seems to know about it.

"He's been here since the '70s," says Baker. "He was very young. Sometimes you love
your parents but want to leave home. None of us wants to see it happen."

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0{+> is a businessman. He has a $10 million studio, Paisley Park, where he produces
other recording artists; he has these clubs throbbing until dawn, 0{+> stores in London
and Minneapolis, where the symbol and the face take on iconic dimensions, his own love
scent, and so forth. In 1992-93, Forbes ranked him the fifth most highly paid entertainer
in the world. But a part of the Warner deal was a restructuring. Right now he is a
businessman who made a bad deal. He doesn't want it to happen to others. He says he
want to take care of other artists. His ambition is nothing less than to form an alternative
recording industry where artists own their own work and have creative freedom. The
NPG, the New Power Generation, the people of the sun, are part of this new quasi-hippie
world. When he performs with them he is "Tora Tora," his head and face wrapped in a
chiffon scarf, yet another self. He is hidden, as he was in the "My Name is Prince" video
when he wore a curtain of chains over his face.

0{+> IS IN AN ARTISTIC CONUNDRUM -- art versus what is "commercial." When he

hears that word, he almost leaps from his seat in the balcony. When they let him handle
the single "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World," he says he had his most commercial
hit of the decade. ("It would have been spooky if it was the whole album," he says later.)
It is every artist's devil -- his vision and the world's may not always mesh. His best stuff
may be beyond them, but he knows how good or bad it is. Though sometimes he can fool
himself, inside the artist always knows. The record company sometimes knows. The
dilemma was there as early as his movie Purple Rain. People kept warning The Kid
(0{+>'s role): "Nobody digs your music but yourself." Of course, central to artistic
freedom is the freedom to fail on your own terms.

He talks about people who don't own their parent's work -- Nona Gaye doesn't own
Marvin. Does Lisa Marie Presley own Elvis's masters?

He talks of the creative accounting of the record business, how black stores don't always
have the digital scanners and miscount, so say, for instance, a big rap artist, who is said to
have sold four million copies, might really have sold twenty million. He totally
sympathized with George Michael, whom he considers a great talent, in his fight with
Sony, which he says is an "even worse" company than Warner. Warner goes ahead and
promotes what they want from the NPG album, which isn't always the right song, though
the one he likes is nine-and-a-half minutes long. "Everyone gets to play on it. I have the
best drummer in the world," he says.

According to his people, his deal is this: He gets an advance that might cover his living
expenses while making an album. Once the work is delivered, Warner can decide how or
if to promote and market it. The final decisions are not his. Thus, he is a "slave" to the
system. Warner, I'm sure, has a different interpretation. I do not say to him that perhaps it
trivializes the African-American experience for a millionaire rock star -- who travels with
aides, bodyguards, a chef, a hairdresser, valet, backup security, wardrobe, band, technical
people, a personal dancing muse, and a man who sits behind him n the Concorde handing
him freshly sharpened pencils -- to write "Slave" on his face. This -- glittery chains on the
face versus chains on the ankles -- is his version of slavery. Though he is half white, he

94
identifies completely as a black man and talks about the lack of images for black children
in movies and television.

"And who is at the head of those companies?" he says.

Mayte wafts into the balcony. She is his current inspiration after a long line of protgs
including Apollonia and Vanity. 0{+ tells her what to wear for the video. Mayte has been
with him for four years, since she was a famously virginal seventeen. Mayte, who is also
of mixed parentage, grew up on army bases and studied ballet and belly dancing from the
age of three. She fulfilled her mother's
own balked ambition in the way 0{+>
fulfilled his father's. Mayte is his
Tinkerbell, his Linda McCartney. She
bumps and grinds and tosses her black
hair and cheerleads his songs. She shakes
her ass and belly dances with a sword on
her head. She punches the air and stalks
the stage in hot pants, not shy about
showing the cheeks of her tush, her
dancer's thighs flexing. Her poster sells
next to his in the lobby. She is always
next to him.

TOGETHER THEY LOOK LIKE they

live on sweets and air, two ethereal
beings who inflate, take on power,
persona, and sexiness onstage. Offstage
they look like they should be wrapped in
bathrobes, fed warm starches, and kept
safe till it is time to step out again into
the pink smoke.

They reappear -- she in her gold costume and he with his face wrapped in a chiffon scarf
beneath a Mad Hatter hat with a rose and wearing a floor-length black gospel robe with
the NPG insignia. When I tell him that he looks like Thing in the Addams family, he
starts to shuffle and make squeaking Thing noises.

Glam Slam's lights are flashing, rebounding off the mirrored disco ball in the ceiling, and
a member of the crew falls to the floor in an epileptic seizure. 0{+> looks at him with his
blank expression and, standing rigid, alienated from the situation, makes no move to help.
There are other people helping the man. 0{+> is disconnected. When things go wrong in
the world he controls, he does not scream. He walks away. He and Mayte stand there in
their funny show clothes with Marcello Mastroianni in La Dolce Vita on the monitors
because the songs they will be doing is "The Good Life." The man is carried out on a
stretcher and the video goes on.

95
It is 0{+>'s birthday night. He is onstage in a burnt-cherry-red jumpsuit cut open in the
back all the way to the cleavage of his tiny behind. A fabulous dresser, masculine in his
feminine clothes, he has always dressed out of his times and just like a prince in his frock
coats, rampantly ruffled shirts with fingertip-dragging cuffs, tight high-waisted pants with
matching French-heeled boots, royal medallions, arrogant walking sticks, tiny boleros
with high Beau Brummel collars. He has borrowed from both masculine and feminine
figures: the toreador, the languid Byronic poet coughing in his cuffs, the dandy, the fop,
Prince Charming, Coco Chanel.

It's 2 A.M. or so in the Glam Slam and he is playing the music he wants to play. The
place, which has been in a bit of a slump, is now filled with bobbing, heaving fans, their
arms waving in the dark like undersea fronds blown back and forth by the currents.
Mayte is strutting in her black boots, punching the air with a tambourine, keening,
sweating alongside him, her ambition intertwined with his. The monitors are going, as are
the video cams, in this big throb of video love. 0{+> pounds out the show -- all rocking,
all beat, jamming and funk. He is the complete mid-career 0{+>. This is his night in his
club with his symbol over the bar, on the waitresses' chests, on his boots, on his 0{+>-
shaped guitar "Prince is dead," he keeps saying, enjoying it, shucking the old self, as
Mayte flips her hair down and back. He asks to hear the crowd; he wants to hear feedback
from the void.

He says the obligatory "motherf---er" to prove he has not crossed the line to Lite Rock.
Reminiscent of his old dirty days, he gets into a whole "pussy control" rant: "How many
ladies got pussy control?" "I got a headache tonight," says Mayte. "I got something for
your headache," he says -- kind of like a dirty Captain and Tenille. He is no longer
feeling "The Kid" when he says to them, "I am your mom's favorite freak." Mayte carries
out a cake but he waves it away. "I hate that Happy Birthday song."

The next night he plays even longer -- three hours instead of two -- and is even hotter,
released from his video chores, having imparted his bit to me. He has a chiffon scarf over
his face, a white suit with fringe, another Elvisoid chest-baring white suit with gold trim.
Up in the balcony, at 4:30 A.M., his three aides in black dresses are dancing away -- his
accountant, one of his lawyers, his director of operations, all reminded of why they work
for this man.

"This is your captain," he says onstage in the colored cone of streaming light, his
rhinestone necklace shining on his slender throat. He is at his best in the hour of the owl
with the creatures of the moon. Now, over these bodies, he has the power. When he is
free, emancipated from his demon Warner, if it all works out, he will be laughing in the
purple rain. And maybe it will be the last laugh.

ESQUIRE GENTLEMAN * FALL 1995

96
 "Prince Speaks"
Interviewed By Joshua Levine
Forbes Magazine, September 23, 1996

The pop singer who used to go by the name of Prince tells of his plans for life after
Warner Bros.

SITTING ON THE FLOOR of his pastel-colored recording studio near Minneapolis, the pop singer
formerly known as Prince--he now wants to be known simply as The Artist--spins a newly minted demo
track from an upcoming album. It's a thick fog of organ chords, electronic drums, the singer's own moaning
falsetto and, recorded in utero, the heartbeat of the baby his new wife will deliver in November.

Love it, ignore it or hate it, the elfin rock star has sold close to 100 million records for the Warner Bros.
label in the past 20 years. Come November, his Warner Bros. contract settled, he will be out on his own--no
link-up with any big label. It's something no pop star of his stature has done on this scale.

Late last month the musician-turned-business-mogul outlined for Forbes his recording and marketing plans.
They are nothing if not ambitious. He wants to flood the market with his work. That's something Warner
would never let him do, and it was this issue that helped trigger the split. The disagreements got pretty
bitter. While carrying out his last few remaining obligations to Warner, he always has the word "slave"
scrawled on his cheek. Says an ex-Warner executive: "Despite his brilliance, one record after another
causes burnout."

If so, then it's burn, baby, burn, the singer retorts. "My music wants to do what it wants to do, and I just
want to get out of its way," he says. "I want the biggest shelf in the record store--the most titles. I know
they're not all going to sell, but I know somebody's going to buy at least one of each." With the marketing
shackles off, his fans can expect what the poet Shelley called "profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

Already stored in his studio vaults are literally tens of thousands of hours of music, including an unreleased
album he made with legendary jazz trumpeter Miles Davis. The first independent release will be a 3-CD,
36-song set called Emancipation. It will probably sell for between $36 and $40. Pretty stiff? He's not
modest. "I polled kids on the Internet, and no one said they would pay less than $50 for a new 3-CD set,"
he says.

When the musician talks about being independent, he means independent. He plays all the instruments--
except horns and tambourine--on Emancipation. He's also considering pressing his own records and
handling his own distribution. With no percentages to pay distributors, he figures he could net as much as
$21 on the 3-CD set--a 45% margin on retail price. Why let the middlemen make so much money?

Londell McMillan is a lawyer with the firm of Gold, Farrell & Marks, who represented the musician in the
breakup with Warner Bros. "You see what's going on in the industry," says the New York City-based
showbiz attorney, "and you have to ask yourself, is this artist the kind of mercurial crazy some people say,
or is he the wise one who understands where he fits at the start of a new century?"

By this time next year the answer may be in. Plans are for a worldwide tour to support Emancipation in
1997, worth as much as $45 million in ticket sales--and, of course, he'll sell albums at his concerts. "Maybe

97
we could put a sampler on every seat," he says with a sly grin. "Or give them the whole thing, and build it
into the ticket price."

Then there's the 1-800-NewFunk direct-selling hotline, which gets some 7,000 calls a month, for clothing
and related merchandise. Will Emancipation also be sold direct via phone? "You bet," he says.

The go-it-alone strategy got a test-run in 1994 with a single called "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World"
and an accompanying seven-song sampler released independently. The single sold a million units just in the
U.S., but the economics of selling a $1.85 (wholesale) single virtually insured that it couldn't make money.
Still, the man who branded himself a slave liked his first taste of freedom. He figured that with a bigger-
ticket item he could pull it off. "I was number one in countries like Spain and the U.K. where I never had a
number one single before," he says of his earlier marketing effort.

Al Bell, who used to own Stax Records, now owns Bellmark Records, which distributed "The Most
Beautiful Girl." But there's a difference. At a full three hours, there's a heaping helping of music. "I don't
recall seeing anything like this before, but I would not bet against it," says Bell. "All bets are off on
normalcy here."

Big-label insiders naturally take a more skeptical view. "He's got a real strong ego, but if he takes all this on
himself, it's going to be difficult," says a former Warner Bros. executive. "Too many hats to wear.
Something has to give." They hope.

"The Former Prince Speaks, Part 1"

Interviewed by Jim Walsh
Pioneer Press, November 17, 1996

Skip to interview

In his first interview with a local journalist in more than 10 years, the artist formerly known as Prince talks
about his, er, unusual name, his creative process, the media, his future and his faith in God. The artist
formerly known as Prince believes in fate, which might explain the two fortune-cookie messages I got the
week before I interviewed him. One read, "A fool at 40 is a fool indeed." The other, "Genius does what it
must, and talent does what it can."

Both could be headlines for this story. Over the past three years, whenever I've requested an interview with
the former Prince, he had said through his peopleall of whom have since parted ways with him and his
Chanhassen-based Paisley Park Studiosthat he'd talk only when he was free from his contract with
Warner Bros., his record label of the past 17 years.

That day finally has arrived. Last month, TAFKAP inked a deal with the EMI-Capitol Records Group to
distribute his albums on his own independent NPG label. And now that he's free at last, he's talking. In
addition to last Tuesday's worldwide broadcast of the Paisley coming-out party for his three-CD set,
"Emancipation," TAFKAP has done a handful of select interviews, for Rolling Stone, USA Today and the
"Oprah Winfrey Show" (which airs Thursday).

When I arrive at Paisley last Monday, a woman is laying gold carpet in the foyer, in anticipation of the
following night's gala. A bodyguard who could be on loan from the Chicago Bears' front four meets me at
the door and directs me to the front desk. The walls are covered with gold and platinum records, and a new

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paint job illustrates clouds on the stairwell leading up to the building's offices, and stars and planets on the
ceiling.

The woman behind the front desk whispers to the bear, "Have you seen the Boss?" She disappears, and
when she returns, tells me, "He'll be with you in a minute." A few minutes pass, and TAFKAP strolls into
the lobby with a good-natured, "Hey."

He's dressed in a sheer gray jumpsuit, draped with a black fish-net smock and several necklaces.

"The zodiac stuff was Mayte's idea," he says, referring to Mayte Garcia, the singer's wife since February of
last year. "It had to be more colorful."

He leads me into a small cluttered room on the first floor, where an engineer is putting the finishing touches
on "Betcha by Golly, Wow," the video for the first single from "Emancipation." TAFKAP asks me if I have
a tape recorder on me. I tell him that I brought one, just in case he's changed his practice of not allowing
journalists to record his voice. "No way," he laughs. "Leave it in here."

The engineer cues up the clip, and TAFKAP is careful to let me know that it isn't finishedspecial effects
of a rainbow and falling star will be matted in later today. And time is of the essence, for the video's world
premiere on VH1, MTV and BET is just 33 hours away. "I didn't have enough time," he says, "but I'm real
proud of it."

We walk down a long corridor that houses several awards, and is decorated with vintage Prince/TAFKAP
posters. I tell him the posters surprise me, since he has has always been so tenacious about jettisoning his
past.

"I never look at these," he responds. "They're just for the kids when they come in here." He takes me on a
short tour of the studio, and into the huge soundstage room, where technicians and carpenters are busy
putting together the set for the satellite simulcast of Tuesday's show. He leads me into the control room of
Studio B, where we settle into two swivel chairs behind the mammoth sound board, which is decorated
with two small decals of the symbol that is his new name.

"Where's that tape recorder?" he says, more teasing than accusing. I pull it out of my bag and ask him
where he wants it.

"In there," he replies, and I put it in a small closet that contains some recording equipment.

"Any more?" he asks. A little insulted, I say that no, I am not wired with a microphone, and ask him if the
no tape recorder-rule stems from not wanting his voice out there.

"Yeah," he says. "I don't want it out there. You can call me paranoid, but . . . I mean, there's a picture disc
of me back from '78 that's out there. You know, a kid tellin' stories."

The fact is, in his older age, TAFKAP has gotten betterthere was a time when he wouldn't even allow
journalists to use a pen and notepad. But when I ask him if that much is cool, he says, "Yes, yes
absolutely," and even provides me with a pencil.

Cradled on his lap is the only copy of "Emancipation" that exists in the world at this point (the set will be
released Tuesday). "I carry it with me wherever I go," he says, tapping on the jewel case. "It's like my little
buddy."

The rapport between us is instantly easy, which surprises me. Over the 20 years I've spent covering,
listening to and dancing to Prince/TAFKAP, I developed a theory about his reluctance toward granting

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interviews. I assumed he simply wasn't verbal, and relied on his two main modes of communicationsex
and musicto express his feelings.

Any interview, then, would likely consist of monosyllabic answers and cryptic asides. But the nearly two-
hour interview proves to be exactly the contrary: He is very engaged, warm, smart, funny, deep and
extremely thoughtful.

His voice is not the slow, steady baritone of his stage banter, but an excited, animated burble. His eyes lock
on mine whenever I ask him a question, and when answering, he either looks directly at me, stares out into
the recording room or twirls around in his chair.

He responds to questions reflectively, confidently, curiously. The only other person I've been in a room
with who exudes as much quiet energy and self-confidence is the cyclist Greg LeMond, who knew his body
the way TAFKAP seems to know his muse and himself.

On the eve of what is arguably the biggest concert performance of his life, I ask him how much time we
have.

"How 'bout three minutes?" he sighs, a million odds and ends obviously weighing on him. I open my
notebook and hope for a little longer.

Q: Whenever the name change is ridiculed, I always tell people that there were segments of society who
ridiculed Cassius Clay when he changed his name to Muhammed Ali. People change their names for
religious reasons all the time, and for the most part, people respect that. It seems strange, then, that people
don't respect it when it happens for artistic reasonsand in your case, religious reasons.

A. Spiritual reasons, yeah. When I changed my name, I think I may have changed it too soon, because right
now I feel that my change is just complete. And it was a different reason from what everyone thinks it was.

The Warner Bros. thing had very little to do with it. When I started writing "Slave" on my face, I did it
because I had become a slave to myself. We don't know how we get here.

I had to figure out my origins and where I'm headed. How did I want the story to end? And I started writing
"Slave" on my face, because I felt like I was in a box spiritually, not creatively. You know, you can keep
writing and writing, but that doesn't mean you're growing.

Q. Do you feel like you've grown spiritually? A. Yeah. I don't think you ever stop growing spiritually, even
if you feel like you have. But I had to do something. You know, R.E.M. can re-sign; I can re-sign;
everybody can re-sign. But is that the way I want to progress? Can I take the route that I'm supposed to
take? And during this time, I had to do the total recall, all the way back to '78 (when he made his first
Warner Bros. record, "For You") and before. And all these people out there started speculating that, "He's
upset with himself," "He's upset with life," or "He's a brat." But that's not why I used the word "Slave." I
was doing it as a reminder to myself. It's a broad word. And by no means was I comparing myself to any
people in any countryit's the concept of slavery. Look it up. And for me to write "Slave," what does that
say about my oppressor? Who became my oppressor? That's what telepathy's aboutfinding the truth.
Warner Bros. isn't the enemy. A man is his own enemy. They couldn't stop this ("Emancipation"). They
couldn't stop anything.

I didn't know where I was going 10 years ago, but now I know where I'm going to be 3,000 years from
now.

Q: And where is that?

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A. That's a secret.

Q. You say Warner isn't the enemy. How do you feel about them now?

A. Had I not gone there, I wouldn't be here now. I love Warner Bros. now. I know everyone thinks I'm nuts
when I say that, but I love everyone in my past. I love them now. They had to be there for me to get to
where I am now.

You've got to love humanity. We're put here to save one anotherand it's hard to swallow, sometimes.

Q: So the "Slave" thing was a way of reminding you that you had to find a way out of your spiritual box?

A. When I went through thisand everybody goes through thisI was searching. Everybody has a path to
his higher self, and what I named myself was my (vision) of my higher self. You can picture a perfect self;
you can see your dream. And my higher self aspired to this ("Emancipation").

And I had to go through everything I went through to get to this. And it's hard, because you get up every
morning and write "Slave" on your face . . .

Q: Was there ever a time where you thought, "All right, already. I'm over this. I'm just not going to do it
today."

A. Nope! No, no, no! Because you're not free. You don't feel free.

Q: This reminds me of something I read in a meditation book once: Your 20s are about experimenting with
who you are, your 30s are about becoming who you want to be, and your 40s are about taking that self-
knowledge out into the world. I suppose it's kind of that "Life begins at 40" philosophythat if you do the
work now, the rest of your days here can be extremely fruitful and gratifying. Is "Emancipation" the first
time you've been aware of that path to what you call your higher self?

A. I saw it very clearly during (the making of) "1999" (in 1983). Everything goes by very quickly. You can
see time. I'm hearing the sound of a future time, and I'm listening to it in a car.

You have to get that out of your head and onto the planet. After this ("Emancipation"), I don't feel the need
(to make any more music) for a while. There won't be another record for a while. I feel like I could go to
Hawaii and take a vacation.

Q: Have you ever felt that way before?

A. "When Doves Cry" and "Kiss." You go to a higher plane (of creativity) with that. They don't sound like
anything else. "Kiss" doesn't sound like anything else. They aren't conscious efforts; you just have to get
them out. They're gifts. Terence Trent D'arby asked me where "Kiss" came from, and I have no idea.
Nothing in it makes sense. Nothing! The high-hat doesn't make sense.

Q: What has fatherhood meant to you, creatively?

A. I don't know if I know yet. What I do know is that it makes me conscious of, more than anything,
education. The first time I saw a person of color in a book, the person was hung from a tree. That was my
introduction to African-American history in this country. And again, going back to doing the total recall
that I did, I know that that experience set a fire in me to be free.

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You know that song, "Let It Be"? There's a lot of heaviness in that song. We should pay attention to that. If
I was in charge of the government, I would make it mandatory that, at least once a year, we have a Chill
Daywhere everybody just kicked back and watched. Everybody's so caught up in (the rat race), that we
never really sit back and watch.

Q: You, of all people, seem to be in need of a Chill Day. You're so prolific, it's like you're working all the
time. Haven't you ever wanted to take some time off, like other artists do, to let the muse percolate a little
bit?

A. I don't work that way. I am music. I feel music. When I walk around, I hear brand new things. You're
almost cursed. You're not even (its maker), you're just there to bring it forth. You know, "Can't I go to
sleep?" No. You can't. But OK, now you can. And you go to sleep, and you don't hear it, and then you're
lonely. No one wants to be on Earth alone.

Q: How do you feel about how you've been portrayed in the media?

A. If people would go back and read in the newspaper all the things that have been written about me that
wasn't true, they'd know, and they could judge things for themselves.

I don't know what happened. The media has lost control. It's got too much power. What do these people
think? That they're never going to see me again? That they're not going to want to come out here and see
me face-to-face, or want to get into one of (the gigs)? But it's all good. You see where I live. You see what
it's like.

Q: Which brings us back to our search for the higher self. What about people who have straight jobs, or
who aren't as creative?

A. Jim, we're all creative. I'm creative with music. You're creative with your pen. The builders out there
(working on the soundstage) are creative with what they're building. Shoot, I couldn't do what they're
doing. But if you go sit down with them and interview them, they'll lay some complex (stuff) on you, and
their work is very, very creative. It takes everybody to do this. It even takes the person down the street to
write the lies. It even takes People magazine, who said, "We'll put you on the cover if we can have you,
your wife and your baby on it." Now. I have been a musician for 20 years. This is the best record I've ever
made. You know: Kiss. My. A--.

What time is it when people (value gossip more than art)? But again, that gives me something to talk to you
about, and that gives us a joke that we can laugh about here today. It's all connected.

"The Former Prince Speaks, Part 2"

Interviewed by Jim Walsh
Pioneer Press, November 17, 1996

In part two of a rare interview, the former Prince talks about his inspiration, values and living a "normal"
life in Minnesota. Last week, the artist formerly known as Prince talked to local media for the first time in
more than 10 years. In this part of the interview -- continued from Sunday's Pioneer Press -- TAFKAP
talked about a range of topics, from his admiration for Oprah, to his disappearance from the local music
scene, to the media's inability to take religious inspiration seriously.

Q: How did that search for higher self translate musically on "Emancipation" (his new album)?

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A: There's a song called "In This Bed I Scream." We laid a guitar down on the floor of the studio and just
recorded it.

There was electricity in the room, and sound. It just depends on the energy coming out of the speakers, and
the feedback. And we just let the groove take it, and built the song around the harmonics. You can hear the
note, and you can watch the colors blur. And right there, rules are already broken.

You know, there was a guy, a long time ago, who figured out you can get medicine out of mold. Think
about that. "I'm going to eat this ugly green and moldy thing, and it will make me well." Which is just one
way of God saying, "Everything I put on Earth can take care of you." And if you turn your back on that, if
you turn your back on God, you turn your back on everything.

Did you see the interview after the (Evander) Holyfield fight? They were asking him how he beat Mike
Tyson. And he was sitting there with his hat on that said "Jesus Is Love." And they just kept asking
(Holyfield), and he kept talking about God. That he beat Tyson because of his faith in God.

But they didn't want to hear it. The were going, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, let's get off this God stuff. How'd you
beat him?" And he's saying, "I'm telling you: It was God." Now will you tell me, what's his last name?

Q: Holy. Field.

A: Thank you. We're all down here to help one another. My best friends and worst enemies have had the
same last name. If someone loves you, they hate you. People think week-to-week. They don't think about
the big expanse.

I'm aspiring to my higher self, and the name I chose for myself, I wanted to represent freedom and truth and
honesty.

Q: Over the past few years, you've slowly retreated to Paisley, doing shows here, recording here, working
here, and not venturing out for surprise gigs the way you used to, at First Avenue and Glam Slam. Even
though the gigs here have usually been pretty remarkable, I sometimes got the vibe that you were a caged
rat in here, with not a lot of options to play out anywhere else. Did you ever feel that way?

A: No. Not at all. Not to start something, but when people say about me that I live in a prison and don't go
anywhere, it's just not true. I go to the store, I go to the video store, I go to ballets, movies, the park. I live
like anybody else. But I play music every day. Now, I ain't talking about musicians who make a record, do
a tour, and then chill for eight, nine months. This is my job. This (soundboard) is my desk. If that's a prison,
then everybody else going to work is in a prison, too.

If you talk to people who have money, they'll tell you that money can't buy happiness. But it does pave the
way for the search.

Q: What kind of advice would you give to that kid who started out doing this at (Minneapolis) Central High
back in the '70s?

A: I could never give advice to myself. But I want to find out who the first person was who saw fit to sell
music. Who came up with that concept? That's where the trouble started. There's a bag of tricks (used by
the music industry) that continue to work on people. Take (R&B singer) D'angelo. A very talented brother.
Now, if I was a record executive, I'd do my best to get him to where I am now. Free. Letting it flow.

I just use D'angelo as an example. But there's others. TLC -- they're real nice people. What? When the
record company gave them $75,000 and took $3 million, didn't they think TLC was gonna find out? Who's
on the magazines and the Web sites, and the records? Not the lawyers. Not the managers. Some artists need

103
management. I don't. I can count. And it all, always, comes back to God.We are all down here to work
toward one thing -- love.

If I ain't got a ceiling over me, watch me fly. If I've got a ceiling over me, watch me rebel. You get
enslaved to the bitterness. That's what the gangsta-rap game is all about. All those records are being sold,
but they're trapped in their own bitterness.

Q: On the tip of everybody aspiring to their higher self, what do you hope for the future?

A: One day all artists will be able to be part of an alternative music-distribution set-up, where there will be
no limits. There will be no label president looking at his watch, saying, "Time's up! We need that record
now." It's like with a painter. Would you ever say to a painter, "Oh, I'm sorry. We're running out of that
color. You have to stop now."

If I was a journalist, I wouldn't write about something that wasn't positive. Like (Michael) Jordan. Phew.
You can't criticize Jordan -- ever. It's like Dre said (to a journalist). You put some beats together. We'll sit
here and wait. (He crosses his arms and taps his foot). Can't do it? OK, then take your pen and pad get on
down the road. (He bursts into laughter) It's like with Jimmy (Jam) and Terry (Lewis). They will never fall.
They are the kings. I went to school with Jimmy. I know what he can do. He is a king. He is a king human
being. And he is a good soul. Amen.

Oprah's another one. She's a queen. She was out here in the kitchen the other day. She's not like those other
(talk-show hosts). She has chosen the high road. She's all about (positivity), and where's Jenny Jones? She's
on trial, isn't she? Oprah is a queen. A queen.

And it's people like that that just (inspire) me. I talked to a radio deejay recently who told me that he got
into deejaying because of me. He wanted to play my music. And that just knocked me back.

It was very, very emotional. And it just made me want to go and make another whole record. I've said the
words in the past, "Welcome to the dawn," but I don't even know if I knew what they meant. Now I do. It's
the dawn of consciousness. If we all aspire to our higher selves, think of where it could go: Universal
knowledge. There. That's it. We'll end it on the highest note imaginable.

With A Loving Wife and A Baby on the Way, and A 'Slave' To Warner Bros.
Records No More { Is Feeling Downright Giddy About His New Three-Disk-
Long Emancipation
Interviewed by Anthony DeCurtis
Rolling Stone, November 28, 1996

"WE STILL ALL RIGHT?" asks {, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, with a maniacal grin on his face.
"Let me know when I start boring you."

Not any time soon. { leaps off the arm of the couch where he had perched and bolts across the room to his
CD player. He presses a button to interrupt his lovely version of the Stylistics' 1972 hit "Betcha by Golly,
Wow," and then selects a fiercer, guitar-charged track called "Damned if I Do, Damned if I Don't."

It's the sort of scene you've been in a hundred times: A music-crazed friend ricochets between his seat and
the stereo, torn between the song he's playing and the greater one you've just got to hear, between
explaining what you're listening to and just letting you listen to it. Two exceptions distinguish this
situation: First, this isn't one of my friends, this is {; second, the songs he's playing are amazing.

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Of course, no such scenario would be complete without someone in the role of the indulgent girlfriend.
Cast in that spot is {'s gorgeous and very pregnant wife, Mayte, 22. Wearing a short black dress with white
trim, the word baby stitched across her chest in white above an arrow pointing to her stomach, Mayte sits
quietly and smiles, shaking her head fondly at {'s uncontrolled enthusiasm.

"I'm bouncing off the walls playing this," { says, acknowledging the obvious. His sheer white shirt, lined
with pastel stripes, is open to the middle of his chest and extends to his knees. The shirt, open below his
waist as well, contrasts starkly with {'s tight flared trousers. Black-mesh high-heeled boots complete the
ensemble.

{, who is now 38, is previewing tracks from his upcoming triple CD, Emancipation, which is set for release
on Nov. 19. We're in the comfortable apartment-style office quarters within {'s Paisley Park studio
complex, in Chanhassen, Minn., just outside Minneapolis, his hometown.

Eager to reassert his status as hitmaker, { is verbally riffing in a style that recalls one of his heroes, the
young Muhammad Ali. "I ain't scared of nobody," he exclaims at one point, laughing. "I wanna play you
the bomb. You tell me how many singles you hear - I wanna read that. The only person who kept me down
is R Kelly, and when I see him, he's gonna pay a price for that!"

Producer and songwriter Jimmy Jam, whom { fired from the funk band the Time, in 1983, also comes in for
some of {'s good-natured rivalry. Jam, along with his partner, Terry Lewis, has produced gigantic hits for
both Michael and Janet Jackson, as well as many other artists. Like {, Jam has remained based in
Minneapolis. But the town isn't big enough for both of them: { sees the days of Jam's chart reign as
numbered.

As "Get Your Groove On" booms out of the speakers, screams over the sound: "You can tell Jimmy Jam
I'm going to roll up to his driveway with this playing real loud! Honk! Honk! What do you think he's gonna
say about that?"

{'s energy is so high because he is finally negotiated his way out of his contract with Warner Bros, for
which had recorded since his debut album, For You, was released, in 1978. In his view, he is now free at
last - hence the title of his new album. When I comment on the relaxed, easygoing groove of the new song
"Jam of the Year," { smiles and says simply, "A free man wrote that."

"When I'm reading a review of my work," he adds, referring to some of the negative comments garnered by
his previous album, Chaos and Disorder, this is what I'm listening to. They're always a year late."

{'s struggles with Warner Bros have wreaked havoc on his career in recent years. He could see no reason
why the company could not release his albums at the relentless pace at which he recorded them.
Meanwhile, Warner Bros., which had signed { to a hugely lucrative new deal in 1992, believed the singer
should put out new material only every year or two, thus allowing the company to promote his albums
more effectively and, it hoped, to recoup its enormous investment.

Matters deteriorated to the point where, in 1993, { disowned the work he had recorded for Warner Bros as
Prince and adopted his new, unpronounceable name. He later scrawled the word slave across his cheek in
frustration over his inability to end his relationship with the company and to put out his music the way he
wanted to. Such moves have caused many to question not only {'s marketing instincts - his album sales
have plummeted - but his sanity.

For Emancipation, which will be released on his own NPG Records, { has signed a worldwide
manufacturing and distribution agreement with Capitol-EMI. While neither he nor Capitol-EMI would
disclose financial terms, such an arrangement typically means that the artist delivers a completed album to
the company and assumes the cost of recording it. For {, those costs are relatively minimal, since he plays
virtually all the instruments on his albums and owns Paisley Park, the studio where he records.

105
Capitol-EMI receives a fee for every copy of the album it manufactures, with the costs of the initial
pressing possibly absorbed by the company in lieu of an advance to {. In addition, the company will assist
in promoting and publicizing the album, which should retail for between $20 and $25. If Emancipation
sells well - mind you, a triple album is a risky commercial proposition - { will make a great deal of money.
There can be no question that he is determined to do all he can to make sure that the album finds its
audience: { is abandoning his reclusive ways and planning a live global simulcast from Paisley Park and a
Nov. 21 appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show. He will also launch a two-year world tour early in 1997.

{ is clearly stung by the skeptics who believe that he will never again achieve the aesthetic and commercial
heights he scaled with such albums as Dirty Mind (1980), 1999 (1982), Purple Rain (1984) and Sign 0' the
Times (1987). At one point, as we stroll through Paisley Park, he gestures toward a wall of gold and
platinum records.

"Everything you see here is not why I created music," { says. Every human being wants to achieve clarity
so that people will understand you. But when the media tell somebody what success is - No. 1 records,
awards - there's no room for intuition. You've put words in their heads. For me, the album is already a
success when I have a copy. Lovesexy is supposed to be a failure, but I go on the Internet and someone
says, 'Lovesexy saved my life.' "

As for people making fun of his name change - "The Artist People Formerly Cared About," in Howard
Stern's priceless slag - and his branding himself a slave { says, "The people who really know the music
don't joke about it. A lot of black people don't joke about it because they understand wanting to change a
situation that you find yourself in."

{ has erased slave from his face, and he now

sports a neat, carefully trimmed goatee. Blond
streaks highlight his brown hair, which is
slicked back. He is delicate, thin and slight,
almost spritelike - you feel as if a strong gust of
wind would carry him across the room. But far
from seeming shy or skittish, as he's often
portrayed, he burns with a palpable intensity.
He looks me in the eyes when he speaks, and
his thoughts tumble out rapidly.

It is indicative of the idiosyncratic way {'s

mind works that he does not permit journalists
to record interviews with him because he is
afraid of being misrepresented His fear isn't so
much that he will be misquoted as that he will
be trapped within the prison house of his own
language, frozen in his own characterization of
himself. For an artist who has built his career -
and, to some degree, unraveled a career - by
doing whatever he felt like doing at any
particular moment and not looking back, that
fear is deep.

Still, { is sufficiently concerned about saying

that will damage the truce he's struck with
Bros. that he initially requested that a court
stenographer be present during our interview.
Sure enough, when I arrived at Paisley Park, the stenographer was sitting in the reception area, transcription
machine at the ready. But after { came out to greet me and took me on a tour of the studio, he felt
comfortable enough to abandon the idea. The stenographer was sent away.

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"It's hard for me to talk about the Warner Brothers stuff because I start getting angry and bitter," { explains
before beginning to play some of the songs from Emancipation. "It's like, to talk about it, I have to get back
into the mind state I was in then. It's frightening."

Making a triple-album set, it turns out, was one of {'s long-standing ambitions - and one of his difficulties
with Warner Bros. "Sign O' the T imes was originally called Crystal Ball and was supposed to be three
albums," says { of the double album he released in 1987. `You'll overwhelm the market,' I was told. `You
can't do that.'

"Then people say I'm a crazy fool for writing my face," he continues. "But if I can't do what I want to do,
what am I? When you stop a man from dreaming, he becomes a slave. That's where I was. I don't own
Prince's music. If you don't own your masters, your master owns you."

As part of the deal to end {'s relationship with the company, Warner Bros. Retains the right to release two
compilations of the music that the singer recorded while under his contract with the label. In addition, { has
provided Warner Bros. with an additional album of music from the thousands of hours he has in his own
vaults; this album would be released under the name Prince. "The compilations don't concern me," says {
dismissively. "They're some songs from a long time ago - that's not who I am."

Despite all the bad blood that has flowed between them, { insists he bears no grudge toward his former
label. He views his battles with the company as part of a spiritual journey to self-awareness. "What
strengthens is what I know," he says. "It was one experience - and it was my experience. I wouldn't be as
clear as I am today without it. I don't believe in darkness. Every thing was there for me to get to this place.
I've evolved to something - and I needed to go through everything I went through.

"And that's why I love the folks at Warner Bros. now," he says with a laugh. "You know that Budweiser ad
- `I love you, man'? I just want to go there with them!"

Asked about the concept behind Emancipation, { says, "It's hard to explain in sentences." The album is
based on complicated - not to say incomprehensible - sense of the relationship among the pyramids of
Egypt, the constellations and the dawn of civilization. Each CD is exactly an hour long and contains 12
songs.

"Recently I thought about my whole career, my whole life leading up to this point - having a child helps
you do that - and I thought about what would be the perfect album for me to do," { says. "People design
their own plans. That's when the dawn takes places. The dawn is an awakening of the mind, when I can see
best how to accomplish the tasks I'm supposed to do. I feel completely clear,"

{'s marriage to Mayte and the impending birth of their child were two of the important inspirations for
Emancipation. It's no coincidence that what { describes as his "divorce" from Warner Bros. Has occurred
right around the time of his marriage and Mayte's pregnancy. "I don't believe in coincidence," he says
flatly.

Along with covers of such smoochy ballads as "Betcha by Golly, Wow" and the Delphonics' "La-La-
Means I Love You," Emancipation is filled with what { sheepishly calls "sentimental stuff." Discussing
how he has been affected by the prospect of fatherhood, he says, "You'll definitely hear it in my music."
For the song "Sex in the Summer," which was originally titled "Conception," { sampled his unborn baby's
heartbeat. "Of course, that 's a tempo," he says. "The nothing baby set the groove for this song. Mayte
always smiles when she hears it."

{ may have used his baby's ultrasound as a rhythm sample, but he and Mayte did not ask to know which
sex their child is. "It doesn't matter, " { says. "We all have the male and female with us, anyway. We'll be
happy with whatever God chooses to give us." And just as { has no intention of once again taking the name
Prince - the people around him refer to him simply as "the Artist" - he says, "The baby will name itself."

107
As he prepares to preview a song called "Let's Have a Baby," { turns to Mayte and says, "You're gonna
start crying - you better leave." Then he explains to me, "I got my house fixed up and put a crib in it. Then I
played this song for her, and she started crying. She had never seen my house with a crib in it before."
"Let's have a baby," the lyrics run. "What are we living for?/Let's make love." As for the song's spare
arrangement, described by { as "bass, piano and silence," he says, "Joni Mitchell taught me that. If you
listen to her early stuff, she really understands that."

He points to a portrait of Mayte that is framed in gold. "I can't wait for my baby to look up and see Mayte's
eyes," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "Look at those eyes. That's the first thing the baby is going to
see in this world."

{ has transformed Paisley Park in anticipation of the birth of his child. What had been a modern industrial
park has become more playful and vibrant, like the psychedelic wonderland implied by its name. And it
would warm the heart of Tipper Gore, who was inspired to found the Parents Music Resource Center when
she overheard one of her daughters listening to the masturbatory imagery in the Prince song "Darling
Nikki," to hear the singer talk about how he now sees things through the eyes of a child.

"When I looked at some of the artwork around here from that perspective, pfft, it was out of here: `Those
pictures got to go,'" { says. "I also wanted to make this place more colorful, more alive. This place was
antiseptic -- there's life here now."

The memory of the violence that his father introduced into the household when { was young preys on his
mind. "How do you discipline a child?" he asks. "You have to imagine yourself as one of them. Would you
hit yourself? You remember the trauma you suffered when you suffered that."

For all of the drama he has created around himself, { is about music. The only time he seems completely
relaxed is when he is jamming with his band, the New Power Generation, in a rehearsal space at Paisley
Park. The band, including Kathleen Dyson on guitar, Rhonda Smith on bass, Eric Leeds on saxophone and
Kirk Johnson on percussion - sets up in a circle, with { facing the indomitable Sheila E., who is sitting in on
drums.

Playing his {-shaped guitar, the singer smiles and leads his crew through a series of rock-funk
improvisations. He roams the room calling for solos, pointing at whichever player is taking the music to a
higher plane so everyone can follow on that journey. They goof around with a James Brown riff. Then,
when Sheila E. introduces a syncopated Latin groove, { blasts off on guitar in the roaring style of Carlos
Santana.

"We don't really know any songs yet; we're just recording everything," { explains to me at one point, nearly
apologizing. But the music just seems to course through him, and he fairly shimmers with happiness as he
drifts from guitar to bass to keyboards as his mood dictates.

During a short break, { asks Leeds to play the theme of John Coltrane's immortal "A Love Supreme." As
Leeds articulates the line, {, sitting at the keyboards, crumples with joy. "It's that one note," he says,
laughing, isolating the highest-pitched tone in the sequence. "That's what tells you a madman wrote it."

{'s identification with Coltrane - a driven musical genius and spiritual quester who seemed intent on
playing himself out of his skin - is plain. { had spoken about the saxophonist earlier in the day. "John
Coltrane's wife said that he played 12 hours a day," he had said. "I could never do that, play one instrument
for that long. Can you imagine a spirit that would drive a body that hard? The music business is not set up
to nurture that sort of spirit."

"Let's see," he continued "According to some people, I'm bankrupt and crazy. I woke up one day, and the
radio said I was dead. People say, 'He changed his name; he doesn't even know who he is.'"

108
The very notion that { could be perceived that way seemed painful to him. But then his spirit ascended. "I
may not be like Muhammad Ali - I ain't predictin' no rounds," he said, looking at me directly in the eyes.
"But I'm pretty well-focused. I know exactly who I am."

Prince's Purple Rage!

...but Molly gets the interview
Molly's Humdrum World Exclusive
published in TV Week, 30 November 1996.

Skip to interview

When I arrived in Tokyo, I thought everything was okay. Journalists from around the world had been flown
in for an audience with The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. I went straight to the listening party where
The Artist was personally playing tracks from his new album, Emancipation. The albuma three-CD set
sounded great. One track in particular, Holy River, blew my mind. I think it's as good as Purple Rain.

My interview was scheduled for the next morning. When I woke up, I found out about the drama the day
before. The Artist had walked out of two interviews, one with Asian music channel VTV, and the other
with Sydney's Keith Williams from 2DAY FM. Keith got to ask only two questions before The Artist
decided he didn't like the sound of his voice. He walked out and his minder seized the tape.

The Artist then banned all electronic media. It seems that he doesn't like his voice or image to be recorded.
I assumed that my interview would be cancelled because I had a crew with me to film the interview for Hey
Hey It's Saturday. But then the message came through: "The Artist wants to talk you, but just you, no
crew."

I was ushered into his room, where it was just me, The Artist and a Japanese interpreter. We were both
surprised by the presence of the interpreter. The Artist said: "But Molly, you speak English, don't you??" I
laughed and said: "That's debatable."

Then we sat down and spoke. I was nervous, because although I'd met him before, this was my first
interview.

He spoke freely about his new relationship with EMI (the word "slave", formerly inscribed on his face, has
been removed) his wife, Mayte, and Emancipation, which he says is: "Three hours of love, sex and liberty."
The only hiccup in the interview was when I got confused and called him "lovey". I did ask what you are
meant to call him. He told me his name has no sound, but people call him "The Artist" and his friends call
him "friend".

As we spoke, the interpreter took notes. This was the result:

MOLLY: How hard was it to create a set of three CDs, and how many songs did you come up with?

{: Before starting the CD, there was a blueprint of three CDs, with each containing 12 songs and exactly 60
minutes. I started the album with the songs Slave and Emancipation, but as I got started, the direction
became more bright and uplifting. This new album is about happiness and being free. Each CD was a big
challenge for me to not go over 60 minutes. I'm grateful to Warner Bros. in that they helped me to build my
recording studio, so this time I did not have to worry about running out of studio time. I just went according
to my heart.

109
MOLLY: It must be hard to live up to, on a personal level, what you are as a songwriter?

{: I first try to please myself. I do not look into what the press says. I only do what pleases myself and God
basically.

MOLLY: In order to come up with such a vast amount of material, what inspires you?

{: I've been doing this for over 20 years, so it is my job. It is easy for me. Songs are completed in my head.
I'm grateful to be an instrument to dictate what comes into my mind. Praise God for my talent. It is a great
gift.

MOLLY: I think Holy River is one of your best songs ever. How did you create that?

{: I first came up with the chorus part. I played the piano with a drum machine. When I played the piano, I
was looking at the sky and reading lyrics. My friend, who played the drum machine, knew what I was
leading to. And we played around for two hours. Since the words were tragic, I needed some tragic piano.
The arrangement of the song was already there, done in my head, so I just stayed true to myself.

MOLLY: Emancipation's first single is a cover of The Stylistics' Betcha By Golly Wow. How did you
choose this?

{: I choose artists who are not able to support themselves. I'm glad to be in this position that I do this not
for money, but to give something to artists from the past.

MOLLY: What about your songs that have been covered by other artists? Do you like any of these?

{: No, I do not think I can say that I like them. I appreciate and also like the fact my songs are covered, but
do I like any of them? No.

MOLLY: What songs will you perform on tour?

{: I've been thinking about the tour, but the first thing I need to do is to get used to new musicians. It will
take time. New musicians all use computers. They have to learn some songs. As for the selection of songs
for live performance, the Internet is helpful. It's good to see what songs people are into, and I'm able to get
this sort of information from different cities.

MOLLY: Are you fascinated by the big sound of an orchestra?

{: My father had an orchestra, but did not allow me to see or hear it. One day I snuck in and saw him
playing. I was fascinated by the power and noise that was created.

MOLLY: How do you fit everything in? Do you have a body clock?

{: My wife always criticises me for not taking care of myself. Basically, I keep going until I drop. Is there a
body clock? Yes, but it is interesting that your body does what your mind says.

MOLLY: Will you continue with film projects?

{: Not for a while. I have not thought about films since I focused on this project, and I'm enjoying it. There
were some parts of Purple Rain I enjoyed filming, but there were some I didn't.....

110
 Interview With The Vampire
Interviewed By Eric Dahan
Rock & Folk, January 1997

[Translated from Rock & Folk, the monthly French music magazine, by Pierre Igot] An authentic odyssey
through great American music, from Dixieland band music to techno to gospel, the "Emancipation" triple
album by the Minneapolis funkster is a kind of black box, the evidence of an outdated period when people
who made records were still musicians. The release was the occasion of an exclusive interview at the Diva's
home, his recording studios.

[Omitted: Intro text. Hopefully, this will be included later.]

Then it is time for the big event. I take the trip to Chanhassen, wait in the hall decorated with Miami Beach
style velvets and satins, keeping my ears open. All of a sudden, the young Paisley Park employee is there:
"He's waiting for you." I climb the big stairs and wait again in the hall for ten minutes that seem like an
eternity. When the door half-opens and reveals the figure dressed in an apple-green outfit, turtleneck
floating over the pants and high heeled shoes, I walk forward, shake his hand. He smiles: "Please sit down."
Again, I express my appreciation of the latest album, "Emancipation" and he accepts the compliments
politely. Then I ask him to forgive me if I get straight to the point, but the alloted twenty minutes seem way
too short after fifteen years of silence. He nods, grins like a child.

R & F : Somebody's Somebody talks about your difficulty in finding a partner for life, but also seems to
refer to your difficulty in regaining an audience who might have taken a vacation...

{: It took a long process of working on my own self before I could finally feel completely free with
someone. One always has this idea in mind that, once you are married, you lose the whole sexy aspect of
things, but in reality, feeling in complete freedom with another soul is the sexiest thing in the world.
Egotism is often the thing that ruins sexual relationships. Once you're liberated from your ego, you can
really give in to your partner.

R & F : Obviously we cannot tell as far as your personal relationship is concerned. But it is very clear in
your way you play the guitar now. It's still very lively and sharp, but it seems to have acquired a newly
found fluidity...

{: Yes, I'm very flattered that you're talking about that, people rarely talk about the music with me. Indeed I
think that my guitar playing is less demonstrative than it used to be. Most of all I listen to the sound, it's
more important to me than to impress people with technical prowess.

R & F : You put a lot of emphasis on your newly found happiness. Do you see the preceding twenty years
of your career as some kind of therapy?

{: I think that anyone who has followed my career through the years can easily realize that, in the past few
years, all my various experiences were leading to the realization of this new album. After "Emancipation",
the question will be: what am I going to do now? Maybe I will have to record something experimental,
totally "out there". Mayte recently told me that, during these past few years, she never doubted that we
would spend the rest of our lives together. She is so young and spiritual in her way of making her own way,
quietly, through life's many ups and downs. She only has one goal: to bring me back home at the end of the
day. She inspires everything I write now, which explains that when I get a new musical idea, I don't even
need to write it down anymore.

111
R & F : On this subject, precisely... What's your way of working? In the past few years, we had the
impression that you felt compelled to record everything you composed, without necessarily giving your
ideas some time to mature.

{: I often hear the chorus and verses directly in my head... But for the first time I'm not afraid of forgetting
anything, because everything I write is inspired by Mayte. If my inspiration was pure, I just need to
remember what she said at some point and immediately the melody comes back to me.

R & F : Do you ever think of all those fans that were disappointed by your behavior in the past few years,
those left-overs given to Warner Bros. as a kind of punishment?

{: If someone likes my music, they will like "Emancipation" because I feel more focused on the process
than ever. In the past, when I was recording, I would ask myself all kinds of questions: do I really have the
sound of the day? will this be a hit? shouldn't I be using the latest slang in these texts?... It's easy to get
trapped in these kinds of questions. Maybe that's one of the reasons why everything you hear on the radio
today sounds the same. If we really have the feeling that nothing is evolving anymore, it's because people
cut themselves from their own truth.

R & F : Have you always wanted to have a child?

{: No. I didn't want to have a baby, not until I saw the eyes of his or her future mother. It is important to
know if you loved your wife in another life, before you create a new soul in this life. This new soul, you
want it to be better than you are. If they don't recognize you, they will kill you when they come down on
earth. Before having a child, you should ask all these important questions to God. You should pray, it's very
important.

R & F : Your music seems to be inspired by a profound knowledge of classical music... Do you have
favorite composers?

{: I am listening to "Kama Sutra" by the NPG Orchestra for which I compose. We have twelve new
compositions, very melodious like my pop music. Clare Fisher does the arrangement for all these pieces.
Then we play them and make small tapes...

R & F : But more seriously, are you interested in people like Faur, Schnberg, Bartok, etc.?

{: No, it's very difficult for me to listen to music I didn't compose.

R & F : Your music seems to be haunted by different lives and different worlds, as if it bore the trace of
astral trips... Did you have a lot of experiences with drugs?

{, visibly shocked by the question : If you are under the influence of drugs, who's making the music? It's
not you. In fact, you've become the instrument of the drug. Some people make that choice, it's not mine.

R & F : Will we ever hear the music that you recorded with Miles Davis? And among all the Miles Davis
instrumental pieces that have surfaced on bootlegs, which ones are legit?

{: Warner Bros. is only allowed to put out what I recorded under the name "Prince". These tapes belong to
me and I will put them out when I think the time has come. All I can tell you is that nobody has ever heard
the titles that I recorded with Miles. I know that some people have those tracks where you can hear this
muted trumpet sound and people think it's Miles... Whatever happens, fans shouldn't listen to bootlegs,
shouldn't give money to people who are doing an illegal trade... What else can I say? Miles and I were very
close, even though we didn't talk much. He was not very talkative and neither am I.

112
R & F : In 1993, when you announced the suicide of your former self to the media, you talked about never
recording again and only work on movies and ballet soundtracks...

{: I was disgusted by the music business, I wanted a different life. I said a lot of things at that time. Now I
am glad that I can freely talk about my projects without feeling like I owe something to a company. The
NY Times article describing my life at Paisley Park is a good description of what's going on here. At the
same time, my group is rehearsing the new songs in one studio, in the other one people are working on my
next video... Paisley Park is my village. If you listen to the song again, you'll realize that that's what it was
all about... I am a workaholic, it's not just a clich.

R & F : And all this promotion, are you excited about it or do you feel it's the lesser of two evils?

{, with a wheedling smile : But... I'm enjoying every second of our time together! I find it very interesting
to discuss my music with you. (Another wheedling smile.)

R & F : People say that you collect paintings. Could you tell us what kind of paintings?

{: Only unknown artists. I am only concerned about things that make me happy. We are reaching a new era,
with the dawning of a new awareness. I want to be ready for the great transmutation, I don't want to be
loaded down with prehistoric stuff. The world has changed, we have new tools to propagate love, the
Internet, new foods... We know that by eating less, you can develop your conscience further.

R & F : As musician, are you still learning new things these days?

{: Of course. I'm always learning new things with all these new instruments that appear on the market. Not
to mention my new bass player who's a killer and from whom I'm learning a lot of new things.

R & F : You have the reputation of a real torturer. What kinds of things must a musician who works with
you absolutely refrain from doing or saying if he or she doesn't want to disappoint you?

{: He or she'd better not take any kind of drugs. (The clerk opens the door of the big office: "Sorry, it's
over." { proposes to answer one last question.)

R & F : I heard that you're playing tonight, someone left a message on my answering machine... It's
incredible, all these devoted fans who are following each and everyone of your moves...

{: I don't understand all these people who spend their lives being interested in someone else's life.

R & F : Now, let's imagine that after a dramatic karmic accident, your future career is a complete flop and
you're condemned to choosing between the three following options: spend the rest of life 1) as a piano
player in a deserted bar, 2) as a blues guitarist in the streets of New Orleans, or 3) as a producer of techno
music who has to spend the rest of his life working on a console. What option would you prefer?

{: Any of these. What's the most important is to be able to give joy to people. God gave me this ability so
that I can inspire people. Yes, that's what I want to do -- inspire people.

R & F : Thanks for welcoming me in your place and see you tonight.

{: If you come, you mustn't sit, you must dance.

R & F : Certainly...

113
 The Last Artist
Interviewed By Andres Lokko
Pop Magazine, January 1997

[Translated from Swedish by Fredrik and Pernilla Glimberg, December 1996] His name was Prince and he
was funky. Together with Madonna and Michael Jackson the little guy with the a-little-too-high heels was
one of the Eighties' unreal superstars. On his 35th birthday he changed his name to a squiggle that was
unpronounceable. But most of all he is perhaps the James Brown of our times, a funky squiggle in the
entertainment business. It is the funk that we will remember him for. POP met the artist and was at a
liberation party at Paisley Park.

Chanhassen, Minneapolis, November 14th.

The Interview is done. The party is over. Outside of Paisley Park at 7801 Audubon Road a taxi is waiting.

Taxi Driver - Did you meet Prince? the driver asks.

I nod and he tells me that he used to work for Paisley Park, Prince's studio and second home, for as long as
he can remember. He claims to have been a childhood friend of Prince's.

Taxi Driver - I used to ice-skate with Prince, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis when I was 14-15. Prince wanted
nothing else but to become a hockey pro. That was his big dream. And he would not quit, until he realized
that he wouldn't grow either taller or wider than he already was. Then he started chasing girls instead. And
that worked out pretty good.

There is a saying that goes that truth is told by children and taxi-drivers... He takes a detour to show me
where Prince and his wife Mayte live.

Taxi Driver - You can hardly see it from here, he says while pointing to a dark fenced-in house. From what
you can see from here it seems to look like what you can imagine a ranch out on the ice-cold Minnesota
prairie would look like.

But the house is actually purple with yellow corners, the driver laughs while backing out on Highway 94
and driving on to St. Paul Airport. He keeps telling little stories during the whole trip. How Jimmy Jam and
Terry Lewis were much better hockey-players than the little Prince, that they have better taste, prettier
houses and that they certainly know how to control their funds, and that they are, deep inside, as opposed to
Prince, still down-to-earth people who'd gladly sit in the taxi's front seat and chat with the driver.

Taxi Driver - You cannot believe that they have produced and written Janet Jackson's latest albums, he
says. And then he goes into grading some of all the girls he has picked up over the years at the airport for a
ride to Paisley Park. He brags about how he was part of luring the American tabloids into believing that
Prince and Mayte were to marry in Paris when the wedding actually took place in downtown Minneapolis.

Chanhassen, Minneapolis, November 12th.

Outside of Paisley Park nobody calls Prince anything else but Prince. To his great discomfort. Anyone who
chose to celebrate their 35th birthday by changing their name to an unpronounceable squiggle, a squiggle
that in addition looks silly, must be prepared to take some abuse. When Cassius Clay changed his name to
Muhammad Ali that was at least pronounceable. What I'm saying is, what does Prince expect us to call

114
him? Should we look at the symbol and intuitively feel how to pronounce it? Would he prefer it if we
called him say, Gjoo? I have no idea. But Paisley Park employees refer to him as The Artist. And that is in
every way more merciful than The Artist Formerly Know As Prince. But, The Artist? That sounds kind of
silly, too. Prince himself refers to Prince in the third person.

- Prince was dope. He did some cool shit, he says during the interview a few days later.

Paisley Park is located in Chanhassen, a small town just East of Minneapolis. It was not very easy to find it
though.

- Paisley Park? Just continue West along the highway, says a waiter at a Taco Bell in the outskirts of
Chanhassen.

- You can't miss it. Paisley Park lies by the road and looks like a pharmaceutical plant. It's a big chalk-white
building with little glass triangles on the roof.

It's winter in Minnesota. And outside Paisley Park's well-guarded gates, about a hundred little Prince-fans
are standing, shivering in the dark. They are standing there waiting, I don't see any parked cars nearby,
we're in the middle of the Minnesota tundra, it's five or six degrees Celsius below zero and one can not help
admiring their dedication.

Paisley Park has set a huge buffet which goes through all the rooms in the studio. Alcohol is neither served
nor sold. And smoking is strictly prohibited on the entire premises. Outside the main entrance a few cold
Italian journalists are chain-smoking.

At one table there's hundreds of Cap'n Crunch packages, Prince's favorite breakfast cereal. He even sings
about breakfast cereals on one track, "Joint 2 Joint", on his new triple album Emancipation. Surrounding
the cereals are stars such as D'Angelo, parts of Goodie Mob, Boys II Men and Naughty By Nature, Mavis
Staples, the designer Donnatella Versace and -- someone who knows about local celebrities tells me -- both
the Minneapolis and the St. Paul mayors, Sayles Belton and Norm Coleman. James Brown is also said to be
in the house and the PA calls Tom Dowd to a phone call at the reception. But I don't see anyone of them
there. And later I'm told James Brown never showed up.

The reason for the buffet, all the guests and the hundred or so shivering enthusiasts outside this
pharmaceutical building's gates is that Prince wants to celebrate his new album and his newly acclaimed
freedom from the record contract that made him scrawl "Slave" every morning for several years on one of
his cheek's with a black pencil before he even got out of bed. At 11:00 PM, local time, he will enter the
Paisley Park stage with his four-piece band The New Power Generation for a concert that's to be broadcast
live over half the globe. One minute past 11 the voice of reverend Martin Luther King's classical speech
"Free at last! Free at last!" echoes through the chalk-white room where all monitors, podiums, speakers and
walls are wrapped in fluffy white fabric.

And onto the stage comes the little man with high heels, strapping on his squiggly-shaped golden guitar and
straight away it becomes clear that it's the Napoleon of funk that's up there. With small, well-rehearsed
gestures he motions instructions to his musicians and at the same time smiles smugly doing pirouettes by
the microphone, playing the guitar and singing, bet [?]

The audience resembles the kind of crowd one sees in the kind of American movies in which Michael J.
Fox plays covers of Chuck Berry. No mass-hysteria, people remain on their seats, dance a little, sing softly
along with the chorus and flash their lighters during the slow numbers. Except for that hundred or so who
were outside the gates earlier. Now they are in here, up front with sparkling eyes. At least I hope it's them.

115
And Prince is fantastic. Suddenly I remember why I used to ruin myself on tickets every time Prince came
to Stockholm in the mid-eighties. The tour following Sign O' The Times was incredible. I saw him two
nights in a row at Isstadion, Stockholm. And those two nights are up there with Springsteen 1981, The
Clash the year before that, Fugees at Gino and Oasis at Maine Road. When you see Prince on stage the
name The Artist does not seem so far fetched anymore. There is not one I can think of who in 1996 [?]

His clothes, the sculptured hairdo, the dance steps, the way he uses his voice as if it were an instrument and
even during the longest of guitar solos the groove is irresistible. It's a show that is so damned good that you
are just standing below the stage with your mouth open. And afterwards I feel like I have just witnessed a
piece of history. I have a vague memory of having had that same feeling of witnessing the Last Artist when
walking out of Isstadion after Prince's gigs...

He performs "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World", "Jam Of The Year", a few bars of "Sexy MF" and
Joan Osborne's "One Of Us". He invites some of the more musical members of the audience up on stage
and they are just fooling around. The music, the funk, it's all coming from Prince, whether or not he is
playing the guitar, only wailing a ballad in falsetto or letting his band take over while he is dancing like a
thin James Brown in high heels. Even the short version of "Purple Rain" sounds like Sly Stone tonight.
When he goes into pure swing jazz, it is perfectly natural. It is a part of Minneapolis black inheritance. Jazz
has always existed in the funk from Minneapolis. Miles Davis only laughed when somebody called Prince a
soul singer. Miles considered Prince to be one of the greatest jazz musicians of our times. Some hours later
he finishes with a squeakingly scorching "The Cross", and it sounds as if the Velvet Underground had
suddenly understood funk -- or vice versa.

Chanhassen, Minneapolis, November 14th. Prince walks around inside Paisley Park among us common
mortals in a purple suit with a incomprehensibly long sued tie under his jacket. He keeps his beige fake fur
on all the time and his trousers are just bell-bottomed enough so that you are not supposed to notice the
purple boots with fifteen- (possibly twenty-) centimeter high stiletto heels. But it is hard not to look. The
Artist is no more than three apples tall. Put him behind a bottle of Heineken on a bar and, pop!, the little
squiggle has disappeared. And now he is sitting on the other side of the table in a secluded conference room
and he is staring right in my eyes. It is a bit of a tricky situation. Prince does not allow tape recorders, he
believes that you will remember what is important. The last time he spoke to the press he even forbid
journalists to take notes. This time he has no objections. When he talks about his long-going -- and by this
time pretty well documented -- feud with his former record company, Warners, which has released all
Prince records since the debut in 1978, he adopts a quiet voice, an intonation that is both pedagogical and
business-like. And now and then he seems completely obsessed with all the bureaucracy that his success
has meant. Then he answers questions with one or two words and he also begins his long, well-articulated,
well-rehearsed monologues about his newly won musical freedom. And, sure, in the same way [?]

"Had I let Prince live longer, then I know exactly what the future would have been," he explains when the
name change is discussed. "It would have been so predictable. But if I changed my name, what was going
to happen then? Then it suddenly got interesting again. I was baptized Nelson, but who is Nell? I have
never meet or even heard of Nell. So why should I be called Nelson? It felt like it was time to move on. I
only chose a beautiful name and since then I have no idea what will happen. The only thing I know is that it
will be beautiful."

The name change is a pretty unavoidable subject when you have spent almost two entire days at Paisley
Park. That symbol is everywhere. You can not take one step without stumbling over it. Even on the second
floor the bird cage where Prince's two white doves whom he named Divinity and Majesty cozily lie is
covered with small gold colored symbols.

A.L. - But what does your wife call you?

{ - A lot of things, he answers after a long silence. But when the light's turned off and I walk towards the
microphone nobody cares what my name is.

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A.L. - You seem very pleased with Emancipation?

{ - Emancipation was a success the moment it was finished. It is not possible to criticize Emancipation
because criticism will not "make a difference". Had somebody tried to criticize it while I was recording it in
the studio it would have been a different matter. But were there any critics there? I did not see anybody
anyway. So the only thing they do is lie. They sit there and write about how it should have sounded. But
how can they know that? They are wrong. Only I know how it should sound and that is how it sounds on
the record. And God is watching everything we do. Remember that.

The first single from the album is a cover of The Stylistics' "Betcha By Golly Wow!" written by Thom Bell
and Linda Creed. Furthermore he does the same song-writing duo's "La La La Means I Love U" which was
originally recorded by The Delfonics. Both of which are excellent examples of the symphonic doo wop
which Bell and Creed wrote and produced for uncountable vocal groups and artists in Philadelphia during
the first half of the seventies.

A.L. - Why did you choose to record these particular Philly ballads?

{ - When I went to school it was the Stylistics and Delfonics that made the girls melt. When they heard
those vocals and Thom Bells and Linda Creeds' music and lyrics you could see in the girl's eyes that you
maybe had a chance. And particularly "Betcha By Golly Wow!" has the most beautiful melody I have ever
heard.

A.L. - It is the first time that you recorded someone else's songs.

{ - I'll tell you something. A friend of mine knows Linda Creed and called her recently to tell her that I had
recorded two of her songs. Linda started to cry out of happiness. At first she did not believe it was true.
And for me that is the whole reason why I play music. Not sales figures, charts, gold records or awards can
be more important than to be able to give a fantastic songwriter like Linda Creed the attention she deserves.
Her songs have shaped my whole life.

A.L. - She is not as successful today as she was twenty years ago?

{ - And that is a tragedy. I really care about artists and composers who are in need of help. The whole line
of business is so evil, it uses artists and robs them of the best and most important thing they have -- their
talent. And thereby also their soul. And then, when they are no longer making as much money for them
they get thrown on the garbage dump. Look at Little Richard. Can you even imagine how the audience
must have reacted when he put himself by his piano in the fifties? He started a revolution. And today he is
treated like a relic, a clown. When he is rolled out to sing "Good Golly Miss Molly" at some opening
ceremony, people are giggling a little, as if it were a cabaret they were watching. But Little Richard is not
some kind of elephant-man. And I can see that he struggles to hold back his tears, I can see that in him.

Now I am in a position where no one controls what I am doing any longer and I can finally begin paying
back to the artists who inspired me.

A.L. - But you have tried before. You gave both Mavis Staples and George Clinton record contracts when
nobody else was interested in them?

{ - George, he is the gospel. "Everybody's got a little light under the sun" he sang and that is the gospel he
spreads. With the thought of how he looks like it may be hard to believe that it is gospel he is singing, but
he is. And it is the same with my band. Eric Leeds grew up in church. Dancing can be a way to express the
gospel. It is love that is God. And music is like "Star Wars". The good side will win and it is the gospel that
is the good force. So George Clinton is an artist that younger artists have the responsibility to take care of.

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Sometimes it is difficult to get hold of what he is talking about, it tends to get a bit unstructured. He often
puts formulations like "love is God" in the middle in a sentence when his talking about something
completely different...

A.L. - That you have listened to Sly Stone a lot has always been rather obvious.

{ - Yes, but only to his music. Only his music! Nothing else. He is no hero or role model to me in any way.
Only his music! Muhammad Ali is my greatest source of inspiration. But Sly Stone ended with his music,
there was never anything else but the music. And I wish he could sometime make music that's as fantastic
again. But...

And then he gets quiet, shrugs his shoulders and signals that he prefers not to talk about Sly. Prince seems
genuinely upset over that fact that Sly Stone has been mentioned and swiftly changes the subject.

{ - The Sugarfoot, The guitar player in Ohio Players. That is a real hero, he suddenly says. My guitar was
my woman for many years, we even slept in the same bed.

A.L. - Did you give her a name?

{ - Like B.B. King? No. When I felt that it had gone that far I bought a new guitar instead.

A.L. - How important has James Brown been for you?

{ - He is the greatest. He and Muhammad Ali. I don't know how many times I saw him with the JB's when I
was growing up. Probably every time he was even near Minnesota. The most important thing I learned
from James is that there is nothing better than jamming with the band. Same thing with dancing. Dance
must be something you feel in your stomach, it must come naturally. Choreography is the worst thing I
know.

That he mentions a musician in Ohio Players, this colossus of funk from the seventies, is interesting.
Because their big band funk was, together with Sly & The Family Stone, George Clinton's
Parliafunkadelicment and James Brown, one of the greatest source of inspiration for the music that Prince
danced to in his late teens. The music that he both tried to imitate and surpass with his first albums and that
still is the backbone of everything he does. The inspiration from funk groups like The Fatback Band, Earth
Wind & Fire, Zapp, Slave, Rufus, Brick, Mass Production and Faze-O is an inevitable chapter that one
needs to understand why Prince sounds like he does in 1996. Many of these are forgotten today, the late
seventies funk never really got its breakthrough outside "black" USA and the bands often had so many
members that they could not afford touring. Most of the groups died. The end of their days of glory
coincided with Prince's first two albums and that music has left an unerasable influence. The Commodores'
"Brickhouse" is still one of the little man's absolute favorite songs, a song he always comes back to when
he with his band invades a scene in some club and jams for half the night. The same thing goes for
Funkadelic's "Flash Light" and a number of James Brown's seventies grooves.

"My name is Prince and I am funky", he sang on his first underrated album with the New Power
Generation. And all the way from the start of his career he has always been best when he held himself close
to the funk.

Purple Rain may be his most appreciated album but with the exception of the electro-funky "Darling Nikki"
and "When Doves Cry", the aerobic hits "Let's Go Crazy" and "I Will Die 4 U" sounds very dated.
Similarly, most of the slightly psychedelic pop songs on Around The World In A Day that critics loved all
over the world sound dated, almost incomprehensible. While the mechanic funk that he, like a modern Sly
Stone or James Brown, builds into magic melodies sounds timeless. And it has always sounded pretty much

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the same. The records he wrote for The Time pretty much built the base for the Minneapolis funk the way it
sounds today, particularly on Emancipation.

The Time was Morris Day, Jesse Johnson, Monte Moir, Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam. The group was
merged from the shambles of Prince's first band Grand Central Corporation and Jam & Lewis' band Flyte
Tyme. Alexander O'Neal was involved at an early stage but was fired. Prince wrote the music, they toured
together and everything was fine. Until some egos grew too strong and Jam & Lewis started the SOS Band.
Even today there is still a friendly rivalry between Jam [?]

On Emancipation, Prince sometimes excesses in cleverness which is not far from Frank Zappa or Carlos
Santana. I can't stand that. It's really Prince's falsetto and his melodies I am after, that characteristic high
cry he has put into his songs here and there over the years, that high cry which is as typical for Prince as
Little Richard's "ooh's". And the funk. But that is there anyway. No matter what he does. Like James
Brown, who by the way is the only artist comparable to Prince, Prince is often told that that he is no longer
relevant, that the hip-hop revolution has since long passed his funk to the musical scrap-yard. He does not
care the least.

{ - Hip hop? Prince did that with the Black Album, all that gangsta-trip. So the hip hop is done, he says.

Between 1968 and 1975 James Brown persisted in releasing three or four albums each year. Sometimes
more, a few were double LP's and when he released a double LP he took the chance and released a double
live LP at the same time, while he was still at it. And in that way he continued the following seven years.
He had to get the music out there, he wrote continuously and he did not allow anyone to start talking to him
about marketing plans or anything else. The music industry was of course different in 1973 but the
arguments remain the same, as well as the creativity.

And Prince is without doubt our times' equivalent of Little Richard, James Brown, Sly Stone, Jimi Hendrix
and Todd Rundgren in one and the same little sly dog. And even Todd Rundgren once recorded a version
of Bell and Creeds' "La La La Means I Love You". But the most interesting comparison is with James
Brown. When Brown released masterpieces such as The Payback or Hell -- both were double LP's -- they
didn't sound like anybody or anything else. But they sounded pretty much like those double LP's he had
released a few years back. It has taken twenty years for most people to appreciate that James would not let
anybody stop him or his music. Today every song that he recorded during this period sounds fantastic,
timeless.

The fact that most of Prince's albums recorded during the nineties, at first glance, sound like they were
recorded during one and the same week in 1987 or 1988 may have bothered some people who still hold
Purple Rain, Around The World In A Day or Parade closest to their hearts. But that's a marginal opinion. It
will soon be forgotten. The double L [?]

On DJ Shadow's album Endtroducing, which was released just a few months ago, he thanks James Brown
for inventing the modern music. One day the same thing will be said in bold letters, about Prince at the end
of the credits on the year 2017's equivalent to DJ Shadow's debut album. I'm completely convinced of that.
And the reason for that will hardly be the more pop-like albums he recorded in the middle of the eighties. It
is rather in songs like "Sexy M.F.", "Joint 2 Joint", "Jam Of The Year", "Housequake", "Space" and
"Cream" where you will find the essence of Prince's mission. His version of funk will always be better than
"Raspberry Beret", "I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man" or "Purple Rain". Today already,
"Batdance", the leading theme for Tim Burton's film with Michael Keaton as Batman, sounds like an
exhilarated Funkadelic jamming with Coldcout or La Funk Mob. When it was released seven years ago I
thought that it was unbearable. But the memory of the gigantic marketing that followed the film's footsteps
has faded and the collage of sounds of Prince's strictly arranged choirs, the slow guitar riff he uses when
everything is so funky that it really does not need anything more, the sampled dialogue and the way too fast
electronic lines running through the entire song is absolutely brilliant.

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It is right now a pure pleasure to listen to Prince's collective production, because a lot of it that you
remember as irrelevant now sounds shockingly great. The only ones that sounds dated are those songs you
thought would live forever. The hits which everyone knows by heart, which everybody danced to at a
school party, at a company party, in the shower or where ever you happened to be dancing in the mid-
eighties. Those rock songs. It is only "Kiss" that I am not quite sure what I think about. Funky as hell, but
completely overplayed.

One seldom hears anyone mention Prince as their favorite singer, which is strange. He is one of pop
history's greatest falsetto singers. Other singers, particularly in the golden age of the doo wop era, may have
sounded more angelic-like, but few molded as much personality in their falsetto as Prince has. Curtis
Mayfield, Al Green and Smokey Robinson are some of the few whose bright vocals have become as
familiar as Prince. But their falsettos broke a long time ago and we already know that they have their best
albums and vocal achievements far, far behind them. We do not yet have the same perspective on Prince.
Even though he recorded his first album eighteen years ago -- and already then there was a brilliant a
capella example on his falsetto -- his voice only gets more and more personal and stronger with every year
that passes. That you so seldom hear anyone talk about the singer or guitarist Prince probably depends on
the fact that he is so strongly connected with the eighties. And that is why he is far too often looked upon as
a songwriter, a hit maker and a superstar. But he, together with Madonna and Michael Jackson, personified
that decade's most commercial American dance music.

Prince does not really exist, does he? He is like a cartoon character, locked in his studio in Paisley Park, he
sits like another Charles Foster Kane and collects songs in a pile.

And like all other artists that got a little too big for their own good during the eighties he is nowadays never
allowed to be bigger than his latest hit. Prince does not care one bit. Today he is a free man. - Emancipation
is filled with music that has sprung from love and a feeling of freedom. While much of what Prince made
was more therapy than music.

A.L. - Do you listen much to new music?

{ - Well... I really like D'Angelo. And Bjork I like. But above all I love people who really can play. And
people that are free to do exactly what falls into their minds and who do not have someone in their
surrounding, a boss, that tells them what to do or not do. But new music? No, I actually do not listen to
that much new music. It is hard to find it and follow it when you live here on the prairie in Minneapolis.

A.L. - Why is it that you are still staying here?

{ - It is just a feeling which I can not get rid off. Every time I tried to move myself out of here I felt
something in my heart. When I am sitting in the plane flying towards the city watching Lake Minnetonka,
that just tells me that this is where I belong.

A.L. - There is a lot of jazz influences on Emancipation.

{ - Mmm... one of the guys in the New Power Generation recently made me listen to John Coltrane. It
actually happens that we play A Love Supreme. And when you hear that album it is obvious that Coltrane
was not in his right mind. He could sit for more than twelve hours and play one and the same note on his
saxophone. And he himself thought that he just had to practice a little on that particular note. It has taken
me a long time to connect to Coltrane. But I have always liked Miles Davis.

A.L. - When you were fighting with your former record company you released "The Most Beautiful Girl in
the World" on your own label and let a small company, Bellmark, owned by Al Bell, who used to be in
charge of Stax, distribute it. Why is that?

120
{ - I do not want to answer that. You may interpret it any way you want. If I said something about it I
would choose sides and in this case I do not wish to do that.

A.L. - But that Al Bell ran Stax and because of "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" suddenly made
money again sounds like just what you were talking about earlier, that you have to take care of the pioneers
and the heroes?

Prince does not say anything, he just sits and twists the knee long purple suede tie and looks at me in the
eyes. At that same moment his manager knocks on the door and finishes the conversation. Prince does not
shake hands, he only nods, says bye and thanks me for travelling across half the world to meet him.

He buttons his fake fur and I go downstairs to Paisley Park's large reception while Mayte trips along with
me, going up the staircase.

Much later, a week after I got home, I am reached by the news that Prince's and Mayte's son -- who was
born October 16th with severe brain damage -- had died only a few days later. When he was celebrating
Emancipation, performing in Paisley Park and gave this interview his son's death was still a well-kept
secret, even though he had passed away three weeks earlier. During the interview I asked Prince how his
music had been influenced by becoming a parent. It was one of the questions he did not give an real answer
to. He started to talk about how "love is God", that Mayte made him feel a stronger presence of God, and
then he got stuck in a rather incomprehensible monologue about his fascination with Egypt, pharaohs and
pyramids. Tape recorders were prohibited so I can not go back and listen to his answers again. And the
notes, which I have gone through over and over again, do not tell me anything else than that he gave one of
his really odd answers. But I really wanted to talk to him about the music, so after all maybe that did not
belong here. Somehow I believe that Prince agrees with me. Had his son been alive he would probably not
have wanted to talk about him anyway. His family do not have anything to do with his artistry and I had not
planned on poking in it anyway.

If had I known about this, the trip to Minneapolis would most likely have been less pleasant. But when I
got into the taxi outside Paisley Park I was happily ignorant. I had only heard vague rumors that Prince's
son was "in a pretty bad shape" (for an infant). And nobody near him had had a single thought of
confirming that rumor.

So it is not even something I am thinking about when the taxi driver starts telling the story of a small fifteen
year old boy that rather than anything else wanted to become a hockey player.

[Sidebar Article:]

Two C60-tapes Prince, please!

We had planned to do one of those POP-goes-through-all-records-that-this-P-man-has-been-involved-with

and with little tiny convolutes and so on. Don't be sad now: but we did not have the strength. We
remembered that the man has written seven songs for Martika's album Martika's Kitchen and those of you
who remember Martika maybe understand why we were content with these two tapes with Andre's 28
favorites by this P-man. Then there wasn't any room for more...

GIGOLOS GET LONELY TOO (Vol. I)

Side A
HOUSEQUAKE (87)
GOTTA BROKEN HEART AGAIN (80)
FACE DOWN (96)
BOB GEORGE (88)

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1999 (82)
SEXY MF (92)
DEAD ON IT (88)

Side B
SPACE (94)
DO ME, BABY (81)
THE FLOW (92)
ALPHABET STREET (88)
JAM OF THE YEAR (96)
ADORE (87)
SOMETIMES IT SNOWS IN APRIL (86)

GIGOLOS GET LONELY TOO (VOL.II)

Side A
HOW COME U DON'T CALL ME ANYMORE (82)
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE WORLD (94)
I WANNA MELT WITH U (92)
WHEN YOU WERE MINE (80)
MY NAME IS PRINCE (92)
IF I WAS YOUR GIRLFRIEND (87)
SLEEP AROUND (EDIT) (96)

Side B
GOD (84)
BETCHA BY GOLLY WOW! (96)
SIGN OTHE TIMES (87)
CONTROVERSY (81)
I FEEL FOR YOU (78)
THE MORNING PAPERS (92)
ANOTHER LONELY CHRISTMAS (84)

"The Sound of Emancipation: Portrait of

the Artist"
by Robert L. Doerschuk
Musician, April 1997

Skip to interview

The weird complex, anchored on the Minnesota tundra like a space probe on the moon. The paranoia over
tape recorders. Those gaudy evocations of martyrdom on his last Warner Bros. albums. Twenty years of
provocative imagery and sullen seclusion. And now, that business with his name.

Nothing about the artist once known as Prince is easy to explain. The surreal vibe at Paisley Park doesn't
clear things up either; here his employees and intimates call him "Boss" and pass beneath Orwellian
reproductions of the unpronounceable glyph that has become his signature.

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 Real or illusory, all of this is distraction. Though all the hype
made good copy, none of it is as impressive as hearing the
Artist actually play. Which is why we're in Studio C, the
smallest recording room at Paisley Park, the former Prince's
sanctorum, on the evening of the first serious blizzard of the
year. As it is, there's plenty of room for the band, which is
spread out against one wall. In sweater and black beret,
keyboardist Mr. Hayes is on a riser in the far corner, surrounded
by synths, a bag of popcorn perched atop the customized
Plexiglass frame of a Hammond B-3, Guitarist Mike Scott, the
latest addition to the band, is trying out a few funky licks on his
Gibson 335, while Kat Dyson uses here Tele to shower the
room with samples from her Rocktron Chameleon. Bassist
Rhonda Smith is next to Dyson, and to her left Kirk A. Johnson,
the Artist's drummer and co-producer, sits behind a pile of
electronic and acoustic drums.

"Okay, here we go," Johnson announces. Four stick clicks, and

the band begins jamming through a selection of titles from the
Artist's recently released triple CD, Emancipation. Listening to
them is something like shifting through a new transmission and feeling each gear sliding into place.
Johnson's beat, locked to a rock-hard kick drum, drives this machine; they hit the changes perfectly, leaving
no skid marks.

The doors open, and the Artist walks in. The band doesn't acknowledge the entrance, but there's a change in
the air. He's short, even in his high-heeled white boots, but there's nothing fragile about him. He's wiry
rather than delicate, with a businesslike, confident charisma; you might say he acts like he owns the place.

On the far side of the room is what looks like a violet concert grand piano, with the word "beautiful"
scripted in white on one side. It's actually a Roland A-90 built into an artificial frame. The Artist plants
himself here, rocking back on the heel of his left foot and tapping fast eighth-notes with the toe of his right
foot as he comps furiously with the group. His licks are nimble, with quick cross-hand runs threading
through jazzy voicings. After a minute, he spins away from the keys, strides toward the band, and straps on
one of his custom-built guitars. Here, too, he plays with blazing intensity, wailing through bluesy lines that
end with emphatic cadences and a defiant foot stomp.

Later, when Smith excuses herself to run an errand, the Artist picks up his Washburn bass and winds up
killing on it too. But by then he's made his point: This guy is, if anything, underrated as a player. If he were
starting out today, unburdened of his reputation, freed from all the excess baggage and left with only his
music, he would still blow us all away.

The problem is that he doesn't have that option anymore. When he goes on the Today show, the first thing
Bryant Gumbel tells his viewers is that the Artist was known to his high school friends as Skippy. One
cringed with sympathy for the Ex-Prince, who seems fated to be called to the carpet again and again for the
sins of eccentricity. Of course, it's also true that he is the architect of his image. If he got burned by the
press, the match was lit in his hands.

So it is with his two most recent trials, the name change and the long dispute with Warner Bros. On his
35th birthday, June 7, 1993only a month after announcing his decision to retire from recordingPrince
declared that he was changing his name to a morphed male/female symbol. Warners wasn't thrilled with
this development, which in retrospect was a portent for the semi-public struggle to follow. The issue was
controlspecifically, ownership of his masters. Though he insisted in various interviews that he bore no
grudges, the Artist had no problem adorning his final Warner releases with images of oppression that
skirted the line of self-pity: The only mystery was why the Artist felt the need to publicly bash his label of
eighteen years.

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Whatever the reason, the end of his Warners contract last November began what the Artist considers his
liberation. Thus, when Musician sat down with him behind the API console in Studio A, the Artist seemed
almost elated at the prospect of actually talking about his music. He folded himself into a chair, swung his
legs over the edge, gestured expressively, broke into frame-shaking explosions of laughter. The man was
obviously having a good time, as was the interviewer, except for one problem: The Artist's interrogator
would not be allowed to use a tape recorder. (In what Paisley Park officials apparently considered a sign of
the Boss' good will, we were permitted to take notes.) While Musician wasn't being singled outthis
restriction has been applied to all print interviews for yearsit was nonetheless an annoyance, especially
given our obligation to turn an hour's worth of hurried scrawl into accurate information. For this reason, we
suggested that, in the interest of getting it right, he might reply to a series of follow-up questions via fax
once we got back to New York and deciphered our notes. Delighted with the idea, he agreed.

What follows is a two-part encounter with the Artist. The first was real, there in Studio A. The second was
virtual. From start to finish, the subject was music.

You've said that Emancipation was created in a freer climate than that under which you recorded for
Warner Bros. Yet there doesn't seem to my ears to be a significantly "freer" sound on the new album than
in your earlier work.

Well, when you're in the creative process, the first thing you naturally think about is "bombs," the great
ones that you've done before. You want to fill in the slots on your album with the songs that will make
everyone the happiest: fans, musicians, writers, and so on. I used to try to fill those gaps first whenever I
was doing something new, or wait to challenge myself to do another great one.

This means that you think about singles: time constraints, for example, and the subject matter. [For that
reason] my original draft of "Let's Go Crazy" was much different from the version that wound up being
released. As I wrote it, "Let's Go Crazy" was about God and the de-elevation of sin. But the problem was
that religion as a subject is taboo in pop music. People think that the records they release have got to be hip,
but what I need to do is to tell the truth.

So one element of creativity missing for you in the Warner years was that freedom to say what you wanted
to say in your lyrics.

Right. I had to take some other songs, like "A Thousand Hugs and Kisses" and "She Gave Her Angels," off
the Warner albums because they were all about the same subject. But now I can write a song that says, "If u
ask God 2 love u longer, every breath u take will make u stronger, keepin' u happy and proud 2 call His
name: Jesus" [from "The Holy River," on Emancipation], and not have to worry about what Billboard
magazine will say. Plus I'm not splitting the earnings up with anyone else except the people who deserve to
have them. The people here in my studio will reap the benefits of how Emancipation does, not people in
some office somewhere who didn't contribute anything to the music.

Now, the record industry can be a wonderful system, if you want to go that route. After all, some people
don't want the hassle of getting on the phone and talking to retailers about their own records; they want
someone to do it for them. I'm just not one of those people.

So lyrically you've got greater freedom than before. What about the music itself?

If you're working in a happier atmosphere, you'll hear things differently and play them differently. "Courtin'
Time" [from Emancipation] is different from "Had You," from Chaos and Disorder. That whole album is
loud and raucous, but it's also dark and unhappy. Same with The Black Album.

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Your drummer, Kirk A. Johnson, co-produced much of Emancipation.

That stems from his being a drum programmer. He's good at using the computer to put a rhythm track
together. I don't like setting that kind of stuff up, because a lot of times the song will leave me while I'm
doing it. But when Kirk and I work together, we can keep each other excited. I can do all the programming
myself. 1999 is nothing but me running all the computers myself, which is why that album isn't as varied as
this one. Technology used to play a big part in my music; it only plays a very little part now.

Why?

The problem was that regardless of what I heard in my head, I'd work with the sounds I had in front of me.
Actually, I very seldom wrote at any instruments. But I'm definitely into letting sounds dictate ... not the
way I write a song, but the way I develop my ideas. "In This Bed" [from Emancipation] is experimental; as
we were working on it, I put a guitar on the ground and just let it start feeding back. After a while I hit this
button on the digital recorder and let the feedback pattern repeat. Does this mean that instruments have a
soul or a life of their own? Will they end up writing the song?

It's like how after Mayte and I got married, I took her to see the neighborhood where I was raised as a baby.
When we got there, everything was gone: The house where I grew up, all the buildings, everything had
been torn down, except this one tree that I used to climb on when I was a kid. That's all that was left. So I
went over to this tree, put my hand on it, and let the memory of that time flow back into me. If that's what
energy is all about, if this tree could remind me of something, even if it looks raggedy and old, that's the
most beautiful thing. The sounds in my music are chosen with a lot of love too, and always with the idea of
which color goes with which other color.

How do you know whether to do the bass part in a song on synth or bass guitar?

I'll listen to the kick drum. The bass guitar won't go as deep as the synth, and the kick drum tells me how
deep I have to go. My original drum machine, the Linn, had only one type of kick. I think I had the first
Linn. I did "Private Joy" [from Controversy] with a prototype of that Linn.

Do you use the Roland TR-808, the rapper's choice, for bass drum sounds?

Sure. I used that on "Da, Da, Da" [from Emancipation]. But I need to remind you that I'm not a rapper. I'll
do rhythmic speaking. "Style" [from Emancipation] calls for words to be spoken, but you can't [vocally]
riff on it. It's like James Brown: He'll talk his whole song, but he's not a rapper either. There's music behind
my groove; it's not just loops and samples.

On "Courtin' Time" you drew a lot from big-band phrasing for your vocal parts; the whole thing comes
from swing jazz. So why did you stick with a backbeat rhythm track, instead of loosen it up into more of a
swing feel?

I wanted it to be a dance record. [Saxophonist] Eric Leeds played me this record, Duke Ellington Live at
Newport, with that long saxophone solo [by Paul Gonsalves, on "Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue"]. He
was telling me that one reason the solo went as long as it did was that this lady jumped up on a table and
started dancing to the rhythm, so naturally nobody wanted to quit. That's the vibe I'm trying to capture. I
played "Courtin' Time" with Eric once for twenty minutes, and he was wailin' that whole time. That's why
even people who are into hip-hop still get "Courtin' Time."

Like "Courtin' Time," "The Holy River" stands out on Emancipation as a departure for you in terms of the
rhythm.

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Well, the melody came first on that one. Sometimes I'll be walking around and I'll hear the melody as if it
were the first color in a painting. If you believe in that first color and trust it, you can build your song from
there. Music is like the universe: Just look at how the planets, the air, and the light fit together. That's one
reason why Emancipation is so longbecause of the sense of harmony that keeps it all together.

"Soul Sanctuary" is more of an orchestrational experiment, with a mixture of what sounds like Mellotron
string lines, harp, and marimba.

I'll start a track like that piece by piece. I'll have a color or a line in mind, and I'll keep switching things
around until I get what I'm hearing in my head. Then I'll try to bring to Earth the color that wants to be with
that first color. It's like having a baby, knowing that this baby wants to be with you. You're giving birth to
the song.

Was that a real or a sampled harp on "Soul Sanctuary"?

That was a sampled harp. I wanted to be able to play it perfectly, and while I can kind of play a few simple
things on a real harp, the sample helped me get it the way I wanted it. Samples are good for music; you
almost can't compare "It's Gonna Be a Beautiful Night," the up-tempo song from Sign O' The Times, with
"The Human Body" [from Emancipation] because of the difference that samples make.

Yet your songs don't rely on samples in a structural sense. Unlike a lot of dance-oriented musicians, you
use samples to adorn rather than to support a tune.

I am so glad you said that! I've heard a whole lot of musicians who have had a hit record and then come to
Paisley Park to set up and jam with the New Power Generation. Now, I'm not a judge, but I know when I
see someone drownin' [laughs]! I have to pull the plug and save some of their asses. Man, learn your
instrument! Be a musician! You can't call yourself a musician if you just take a sample and loop it. You can
call yourself a thief, because all you're doing is stealing somebody's groove. Just don't call it music.

How can you tell when the song you're working on has potential?

Well, see, I can't say anything about that, because I hate criticizing music. If you judge something, maybe
that means you get judged back someday. I wouldn't tell you that some song you wrote isn't any good. I
wrote this song called "Make Your Mama Happy" that would probably really frighten you. And this other
song I wrote, "Sexual Suicide," has this horn section that's nothing but baritone saxes; it sounds like a truck
coming at you. So who can say?

You don't rate any of your songs as more noteworthy than others?

The thing is, everybody has an inner voice. Mayte and I are into this thing now of wondering whether we're
supposed to get up out of bed when we wake up. If you sleep past this point when you're supposed to get
up, then you're groggy for the rest of the day. It's the same thing with songs: Each song writes itself. It's
already perfect.

I remember when Miles Davis came to my house. As he was passing by my piano, he stopped and put his
hands down on the keys and played these eight chords, one after the other. It was so beautiful; he sounded
like Bill Evans or Lisa [Coleman], who also had this way of playing chords that were so perfect. I was
wondering whether he was playing games with me, because he wasn't supposed to be a keyboard player.
And when he was finished, I couldn't decide whether it was him or an angel putting his hands on the keys.

The point is that you recognized something in what Miles was doing, a kind of excellence that you might
not hear in the work of other musicians.

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For me, excellence comes from the fact that God loves me. But what is excellence? You've heard of these
people who will bomb a building and kill all these people in God's name. You could say that they did an
excellent job at what they were trying to do, right? Now, when I look at my band, Dyson is a different kind
of guitar player than Mike. She looks cool, she has that kind of punk attitude. But that's her; that's not Mike.
Lisa was never an explosive keyboard player, but she was a master of color in her harmonies; I could sing
off of what she had with straight soul. I don't know if the people in the band I'm with now will go on to
greatness on their own, but everything they do gives me something that I need right now.

You don't differentiate between musicians either? You don't point to this person as a better player than that
person?

God gave us all gifts. If we accept that, we'll all do the best that we can do. Miles took some soul-type
players and put Keith Jarrett on top of that; it was magic. And Fishboneare they good or not? The last
time I saw Fishbone, their drummer played the whole gig facing the wall. But in that kind of craziness there
was a certain kind of excellence too.

Still, you presumably audition musicians for your bands. This means you have to put them on some kind of
scale to rate one as being better, or at least more appropriate to your needs, than another.

Well, "auditions"... The idea of a judge is in there somewhere, and I don't want to be a judge anymore. A
lot of people criticized the last band that Jimi [Hendrix] had, but they were able to start and stop at his will;
they were right for him at the time. I've even hired dancers whose only job was to be there and make me
feel good. See, anybody can play with me. I can play with any musician and make them sound good, and
they can bring something to me. This hit me when I married Mayte and accepted my name for what it is.

With that, the Artist suddenly stood and stretched. "My band will kill me if I don't get in there with them,"
he announced, bringing the interview to an end. Within a week or two I had translated and transcribed my
notes, then called Paisley Park to arrange for the follow-up Q-and-A. The Artist picked up the phone
"You're not taping this, are you?" were his first wordsand asked me to send the questions his way via fax.
Within a day he had them, and a couple of days later his replies were in my hands. Here, as written, is the
final round:

What are the positive sides of music software? Could you cite examples of where running a certain
program yielded results that you might not have obtained otherwise?

The body of a human (when healthy) runs like a sequencer. It was obviously programmed a long time ago
by an absolute genius. That was the notion behind the groove "Human Body" on Emancipation. Every track
of the song is its own "cell," so 2 speak, running in harmony with its "cellmates." A living being of sorts is
created every time computers are put 2 use this way. No other way yet discovered would be as rewarding.

You noted that one element of using music technology is that the instruments themselves might end up
"writing the song." While some artists seem to consider this a reason not to pursue sequencing and
sampling, as if the products somehow shift control of the creative process away from the person, you take a
more intriguing view, as if you have an almost organic partnership with the tools of your trade. How, then,
do you get to know a new instrument?

Something very soul-like attracts me 2 some instruments moreso than others. It starts with the sound and
then the shape. I dig instruments that appear as if the makers were in love with them.

127
Some of your most memorable songs have been structurally pretty simple; if you write a lead sheet of, say,
"We Gets Up" [from Emancipation], what you see is pretty much rooted on the I chord, with minimal
melody. What, then, distinguishes a song that doesn't rely on unusual chord changes or an extended
melody?

One-key songs designed 2 put the participant into a trance are best filled up with sound provoked by the
spirit more than, say, a structural melody that's best complemented by color. This 2 me is the root of funk:
the choices one makes.

You've had a number of customized guitar designs over the years, including the "white guitar" from Purple
Rain; to what extent does playability factor into your design for these instruments?

I have compromised playability 4 the look of an instrument in many instances. Keyboards, though, have 2
have "the touch." Everything is sort of patterned after the 1st violet piano I received as a gift in 1986.
Chords sound and feel the prettiest on that instrument. Chords are important. Every note in a chord is a
singer 2 me. This approach gives my music its life. 2 look at music this way is a reason 4 living, as far as
I'm concerned.

You're set up at Paisley Park for analog as well as digital recording. What are the pluses and minuses of
the two technologies?

Warmth. Digital is faster. Analog ... well, the kick drum on analog sounds like a fat dude getting stomped
in the back with a timbaland! It's all personal preference.

What approach do you take in rehearsing a new band?

Again, let everyone play their strengths. Because Rhonda's so smart, 4 example, I tend 2 lean toward
bassier grooves moreso than with my other bands. She has a nuclear future sure!

What are your thoughts about the state of songwriting today?

I will always respect people like Duke Ellingtonsomeone who has their own style and just watches music
change around them. Carlos Santana has more fans now than when he played Woodstock!

You're preparing to tour. Do you find that you compete with the high standards you've set for yourself in
past tours? What insights about performing can you share with artists who are working with limited
budgets in relatively funky venues?

My own competition is myself in the past. "At war with himself." Y'all said it 1st. 2 the new artists: Be wild
and all else follows.

AOL Live
Interviewed By AOL members
July 22, 1997

TheArtst: the artist is here...where r u?

TheArtst: prince is dead

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OnlineHost: Welcome O(+>!
OnlineHost: We are so happy to "see" you :D
TheArtst: thank u all
OnlineHost: Well, we are a little behind, so let's get started....
OnlineHost: OK?
TheArtst: ok
OnlineHost: Your first question of the evening:

Question: Love4OneAnother Charities....How does it fit in your plan? Who does it involve?
TheArtst: hopefully every1 online...

Question: Where are you planning to perform next?

TheArtst: the idea is 2 make it..
TheArtst: a webwide effort
TheArtst: jones beach..new york
TheArtst: is the next gig
OnlineHost: Sorry to interrupt on that last one!
TheArtst: yes
TheArtst: 4

OnlineHost: Who are you listening to now for inspiration in your music?
TheArtst: my wife
TheArtst: ...
TheArtst: and the friends online
TheArtst: webheads inspire greatly

Question: What is the Truth? What is CB Set?

TheArtst: crystall ball was inspired by the sites that dig r music
TheArtst: the truth will be given away free 2 the friends who..
TheArtst: donate database 2 the love4oneanother site

Question: Are you planning a party for 1999?

TheArtst: of course...
TheArtst: foo fighters r going

Question: Whats next for the man of 1,000+ sounds ?

TheArtst: now that i am free...i let the wind blow me

Question: are you coming out with any love songs

TheArtst: there is a song on the truth album...
TheArtst: entitled- comeback...
TheArtst: which was written 4 a lost friend

Question: How do you feel about copyright infringement and musicans sampling your music? How
are you different?
TheArtst: it was cool at 1st but now it has gotten out of hand...
TheArtst: i have never seen so many bad musicians in my life

Question: If you could change one thing about the music business what would you change?
TheArtst: 2 many things wrong,,i could not settle 4 one

Question: Why are you doing this?

TheArtst: love4oneanother

129
Question: How did you first get into music?
TheArtst: head1st

Question: Do you really eat Capt. Crunch cereal?

TheArtst: yes

Question: What's your musical goal?

TheArtst: i want 2 one write the grand progression...
TheArtst: the perfect song that makes me never want 2 sing again

Question: What's your opinion on scalpers?

TheArtst: get a real job!

Question: Do you still keep in touch with any members of The Revolution?
TheArtst: not really no..i wish ...sometimes they call...usually when they want 2 confirm a rumor
TheArtst: oops

Question: What's different about your music now vs when you were with Warner?
TheArtst: listen 2 crystal ball and the truth u will hear what freedom sounds like..
TheArtst: there is a track called baconskin that thumps 4 fifteen minutes..SICK

Question: What material are you planning to perform on your current tour?
TheArtst: this tour is very interesting inasmuch as it will constantly b changing...
TheArtst: lenny kravitz..
TheArtst: will
TheArtst: b
TheArtst: joining some of the ..
TheArtst: concerts..
TheArtst: as
TheArtst: well
TheArtst: as
TheArtst: carlos santana
TheArtst: this will affect r playlist
TheArtst: we play many songs..
TheArtst: that i have not..
TheArtst: played in years..
TheArtst: like when doves cry

Question: If you had the chance to play with any artist who is no longer with us, whom would you
choose?
TheArtst: probably jimi

Question: will The Artist Formerly known as Prince ever make another movie??
TheArtst: secret

Question: O(+> are you going to put together another group someday?
TheArtst: i love the band i have now
TheArtst: they stomp much booty

Question: You seem to write songs extremely well. Do you write your songs at the spur of the
moment or do you wait untill you start on a new project or album?
TheArtst: i write and record constantly...
TheArtst: there r many songs that were never bootlegged that will come out soon

130
Question: first of all you are fabulous!!!!!second i have a copy of purple rain on purple vinyl...is this a
rare copy or were there alot of them printed?
TheArtst: it is very rare...during the time when my comrades and i got along

Question: My wife an I think that you are a great musician and we were really psyched to see you get
a lifetime achievement award. We've noticed that your music is taking a turn to being a little more
rebellious and shocking, what has caused you to go in this dire
OnlineHost: I think that mean direction
TheArtst: this "dire" direction with my music...
TheArtst: is in response 2 the ever pressing..
TheArtst: fact that most musicians especially of tha darker persuasion...
TheArtst: usually leave this business with nada..
TheArtst: BROKE
TheArtst: such a shame

Question: What all instruments can you play?

TheArtst: i can play any instamint..
TheArtst: only 27 good

Question: your song. " 319 " Where did you come up with the idea?
TheArtst: elizabeth berkley

Question: What is 1800NewFunk?

TheArtst: call and find out.....
TheArtst: i believe when it is organized..
TheArtst: it will become the future of distribution...
TheArtst: at least as far as my music..
TheArtst: is concerned

Question: Do you really ride a motorcycle? And if so, what kind?

TheArtst: i am hungry
TheArtst: i do not ride anymore....
TheArtst: cuz i get followed..
TheArtst: and not every intention is welcome

LIVEONAOL: He's hungry! ;)

Question: What some advice you can give to an up coming artist. ?

TheArtst: 1st of all,don't eat anything that has parents...
TheArtst: bcuz u will inherit their dreams...
TheArtst: and second and 4most give praise un2 your creator...
TheArtst: bcuz soon only the truth will remain

Question: Sir, did the Beatles influence directly any of your music, they seem to peek their heads out
every once and a while with your older music. --Angie in Indy
TheArtst: i cannot lie...
TheArtst: when u were mine was written..
TheArtst: in a hotel room in birmingham...
TheArtst: after listenin 2 john sing

Question: Could you see yourself going in a more jazzier forum of music in the near future, not
madhouse type, but a purer miles type inprove jazz.
TheArtst: i am working on a free 4m record with jacob armen...
TheArtst: the most frightening drummer i have ever heard

131
Question: Your videos have a stylish look. Do you use specific directors and cinematographers to
acheive this look?
TheArtst: i hate videos....they r 4 kids

Question: How does one order tshirts if you don't go to a concert of yours?
TheArtst: 1800newfunk

Question: Hey I live a stones throw away from Paisley. How do you like the rain?? Do you think
Question: you show more of your outstanding guitar on any of your future records??
TheArtst: i am growing my own food now..
TheArtst: so i love the rain..
TheArtst: i understand better now
TheArtst: 4444
TheArtst: oops

Question: what do u want to acomplish most in life ?

TheArtst: i can only pray that i am doing my God's will at this stage...
TheArtst: i worked very hard 4 what i have so i feel deserving..
TheArtst: of things accomplished..
TheArtst: but when it is all said and done....one must please God 1st and last

Question: When does the tour officially start?

TheArtst: yesterday

Question: Have you ever written what you consider to be a perfect song? If not, what's the closest to
perfection you've come?
TheArtst: it pounded

Question: we have read that david bowie admires your work, have u or would u work with him?
TheArtst: u should have been there

Question: How old were you when you wrote your first song?
TheArtst: i would love 2 work with almost anyone who is + and owns their masters
TheArtst: my 1st song was written at 7 and it was called FunkMachine
TheArtst: these r cool ?'s

Question: What inspired your storyline in your film "Under the Cherry Moon" ? My wife and I
consider it our favorite.
TheArtst: that film went thru many drafts..much was lost in the shuffle
TheArtst: ..but i must admit..
TheArtst: there r some very funny scenes..
TheArtst: it was inspired by the comedies..
TheArtst: of the 4ties

Question: What inspired the release of a 3 song CD set "Emancipation"

TheArtst: the breaking of the chains....clik,click

Question: You are so intense now were you like that when you were younger?...Did you always know
what you wanted to do?
TheArtst: i was as intense...yes i used 2 play act my whole future..
TheArtst: i willed this whole trip...
TheArtst: ppl do not want 2 wake up 2 the universe that way..
TheArtst: but i did

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TheArtst: so what..big deal..
TheArtst: want something then wish 4 it

Question: What was your inspiration for the song Forever In My Life?
TheArtst: susannah
TheArtst: she knows

Question: planning on ever releasing a live cd

TheArtst: yes...lenny and george and i talk abiut that all the time
TheArtst: about

Question: You seem ageless...does your music keep you young?

TheArtst: yes...but most of all...
TheArtst: trusting the present..."the present"...the gift
TheArtst: yes

Question: Do you have an official website?

TheArtst: www.love4oneanother.com
TheArtst: the $

Question: Do you ever hang out in an IRC chat room on your website?
TheArtst: no

Question: Are you interested in doing any duets, & if any, who?
TheArtst: i want 2 sing with any1 at the Ali concert in october

Question: You were one of the first artists to make a fashion statement. Who are your designers?
TheArtst: myself and a strange and gifted woman named-debbie mcguan

Question: What is the best gift a fan has ever given you? What is the best gift a fan can give you?
TheArtst: 1st of all 2 not b a fan..it is short 4 fanatic
TheArtst: ...love is all we need...
TheArtst: sounds cliche but it makes me feel good

Question: Do you choose the people you perform on stage with and how are they chosen?
TheArtst: oddly enuff they come 2 me thru other musicians
TheArtst: some i steal
TheArtst: hee hee

Question: what is your preconcert preparation like

Question: Tell us somethingabout you that we would not expect

TheArtst: laughing...lots of that and then prayer

Question: do you worry about negative influence on young people?

TheArtst: i hate massages..
TheArtst: despise them
TheArtst: yes....

Question: Is your touring band the same one as the one on the Chris Rock show? on HBO?
TheArtst: i do not regret anything i have done
TheArtst: but

133
TheArtst: the industry seems 2 only promote the absurd
TheArtst: nowadays

Question: any accoustic songs in the future?

TheArtst: the truth album is almost completely acoustic

Question: Have you written any music for other artists lately?:
TheArtst: questionj
TheArtst: uh oh

Question: So, O(+>, are you still hungry?

TheArtst: YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES
TheArtst: come c me on tour....like a dog in heat, i will not disappoint
TheArtst: !
TheArtst: !
TheArtst: !

OnlineHost: We want to first of all, thank our special guest: O(+>

TheArtst: peace and b wild
OnlineHost: And we want to thank all of you in the audience for hanging in there and
OnlineHost: sending in all these
OnlineHost: great questions.
TheArtst: yes

The Artist Formerly Known as Prince

looks back, rolls on
Interviewed By Mark Scheerer
CNN, July 31, 1997

Has the Artist Formerly Known As Prince found religion?

His live concerts may feature a lot of bumps and grinds, but he says nothing really offensive ever happens
on stage.

"No, no, not at all," he says. "The days of just rock and roll for rock and roll's sake is kind of over for me
now. This is about spiritual upliftment and just a good time."

It's a long ways from the time 10 years ago when Tipper Gore founded the watchdog group the Parents
Music Resource Center on the strength of a Prince song with a masturbation reference.

"I wonder what she's thinking now. That's pretty lightweight compared to what's happening right now," he
says of the increasing sexual overtones in today's music. "This is the country that she lives in (and) big
conglomerates put this music out."

Still, PMRC's pressure led to parental advisory stickers on dozens of recordings. The artist says he
approves of the practice.

"That's very good," he says. "So, if I'm responsible, then I'm glad."

134
If the artist disapproves of blunt lyrics elsewhere in pop music, he won't point any fingers.

"That's not for me to judge. I'm not a judge. It's their trip," he says.

The creator

His trip these days has a lot to do with selling CD's via the Internet and 800-number phone lines. And for
this artist, who broke free of Warner Brothers in a very public contract dispute, he knows music delivery
via downloading threatens to make record companies obsolete.

"I look at myself as a clothes maker or a baker. I make the donuts," he says, adding, "The creator of the
product, I believe, should take the lion's share of the revenue, not the other way around."

One thing the 39-year-old musician won't discuss is the son born late last year to him and his wife Mayte.
The child, born with an often fatal genetic abnormality, died after seven days.

He will say his faith in God and the hereafter has helped him overcome self-doubt and to persevere in his
business struggles.

"And I love living more now than I did ever," he says.

This love of life will hopefully spur him on as he launches a worldwide tour. Fifteen years ago, the artist
wrote about partying until it's 1999. His current "Jam of the Year" tour won't end until then.

When asked where the party will be on New Year's Eve 1999, the artist suddenly becomes coy.

"Aww, that's a secret," he says, smiling.

Sites O' the Times

By Ben Greenman
Yahoo! Internet Life, October 1997

Artists have always been interested in new technologies. DaVinci was. Duchamp was.
And the Artist is, too.

In his early days, Prince was dismissed as a sensualist. Later on, when he started writing scriptural pop like
Lovesexy and changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol, he was ridiculed as a spiritualist. All along
the way, the Minneapolis multi-instrumentalist has been at once an avid consumer and a sharp critic of
technology. The title song of 1999 fretted about nuclear weaponry, while the title song of Sign O' the Times
mused on the folly of space travel in the wake of the Challenger disaster.

In recent years, the Artist has turned his attention toward interactive technologies, particularly the Internet.
Last year's triple album Emancipation included two songs about cyberspace-"Emale" and "My Computer,"
the latter of which sampled America Online's "Welcome," "You've got mail," and "Good-bye" sounds. The
Love 4 One Another Web site launched this summer. And on the eve of his Jam of the Year tour, in mid-
July, the Artist even drew more than 300,000 participants on an AOL chat. Because of his interest in the
online medium, the Artist agreed to talk to Yahoo! Internet Life about his music, his fans, the future of the
Internet, and even cybersex.

135
YIL: When did you first go online?
The Artist: I first went online alone 7 months ago, 2 the best of my recollection.

YIL: How often do you go online?

TA: When I am not on the road, maybe 3 or 4 times a week.

YIL: Are there any sites that you think are especially good?
TA: Love 4 One Another. I also like the news section on AOL.

YIL: Are there any sites that you think are especially bad?
TA: Bad is not a word I use unless I am describing a fine girl.

YIL: Do you visit the alt.music.prince newsgroup? If so, what do you think about it?
TA: I have seen it once or twice. It seems 2 just be a place 4 trading bootlegs.

YIL: Do you visit the fan Web sites devoted to your music? If so, what do you think about them?
TA: There are many I really dig. I'm really interested in getting all my friends 2gether on one site.

YIL: How do you feel about tape-trading and bootleg CDs? Have you ever bought a bootleg of one of your
own performances?
TA: I understand their existence. But I don't agree with buying and selling stolen property. Trading isn't so
despicable.

YIL: What about all the rumors, speculation, and criticism about you that circulates online? Is it amusing
or annoying? For example, someone wrote to the newsgroup to complain that you always release the
weakest songs from albums as singles.
TA: Opinion is how the world changes. That's cool, but lies and rumors don't deserve response. Also
consider that any release of a single is only an advertisement 4 the album. And guess which 1 costs more?

YIL: On your newsgroup, some people have worried that the charity aspect of the Love 4 One Another site
will be overwhelmed by the fandom aspect. Are you concerned about this?
TA: Not in the least bit. Negative souls are bored by things like charity. They obviously think the world
revolves because of something other than love.

YIL: Why did you close your previous official site, The Dawn?
TA: Because without my involvement, the message was getting blurred. In my humble opinion, the dawn
occurs when spiritual enlightenment takes place. When 1 learns of his or her relationship 2 everything on
Earth and the universe. The new Web site will mirror the positive aspects of the dawn. In my rush 2
enlighten myself and others, I tried 2 "buffalo the vibe thru" when it was not ready. Love 4 One Another is
the dawn.

YIL: Since you broke with Warner Bros., you've explored alternatives to traditional distribution. Do you
have any plans to sell your music directly to consumers via the Net?
TA: Yes. NPG Records will sell as well as give away a lot of new and old music over the Internet in the
not-too- distant future.

YIL: Will record labels eventually disappear?

TA: The writing is on the wall. Other souls were successful in their divide-and-conquer approach 4 a while.
But now that we communicate with each other on a worldwide basis, the need 4 an "in4mation censor" is
no longer a reality. The process of manufacturing and delivering music 2 a "friend" is not brain surgery.

YIL: On Emancipation, you wrote two songs about the Internet-"Emale" and "My Computer." What was
the inspiration for those songs?

136
TA: A man who unsuccessfully tried 2 "play me" was the catalyst 4 "Emale." I imagined his woman
looking at her computer and being seduced by her "emale." "My Computer" was inspired by some of the
insightful talks I have had with many positive people on the Net.

YIL: "Emale" is about cybersex. What do you think about cybersex? Have you ever done it?
TA: Ain't nothin' like the real thang.

YIL: In Graffiti Bridge, you use a Macintosh. Do you still use a Mac?
TA: My art department does. My wife owns an IBM. That's what I use.

YIL: Does "Computer Blue" have anything at all to do with computers?

TA: It may. That hasn't revealed itself yet.

YIL: What is the place of computer technology in composing new music?

TA: I try 2 let the song dictate its own direction. If one makes music with a computer, one has 2 be
satisfied with the computer's limitations (and there are many, especially when it comes 2 music), though
some songs only "sing" when programmed on a computer.

An Audience With The Artist

Interviewed By Michael Goldberg
Addicted to Noise, August 1998

Leading his current band, New Power

Generation, The Artist is decidedly "in the
house," at the top of his form both in the
recording studio and on the stage. But are
you up for "the challenge?"

The security guard in suit and tie who is watching the closed door to The Artist's upstairs dressing room on
"The Tonight Show" set in Burbank, Calif., is given the nod by The Artist's aide, and opens the door.

I can't quite believe it. Coming toward me is The Artist himself, looking even cooler in person than in the
countless photos and videos I've seen. He
smiles and extends a hand.

I've waited fifteen years to interview The Artist

Formerly Known As Prince. Back when The
Artist was still calling himself Prince, back
before he became a superstar, thanks to the
success of Purple Rain (the movie and the
album), I was scheduled to speak with him in
Los Angeles, on the eve of the release of 1999.

I was waiting for a cab to pick me up and take

me to the airport when the call came. It was
Prince's publicist. The interview was off. Prince
had arrived in L.A. the day before, and had met
with an Los Angeles Times reporter. The

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experience, the publicist had explained, was so "traumatic" that Prince had canceled all other interviews.

Ouch! So close, I thought. I was dying to speak to the man responsible for Dirty Mind and Controversy. I
had been grooving heavily to his music. Prince was the dude -- Sly Stone, James Brown and John Lennon
rolled into one.

Sadly, the interview was not to be.

And, for many years to come, as his fame increased, the hits came fast and furious and the platinum records
piled up, Prince did not speak to the press.

But time heals many wounds, and now, arguably the most talented musician of the past 40 years is shaking
my hand and inviting me to sit anywhere I like, to make myself at home in his dressing room.

"I'm brand new," he says, explaining his decision to begin speaking to the media -- something he's done
only occasionally, but with increasing frequency, in the past few years. "With Emancipation [the three-CD
set released in 1997] there was so much to talk about. My life has changed. I'm with a group, the New
Power Generation, and we have an album [NewPower Soul] and I want to promote it."

"EVERY DAY IS A HAPPY DAY"

Brand new? Without a doubt. At 40, The Artist, born Prince Rogers Nelson on June 7, 1958 in
Minneapolis, Minn., seems a new man. The key to his current happiness seems to be the freedom he has
experienced since parting ways with Warner Bros. Records three years ago.

"I'm not bitter," he says, after taking a seat on the dressing room couch so that he is just a few feet away,
facing me.

He introduces two of his bandmates, New Power Generation keyboardist "Mr. Hayes" (Morris Hayes), who
is sitting in a corner chair, looking decidedly uptown in a shiny olive-green suit, and drummer Kirk
Johnson, a towering man with a shaved head who is dressed casually, in a sleeveless black T-shirt and
black slacks.

The Artist does not allow the few journalists he does speak with to tape-record their interviews. "That's
because taping him creates software that can be used by others," explains his attorney, New York
entertainment lawyer Londell McMillan, a few days after the interview. "He's concerned about people
using his image, likeness and voice in ways that it was not originally intended [to be used]."

Prior to this meeting, his current publicist told me that it would be all right to shoot video. But when I tell
The Artist that I'm going to get out my camera, he replies that he had not been asked whether or not he
wanted to allow the interview to be videotaped, and that, therefore, he isn't prepared. "That won't be
possible today," he says, in a polite but firm voice.

Concerned that, without a video or a recording, I will not be able to preserve everything The Artist has to
say (the original plan was to run a Q & A), I suggest that he allow me to make an audio tape, so that every
word of the interview will be accurate. "This isn't a deposition," he says, grinning slyly. "Now you don't
want to start our relationship on that note, do you?"

Quickly pulling out my notebook, I suggest that we begin.

He wants to make it clear, right at the outset, that this is a New Power Generation interview, which is why
Mr. Hayes and Johnson are present (the rest of the band consists of singer Marva King, bassist Rhonda
Smith and guitarist Mike Scott).

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"I think it's a landmark record for me," he says of NewPower Soul. "I allowed other sounds made by other
individuals. 'Mad Sex' is a creation of Kirk's." He raises his right hand and gestures in the direction of the
drummer. "I let that dictate how I wrote and arranged it. I respect the one, the first." [On The Artist's
website there is an explanation of "The One."]

For The Artist, the New Power Generation is more than a band. "The New Power Generation is like a
studio, like an idea," he says. "It's a way of doing things."

"It's really a way of life for him and all of us that believe in the New Power Generation for the new
millennium," McMillan says.

While The Artist and his extended family understand, much of the rest of the world doesn't get it yet. The
Artist complains that Leno is promoting tonight's appearance as "The Artist and the New Power
Generation." "They don't say 'Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones,' " he notes.

Make no mistake, he clearly understands that it's his fame, his success that is carrying things. It may be an
NPG album that the band's here to promote, but it's The Artist who appears, alone, on the NewPower Soul
cover. It's The Artist whom Leno wanted on his show. And it's The Artist who dominates the interview.

And why not? The Artist is the only superstar in this room. Certainly Hayes and Johnson are awesome
musicians; they bring plenty to the table, whether performing New Power Generation songs like "Come
On" and "The One," or older material written by the man sitting before me (both when he was working
under the Prince moniker and after the name change). Still, it is The Artist who has written and produced
and performed the countless hits -- from "I Wanna Be Your Lover" to "When Doves Cry" to "The Most
Beautiful Girl In The World" -- that have earned him the respect of the music industry and fans the world
over.

His bandmates clearly understand this. "It's amazing," Johnson says, explaining what it's like working with
The Artist. "I have an idea, some beats. So me and our engineer leave some ideas on the board and when
we come back it's a whole new beast."

In 1978, the then 20-year-old Prince's first album (For You) was released by Warner Bros. He recorded
seventeen albums for that company as Prince, and another two as The Artist (fifteen of the albums went
platinum, with Purple Rain selling more than 14 million copies; 12 of his singles went gold).

For more than a decade, it seemed a relatively smooth artist/record company relationship, from the outside
anyway. But, by the early '90s, Prince -- who changed his name to a male/female symbol in 1993 (he's also
been going by "The Artist" since at least 1995) -- became frustrated by Warner Bros.' reluctance to release
his music as promptly as he wanted.

He tried to get out of his recording contract. He protested publicly, appearing in photos and on television
with the word "slave" scrawled on his face. He did a rare interview, complaining about his situation to
Vibe. In 1995 he enlisted the help of McMillan. "The idea was to seek someone who could relieve him of
the restrictive covenants of the Warner Bros. record contract," McMillan says. "We explored contentious
and amiable options to relieve him of the agreement. Fortunately, we were able to find a way to terminate it
amicably after much negotiation and effort."

The Artist was released from Warner Bros. in the spring of 1996. "The goal was to help him wipe slave off
his face," McMillan says. "Because freedom is very liberating and allows one to be as creative and
productive as possible."

139
"The reputation I gained for being bitter was probably because I had 'slave' written on my face," The Artist
tells me. "As you can see [he smiles, rubs his hand across the side of his face], I don't have anything written
on my face now. I'm free. Every day is a happy day."

THE ARTIST AS KING

Today, he looks like the happy

king of funk 'n' roll, like a
soulful King Arthur holding
court. His clothes (which The
Artist himself designs) are
custom-made, fantasy rock 'n'
roll wear that just about anyone
else, star or not, would look silly
wearing. Who but The Artist
could wear a blue spangled
jumpsuit cut low so his chest is
exposed, a mid-length purple
velvet frock coat with foot-deep
white sheepskin cuffs and the
hugest collar anyone has worn
since the early-'70s heyday of
"Superfly"?

His hair is tied in numerous

mini-pigtails. A gold three-inch-
in-diameter hoop earring
dangles from his right ear. A fat
ring with row after row of
diamonds glistens on a finger of
his right hand. A diamond
version of the now-legendary
morphed male/female symbol
hangs from his neck.

And then there's the cane -- it's

clear, and filled with a
translucent liquid in which
multi-colored stars float.

I have come to this meeting expecting The Artist to elaborate on how he has set himself up to operate
independently of the traditional music business. After all, since leaving Warner Bros., The Artist has started
his own record label, NPG Records, and released several albums. The first, Crystal Ball, was initially only
available by ordering it online or via an 800 number. More than 150,000 copies of the five-CD set -- selling
for $50 each -- were ordered in one of those two ways, according to McMillan, before The Artist made a
three- and four-CD edition of the album available in record stores. He says that 250,000 copies of the
album have sold to date.

The Artist came in for some criticism from fans for the extended period of time that elapsed between when
orders for Crystal Ball were first taken (May 1997) and when the albums were finally shipped (spring
1998). "[It bothers me that people have said] we're running a bad business," The Artist says. "That's not
true. We probably have more satisfied customers than anyone. Thousands of satisfied customers. The
newspaper says my name is mud. Excuse me! What's the point? It's so one-sided. It's not proper."

140
Recently, he decided to let his fans download a new 26-minute song, "The War," off the Internet (the single
is also being sent to everyone who ordered Crystal Ball). He requests that they mail him a $1 donation, a
portion of which will go to charity, but it's not required.

When I open the interview by bringing up his autonomy from the biz, The Artist shakes his head. "No," he
says flatly. "My intention is never to disassociate from or disenfranchise anyone."

"Not to dis!" Mr. Hayes says.

The Artist nods in agreement. "I have no problem with record companies. Record companies work fine.
We're taking a different approach to marketing. We're not cutting into their business. Their business is their
business and our business is our business."

He smiles as though he's just told a joke that only he and his bandmates truly understand. "I have good
friends in the record business," he continues, looking me straight in the eye. "I still have friends at Warner
Bros. [Sony Music Entertainment Executive Vice President] Michele Anthony is a very good friend. My
next record will probably be at a major."

"The records we've released [independently],

it's an alternative," he says. "We're getting our
feet wet."

"Stepping out into uncharted territory," Mr.

Hayes says.

In the late '80s, The Artist built Paisley Park,

the 65,000 square-foot studio complex outside
Minneapolis where he now does most of his
recording. Paisley Park includes four recording
studios, a soundstage and a rehearsal hall.
"Paisley Park is set up so we can do what we
do," Mr. Hayes says. "Rehearse, sleep, eat,
record. It's outfitted so if he has an idea, you
just hit a button and go."

Over the course of the interview, the Artist returns often to the subject of his artistic autonomy. "[Since
going independent] I've made a lot more money," The Artist says. Now he's really smiling. "I can say that
and feel good. With a lot of money you can resuscitate the careers of Larry Graham and Chaka Khan [both
now record for NPG]. People say we're not as successful as before. Well, what is success? We define our
success. One hundred thousand copies, when most of the profit goes to us is [he slaps his leg] like
Nelson Mandela just got free."

He pauses, lets what he's said sink in. "I understand money more now. I don't trip on it. I always have it,
and so I don't worry about it. [When you have money] it takes the worry away.

"We look at the criticism: 'He ain't selling like he used to' ... We don't think in those terms. It's not all about
the Benjamins. It's back to the fun of just making music. It's not about the Billboard charts."

"Long as people can eat and groove," Hayes says, "it's pretty cool."

A FREE MAN

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I used to think of The Artist as a shy man who only came out of his shell during performances. This was a
man who could sing frankly about oral sex and incest, but didn't want to speak to the media.

While he may have been bashful once, there is nothing shy about The Artist now. As he sits before me,
laughing and cracking jokes, he is a forceful, luminous presence. You can practically see the charisma; star
power emanates from him in waves.

For nearly an hour he answers my questions. He never raises his voice. He never appears to get mad. He is
calm and comfortable addressing everything from his past career problems to the state of the world, from
the creative process to artists that he likes (Bjrk, D'Angelo, the Tony Rich Band).

"We're just out here having a good time," he says of "The Tonight Show" appearance, not "tripping like we
used to. When you do music, it's the freedom you best prosper in."

He recalls that he felt no restrictions when he recorded Dirty Mind, one of the greatest rock 'n' roll albums
ever made. "Dirty Mind was a demo tape," he says. "Recorded in my basement. I had complete freedom
[making that album]. You lift the veil and see what's inside. When they [Warner Bros.] first heard it -- 'Oh
boy, we're in trouble now.' "

The problems that The Artist had in the past extended beyond a record deal he couldn't stomach. "I had a
group of people making decisions for me. [Saying things like] 'you're too prolific.' What does that
mean? Too prolific? That's like too wealthy.

"I used to ride my bike to the record store and I bought every single James Brown put out. He'd have
a new single every three months. No one said James Brown was too prolific." He laughs. "I wasn't
mad if James Brown put out 'Lickin' Stick.' "

Mr. Hayes says quietly, "Mad if James had skipped putting a record out after three months."

In June, The Artist had some lyrics he was "messin' with." He brought them into the studio and "we just
jammed on it." The result, released in mid-July, just a month after it was recorded, is a 26-minute epic
social statement, "The War."

"The War" is an apocalyptic cut that features vocals, guitar, keyboards and percussion work by The Artist,
and the refrain "One! Two! The evolution will be colorized," a reference to social critic and singer Gil
Scott-Heron's classic poem, "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

"We are about to challenge what you believe/ If you do not wish to be challenged, you should leave now,"
The Artist says over a funky groove. "Do you love your country as much as you love God? ... We are
running out of the essentials of the life. Oxygen, water, food, fertile earth."

"It's self-explanatory," The Artist says when asked to elaborate on the song's lyrics. "It's a challenge. All I
can say is, if you accept the challenge, then you can deal with what's inside."

The Artist says that releasing "The War," (which isn't on NewPower Soul), so soon after the NewPower's
release is another example of the freedom he now enjoys. "In the past [when he was signed to Warner
Bros.] they'd have said, 'You can't put out a 26 minute song -- it'll kill the album.' We're not tripping
on that. We got in it for the funk of it."

He glances at Hayes and Johnson. "Anybody begins a sentence with the word 'but,' we figure that's where
their words are coming out of."

The three men laugh.

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"WHAT'S THAT STUFF IN THE CANE?"

What many people don't seem to understand about The Artist is that while he has a shrewd understanding
of the music business, his art has nothing to do with the biz. At one point he says that he wants the
conversation off the record for a moment, and then explains something to me. In the course of his
explanation, he says something that I ask him about once we're back on the record.

He had said that his work reflects "a life that I'm living."

I tell him that when he said this, what struck me was the idea that for 20 years his life has served as the
inspiration for the records he has written and produced. In other words, he doesn't go into the studio to
write a hit, he goes in to document where he's at.

The Artist turns serious. "It's a record of the event," he says. "Now the biz wants you to put something
out [every few years]. I don't do things like they do. I'm an artist and for me that isn't rewarding. I
handed you a copy of [the new single] 'The War.' That was recorded a month ago. Not six months
ago."

He tells me about a song he once recorded, called "The Rock," inspired by a dance he'd seen kids doing at
the clubs. He wanted it released right away but, he says, Warner Bros. wouldn't release it. By the time it
could be released, the moment had long passed, so he rewrote it, and it was finally released as 'Let's Work.'
"

Johnson says they sometimes joke about record executives lying on the beach "sippin' their drinks, and
talking about what you can't do."

"I sold out Wembley Stadium [in London] in a day once," The Artist says. "So when I heard that I said,
'then put another day on sale.' And they [his advisors at the time] said, 'No, you don't want to do that. It
might be half full.' So? I'd play a half-full stadium."

"We wouldn't want to turn away people who

want to see us perform," Mr. Hayes says.

The subject switches to Love 4 One Another,

the children's charity that The Artist and his
wife Mayte founded in 1996. These days, in
each city where he performs, he does something
for the underprivileged. "Tithing works," he
says. "I wish you'd title this article that, 'tithing
works.' You help somebody and you'll get
rewards upon rewards. Love life, love life."

As I look at The Artist, I want to tell him how

much his music has meant to me. How I've
played "When You Were Mine" hundreds of
times over the 18 years since Dirty Mind was
released -- literally wearing it out. How I grooved through the years to Controversy and 1999. The ecstasy
of listening to Purple Rain and Sign 'O' the Times. How cool "Manic Monday" [the song he wrote for the
Bangles] is, and "Nothing Compares 2 U," a song he wrote that was a breakthrough hit for Sinad
O'Connor.

143
I want to be sure he understands the kind of impact he's had on contemporary music, and all the musicians
he's influenced and who love his work. And the fans. The millions and millions of music lovers who have
danced and loved and grown up to his songs.

Instead, I ask for an autograph, and he politely tells me he doesn't do that.

The audience with The Artist is at an end. He indicates that he's got to prepare for the New Power
Generation's "Tonight Show" performance -- but that it's possible we'll talk again. He rises from the couch,
picks up his cane and leans on it, waiting for me to leave.

"What's that liquid in the cane?" I ask, as I pack up my notebooks.

He raises the cane in the air and rotates it, so that the stars floating in the liquid catch the light and sparkle.

"Sperm," he says, and laughs. "When I'm 75, I can break it out."

A portrait of the Artist: Healthy, happy, ready to play

Interviewed by Vickie Gilmer

Star Tribune, September 3, 1999

At his Paisley Park studio, Prince is a gracious tour guide. He escorts a visitor through his wardrobe room,
his rehearsal space, his studio, making introductions to his musicians and wife, Mayte, and pausing to pet
bassist Larry Graham's Maltese dog, who nips at his heels.

But when it comes to talking about his music, he pauses. He talks about records he likes -- James Brown
and the old-school sound of certain hip-hop recordings -- and his desire to sell software of samples of his
music. But it seems he'd rather just shut up and play.

"It's been a great year for me," he says. He has a new record, "Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic," to be released
in November on Arista Records. And he's preparing to take the stage Monday at the Mill City Music
Festival -- his first-ever outdoor performance in his hometown.

"There will be special guests -- very interesting people -- and a lot of surprises," he promised Wednesday.
We'll play one song from the new album and we'll probably do a Sheryl Crow cover. 'Pretty Man' is the
new song that I originally wrote for the Time [who also are playing Monday], but it was so good I kept it.
In fact, I wish I had kept some other songs I gave them. I wish I had kept 'Cool' or at least still had one like
it," he adds, laughing.

The new album features Crow -- with whom Prince jammed recently in Toronto -- Chuck D of Public
Enemy, saxophonist Maceo Parker, Gwen Stefani of No Doubt, and indie singer/song writer Ani DiFranco.
Prince long has been an admirer of DiFranco, a pioneer in setting up her own record company.

"I wanted to meet Ani DiFranco and, lo and behold, she's everything I expected," he says. "We jammed for
four hours and she danced the whole time. We had to quit because she wore us out. After being with her, it
dawned on me why she's like that -- she's never had a ceiling over her. People want to put ceilings on you
or people think they have ceilings over them. We don't come here [Paisley] to be put in a box."

Querying him about the motives behind his art seems to demean the funky, butt-shaking synergy inherent
in it. It's all about sound and feeling, not definitions of why or how. And as the Artist -- a name he says he
adopted out of necessity to distance himself from the media hype that depersonalized his given name -- he
wants to talk of "the Truth."

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It's a Truth with a capital "T" because it's tied to his spirituality; it's what he lives day in and day out. It's
also a Truth that he doesn't think a lot of people understand, and he tried to explain why he wants to look
forward rather than back.

"I know that people want to talk about the past," he says. "But we're not at 'Purple Rain' anymore. We don't
look like that, we don't dress like that, we're different people now. If you talk about that, the next thing you
know, people start writing things like the Revolution is going to reunite!

"I can't really tell you why I decided to do things or play Mill City, because they're decisions in the past and
to go back and try to remember why I agreed to things before is difficult. I am living in today and looking
forward," he said.

A degree of separation

He's not ready to let outsiders listen to the new record, but the Artist talked about his decision to enlist an
outside producer: someone by the name of Prince.

Making that distinction was a way to draw a line between the performer standing in front of the control
booth and the person sitting inside it.

"You do have to mentally divorce yourself. And when you do allow yourself to have a 'different' producer
on an album, I allowed him to have the final say. As strange as that may sound, it's really not strange. Look
at it this way: Malcolm X thinks differently than Malcolm Little [Malcolm's birth name]. When you're
trying to change, you have to divorce yourself from the past."

Because Arista will distribute "Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic," it's been trumpeted as his return to a major
label after his much-publicized departure from Warner Bros. Records and his recent effort to sell CDs via
the Internet. But Prince makes it clear that this is not the kind of traditional relationship between musicians
and labels with a lengthy contract that sets boundaries as to what each party will or won't do.

"People are looking for drama in it. It's for one album. There could be a second. The contract is [only] this
thick," he said, holding his forefinger and thumb millimeters apart.

"When I was at Warner Bros., I always heard from a third party," he said. But Prince met directly with
Arista's president, Clive Davis. "Record companies want to own their creations, but no one owns the
creation but the creator. It's an actual ideology and Clive agrees you should own your masters. He also told
me, 'I have free will, too.' Which was good that he said that to me."

Prince's belabored battles with Warner Bros. have made him a staunch advocate for artists' rights. And he
holds the same ideal for all artists.

He's helped release albums by Chaka Khan and Graham -- best known as bassist for Sly and the Family
Stone -- allowing them use of his studios and distribution through his NPG Records without all the
restrictions involved in most recording contracts.

He says all artists should have the same right to own their master recordings that he now does. He laments
the "mental and emotional" abuse that musicians such as Phoebe Snow have suffered at the hands of an
industry that's made them captives by not releasing their work. He applauds the work of Jimmy Jam and
Terry Lewis and gripes about the low "points" (percentage of record sales) that most musicians receive.

He and Mayte have founded a charitable organization that has donated money to various organizations,
including the Rhythm & Blues Foundation, which provides help to musicians, and he's donated instruments
through Mill City's Music Cares program to the Minneapolis school district.

145
He's also gotten inspiration from some of his new collaborators. "Chuck D. and I talked about hip-hop and
how we have to knock down what they value, and the dollar bill is nothing to put a value on. . . . What I
would like to see is the spiritual aspect come back in to the inner city. It's very important that people realize
that we're in a situation that only God can fix at this point."

His beliefs -- spiritually, musically and professionally -- make him animated. He jumps up to make a point,
cites biblical references that drive home his spiritual beliefs and exalts the positive influence of those
around him.

Clearly, there's a lot of Truth to be told, and he wants to know that you "feel" what he's saying, because
it's not just words, he says -- it's a way of life.

"I implore you to realize that I'm perfectly healthy and happy. My wife and I, you can see nobody's kicked
her out. We decided to do this whole thing together. The main course is spiritual well-being. My
protection comes from my faith in God. I know I'm going to be all right."

He stands and offers an invitation to sit in on his rehearsal. In the room, it's obvious he's happy, as are those
around him. He smiles as the group runs through "Let's Go Crazy," breaks out laughing when one of his
back-up singers comes in too early on the chorus for "Kiss" and drills home the groovy rhythm of "U Got
the Look" and other songs he'll play in concert.

After a quick 20-minute drill, he walks his guest to the door. As Mayte showed him a magazine article on
their new home in Spain that she's working on, you don't need to be persuaded that Prince is healthy, happy
and, above all, all right.

The Artist Raves About His New Album

And His Old Self
Interviewed by Gil Kaufman
Sonicnet, September 17, 1999

NEW YORK Before recording Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic, The Artist said, he took off most of 1998 to
contemplate his next move and meet some of his peers.

"I wanted to reflect on everything I've done," the workaholic musician who used to be Prince said as he sat
in a luxury hotel room Wednesday evening. "I wanted to meet people and see if I could jam with them."

Dressed in royal purple pants, yellow high-heeled boots and a paisley-splashed purple velvet shirt open to
reveal a clutch of gold chains, the diminutive singer talked enthusiastically about jamming for hours on end
with such artists as No Doubt singer Gwen Stefani, Sheryl Crow, Ani DiFranco, Lenny Kravitz and former
Sly and the Family Stone bassist Larry Graham, whom he calls his mentor.

"It's not about all of us going in one direction," The Artist said, leaning forward. "It's about collaboration
and I need to talk to more artists, I need to learn what they know."

All of them show up on the ebullient Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic (Nov. 2), on which The Artist, who
played the album for 500 journalists and Arista Records employees here Thursday afternoon, appears to
have broken his silence in a major way.

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The Artist also collaborated, mysteriously, with his former self, Prince, a name he stopped using in 1993.
Prince is credited as the album's producer.

"My production ideology is that it's inspiration if it's done properly," The Artist said. "A producer can open
channels in you. Prince does things to me others can't."

The album's joyous vibe has permeated The Artist's label, Arista. While the leading edge of Hurricane
Floyd battered Manhattan with swirling rain Thursday afternoon, The Artist and his invited guests were
two floors underground listening to the 16-track album, with the company's legendary founder, Clive
Davis, who has worked with Patti Smith, Janis Joplin and the Grateful Dead, playing master of ceremonies
as he enthusiastically previewed the album.

"I've been in this business a long time, and this is a very special day," Davis said. "I've done this a few
times in my career and there are very few albums that could withstand this kind of scrutiny."

With that, Davis began playing tracks at a speaker-shaking volume, introducing most of them with
explanatory stories. The title of "Undisputed," a skittering rap/funk collaboration with Public Enemy's
Chuck D, reflects what the two think of each other, according to Davis. "Over the years, he said, "both The
Artist and Chuck D have thought of each other as the undisputed [best at what they do]."

Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic mixes the classic rock and soul of early Prince albums such as 1999 and Purple
Rain with futuristic beats that recall the work of Missy "Misdemeanor" Elliott producer Timbaland.

Clapping his hands and snapping his fingers, Davis played the album's first single, "The Greatest Romance
Ever Sold," three times. The song, a collage of Arabic-sounding guitar lines, turntable scratching, booming
bass, soulful lyrics and a flamenco-like guitar solo, seemed to have its intended effect: Several attendees
were humming the infectious chorus as they left the building hours later.

"That is a hit record all over the world," Davis said after the first play.

Davis also previewed the title track a space-age funk tune on which Prince is credited with singing and
playing all the instruments as well as the Gwen Stefani duet "So Far, So Pleased," in which the two
singers' voices intertwined seamlessly in a hard-driving, midtempo rock jam reminiscent of Prince's hit
"Little Red Corvette".

There are plenty of other guest turns on Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic. The robotic "Hot With U" is a nasty
sex romp with a cameo from Ruff Ryders rapper Eve. The Artist does a barroom blues duet with Crow on
"Baby Knows," while "I Love U, But I Don't Trust U Anymore," a melancholy, falsetto pop ballad, features
singer Ani DiFranco.

The listening party ended with "Pretty Man," a propulsive, danceable collaboration with former James
Brown saxophone player Maceo Parker. The song appeared to be an homage to Brown's "Superbad."

As "The Greatest Romance Ever Sold" played a third time, The Artist in electric-red pants, a clerical-
style red blouse that dipped nearly to his ankles, yellow boots and a red scarf on his head joined Davis
onstage for a photo op. Moments later, he kicked a 12-piece band into a raucous version of "I Could Never
Take the Place of Your Man".

The Artist whipped back and forth across the small stage, shredding Jimi Hendrixlike solos and indulging
in a 10-minute Chicago blues take on the standard "Motherless Child."

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Graham shared the microphone for a nearly 20-minute jam that included Sly and the Family Stone's
"Everyday People" and vocal cameos by R&B singer Deborah Cox and a gospel scat section by R&B diva
Angie Stone and a bit of James Brown's "Talking Loud and Saying Nothing."

"This is what we do every day," The Artist said with a grin as he picked up a purple guitar in the shape of
the glyph that stands for his unpronounceable name and tore into another lengthy funk tune, with help from
Roots drummer ?uestlove.

Status Symbol
True to his word, The Artist is indeed partying like it's 1999.
He's also got a new album, a new home in Spain and a new outlook on life

Interviewed by Mike Jones

The Sun, October 2, 1999

The blindfold goes on first. It's purple, of course, but that doesn't make much difference when it's blocking
all the light from your eyes.

It's more like a kidnap than an interview as I'm bundled into the back of a car by a couple of minders for the
hour-long journey to God-knows-where, New York.

Only at the end of the trip does the driver break the silence. "A few ground rules before we take you
inside."

Here we go...

"Always keep your head down; don't look him in the eye; don't ask questions with more than five words in;
don't breathe too deeply it upsets him; don't try to look taller than him bend your knees and stoop a
bit; don't tap your feet or use the word "and" he hates it; don't speak to him unless he speaks to you first;
keep your arms folded at all times and, whatever else you do, don't mention his name."

After agreeing to all that, the blindfold comes off and I'm greeted by the sight of a dozen purple-clad
eunuchs laying down a carpet of petals for the man himself to walk on.

Well, I think it's him. It could be anyone inside that all-in-one purple-hooded biochemical hazard suit
but the big clue lies in the fact he's dragging behind him a gold ball and chain with the word "Slave"
marked out in diamonds.

This is the man with a list of aliases longer than your average Crimewatch conman: The Artist, Prince,
Symbol, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, T.A.F.K.A.P. and, to the polite ones in my local: that
purple nutter.

This is also a complete pack of lies.

Not the name bit but all the rest. Yet it is also the sort of crackpot mythology that has sprung up around
one of the world's most elusive rock stars over the last two decades.

How about this bit then? He's charming, engaging, philosophical, gracious, talks relentlessly when you get
him going and even cracks jokes about himself.

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More lies? Oddly enough, this is the truth, and this is what really happened...

The Artist, as he is apparently now referred to, and I are in his New York hotel suite, 49 floors above the
madness that is Madison Avenue during Friday rush-hour. Twenty-four hours earlier he played an electric
low-key gig to showcase Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic his first album for three years.

Fittingly, for the day the back end of Hurricane Floyd lashed the city, The Artist took the stage in bright red
kaftan outfit with what looked suspiciously like an airport windsock stuck on his head.

Today he is in a more familiar purple spangly jumpsuit with matching high-heeled boots. He lifts up his
arms, leans back into the sofa and laughs. Loud.

"You've got to look at this issue a certain way," he says.

We're talking about the dispute he had with former record company Warners which prompted him to write
"Slave" on his face when they refused to release him from his contract a few years ago.

Those were the days when people really DID think he was bonkers. So what was it all about?

"Look at it this way what is I get $500,000 (312,000) for my autobiography and I offer all that money
to you to help me write?"

Sounds promising.

"I don't need that money, I've got enough of my own. So what do you do?"

Tricky...

"OK, what if your company won't let you write for anyone else? Would you quit?"

Er...

"What if they won't let you? What if they've locked you into a seven-year contract?"

Get a lawyer.

"Right, so you're really going to find a lawyer prepared to take on a might corporation with an army of
legal executives behind it?"

Hang on a minute. Who's doing the interview here?

"Are you seeing where I'm coming from now?"

OK, I'd probably write "Slave" on my face. (He likes this bit).

"There we go," and at this point he jumps to his feet and starts laughing again.

The Artist, now 41, can afford to smile these days because he has got his much coveted artistic freedom
back.

"Freedom, by its very definition, means that you're able to make a choice."

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Clearly, he is reflecting on his decision to join forces with another major label, Arista, for the new album
which comes out next month.

Isn't that asking for trouble?

"What I had with Warners was a contract I was locked into. The deal with Arista is based on an agreement
if this record is successful and it works out then we'll do another."

It's hard to imagine the album won't be a hit. All right, some of his more recent offerings haven't always
lived up to the quality of Purple Rain, Sign O' The Times or even Diamonds and Pearls.

But most of the dodgy stuff was recorded at the height of his contract troubles.

Funny that.

Now he is free to work his own way again and has teamed up with Sheryl Crow, Public Enemy's Chuck D
and No Doubt's Gwem Stefani on Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic, which marks a clear return to his trademark
funky rhythms and instantly catchy pop tunes such as The Greatest Romance Ever Sold the track
earmarked to be its first single.

The album isn't a comeback as such but it is seen by some critics as a crucial moment in his career.

Not that it seems to bother the man himself.

"I don't accept criticism for my work," he says. "How can you criticise an album that paid for an
orphanage?"

The Artist is talking about the transformation into a children's home of his new mansion in Marbella, Spain,
where he and wife Mayte now spend most of their time.

"Mayte wanted a change," he says. "There were memories for her in Minneapolis and she needed a change
both from the people and the scene."

Although he doesn't mention it specifically, you get the impression the move was prompted by the tragic
death of their week-old son a couple of years ago from Pfeiffer's Syndrome a rare condition causing
hardening of the skull.

"To be honest I can be anywhere and be cool. She's learning that it's what's inside that counts so then it
doesn't matter where you are.

"But she's learning that by working at it."

Probe a little further and you discover that the orphanage isn't his only gesture to charity.

"Money has some value but it's not the most valuable thing," he says. "The most valuable thing is
knowledge of the truth and love and if you have that, then give it away.

"After I learned that I thought, 'let me try this with money' so I just started to give it away. Lots of it
and then lots more."

It is hard to tell if this is the key to his new attitude towards life but he's certainly in good humour.

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"I've never been happier. My woman has never been happier," he says.

"I'm so happy in Marbella I had to convince myself to come back and make a record."

That's cleared most issues up. But what about the name? Let's settle the matter once and for all.

"OK. I didn't change my name to The Artist, but to an unpronounceable symbol," he says.

"Because that's the spirit of truth."

And that's a fact.

The Artist Steps Out On 'Rave'

Interviewed by Larry Flick
Billboard, October 29, 1999

NEW YORK -- On Nov. 9, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince will do something he says he didn't
anticipate ever doing again: He's releasing an album through a major label.

"Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic" will be released on The Artist's NPG Records and licensed to Arista in the
U.S. and Arista/BMG International throughout the rest of the world.

This marks the second time The Artist has licensed his music to a major following his much-publicized
1996 departure from longtime home Warner Bros. That same year, he linked with EMI Records to release
his NPG set "Emancipation," which has sold 571,000 copies in the U.S., according to SoundScan.

In 1998, he went the indie route, releasing "Crystal Ball" via the Internet -- and, subsequently, Musicland --
through NPG. According to NPG, the two-CD set has sold 250,000 units. The new deal is for one album,
with the possibility for a second. Arista allows The Artist to retain ownership of his master tapes and also
allows him to sell the record independently via his Internet site (www.newfunk.com), beginning Nov. 9.

"This is not a complicated deal," The Artist says. "It's a deal that allows me to own my art. The problems I
had with so-called majors [in the past] were regarding ownership and long-term contracts. Both of these
problems are nonexistent in my agreement with Arista."

He adds, "When I met with [Arista president/CEO] Clive Davis, it was clear from the start that he 'got it.'
After years of feeling enslaved by the industry, I feel positive. This is a situation in which no one is
disempowered."

The relationship between The Artist and Davis was fostered by L. Londell McMillan, who represents the
former. He says he felt this album "deserves the best possible promotion and marketing. We are confident
that our relationship with Arista will be a win/win situation."

For Davis, "Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic" brings his longtime desire to work with The Artist to fruition. He
says the album is both compelling and commercially viable, packed with many hits.

Listed in the credits as produced by Prince, the persona The Artist discarded in 1993, "Rave Un2 The Joy
Fantastic" has the energy of a live show, with many of the songs sporting lean, pop-smart arrangements that

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blend elements of classic funk or rock. The Artist is joined by a wide range of guests, including Sheryl
Crow, No Doubt's Gwen Stefani, jazz great Maceo Parker, veteran R&B artist Larry Graham, rising rap star
Eve, and Public Enemy's Chuck D.

"This album is an expression of many emotions, but it mostly comes from a place of pure joy and
happiness," The Artist says.

The project was first unveiled Sept. 16 at the Equitable Building in New York for roughly 400 members of
the media, as well as for the Arista staff. The event included an extensive presentation by Davis, as well as
a 60-minute live jam session by The Artist with his band, the New Power Generation. He was joined
onstage by Arista divas Deborah Cox and Angie Stone. On Oct. 9, Arista hosted a similar event during the
Billboard/Airplay Monitor Radio Seminar in Miami.

If there's any unusual aspect of the marketing of "Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic," it's the fact that The Artist
himself has been unusually accessible. In addition to his appearances at the Equitable listening event and
the Billboard/Airplay Monitor convention, the usually reclusive artist has already completed a round of
press interviews that will result in pieces in a wide array of publications, including Newsweek, Time, Us,
People, Guitar Player, Ray Gun, and Blues & Soul.

He's also taped an interview with Kurt Loder that will run in several episodes of the MTV news program
"1515." Airdates are still to be confirmed.

In addition to a heavy press agenda, The Artist will embark on a two-week promotional tour of Europe in
mid-November that will include a string of television spots. When he returns, he's slotted to do some major
television shows in the U.S. Specifics are still being confirmed.

In the meantime, his television profile will be aided by a videoclip for "The Greatest Romance Ever Sold,"
which he'll shoot with director Malik Sayeed on Nov. 6 in Minneapolis.

While The Artist is pleased by the industry activity surrounding the project, he says he's more interested in
the potential for this album -- and for music, in general -- "to bring people together ... to create one world of
love and joy and God."

Some of his philosophies are displayed on Love 4 One Another, his other Internet site (www.love4one-
another.com). It carries a credo that The Artist hold close to heart: "This is the definitive place of gathering
for all who love life. This site is the beginning of a webwide effort to raise the vibration of the world."

Not a typical site, Love 4 One Another combines the standard news and photos with information on how to
seek spiritual enlightenment and opportunities to participate in various charity efforts.

"In the end, we're nothing without our souls -- which we need to nourish," The Artist says. "I've learned
many lessons in my life. And they all lead me back to God and spirituality -- and making music that allows
me to express what's in my heart and soul."

nterviewed by Kurt Loder

MTV, November 5, 1999

Loder: You had sort of an acrimonious parting with Warner Bros. Now you're back with a major label,
Arista, and you're allowing them to distribute and promote this new album ["Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic"].
Do you feel this is something that record companies can still do? They can promote, and they just have a
big distribution web that's still useful to performers?

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The Artist: Yes. You know, I never had a problem with the way my music was promoted or distributed.
My main problem with record companies was an ownership issue. When you don't own the master tape,
they can take the master recording and put it on different compilations and do all kinds of different things
with your music. It isn't the bitter battle that everybody thinks it is. It was mainly an issue of ownership and
whether or not I could record when I wanted to. There are other issues that come into it regarding recording
with other musicians.

Loder: You got a lot of stuff lying around? Like, sort of Lenny Kravitz jams... ?

The Artist: Maybe, maybe not! [Laughs]

Loder: [Laughing] People we might know and suspect?

The Artist: Yeah. I've recorded a lot of things that there, again, every time you go and try to give it to
some of your friends, in the public, then you run the risk of their estates or people affliliated with them
coming up and claiming their piece. They weren't in the studio, but they want they piece. [Singing] "Why
they gotta get their piece...?"

Loder: Surely there's the Miles Davis stuff, right? I mean, will that ever come out?

The Artist: [Looks away, whistling]

Loder: Someday, perhaps?

The Artist: [Still whistling]

Loder: Maybe not. Let's not talk about that.

The Artist: [Smiles, nods]

Loder: How did you come to pick Gwen Stefani on this record? Are you a fan of No Doubt?

The Artist: Yeah. I saw Gwen jump up on David Letterman's desk when they performed on his show, and
I said, "I gotta know her."

Loder: [Laughs] You have a desk of your own you need somebody to jump on? Or is it just the spirit...

The Artist: Yeah. I had never seen anybody do that. I said, "I'm feelin' that. I'm definitely feelin' that." And
her band's really tight, and I go to see them whenever they're in town, and they're great, great performers,
and they love music. They really got off on the things that I've done in the past, so I wanted to include them
on this somehow.

Loder: How do you think this album differs from all the stuff you've done in the past? Does it have a
special feeling to it for you? Or is it just part of an ongoing story?

The Artist: Ultimately, I think it is different. I think it is the past. I think it is kind of what I've been doing
the whole time, and that's why I gave production credit to Prince, because he was in charge of picking the
instruments and saying the direction that the grooves should go, and he's in charge of pulling out the old
Linn drum machine and saying, "Let's go with Old Faithful. Let's not worry about what everybody else is
doing. Let's go with what we know," you know? That's a hard thing to do, you know, to not let the
collective consciousness move you in a particular direction. It's hard if you don't have God in your life.

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Loder: You had mentioned earlier when we were talking that you had seen some old footage of yourself
from some years back and you were wearing something provocative, and it wasn't the way you are now.
Have you changed a lot from that person you were?

The Artist: When we get to that point when we stop trying to dictate what a person's supposed to do with
their life and how people are supposed to perceive them, we'll be better off. In some respects, I'm the same
person. I don't dress the same, though; I don't look the same. I did that for a specific reason. That is not
indicative of, you know, where I am right now.

Loder: I mean, do you still have those little outfits in a closet somewhere?

The Artist: Now, what do you wanna know that -- ain't you got a woman?

Loder: [Big laugh]

The Artist: [Laughing] What you need to know all that stuff for?

Loder: Just wondering in a historical sense.

The Artist: Okay... all right.... [Giggling]

Loder: Could we discuss the name change? 'Cause it's a problem for people who have to say your name.
Why did you feel compelled to change your name from Prince Rogers Nelson to something that no one can
pronounce?

The Artist: Very simply, my spirit directed me to do it. And once I did it, a lot of things started changing
in my life.

Loder: Why do you suppose that was?

The Artist: Why do I suppose that was? Well, one thing is, people can say something about Prince, and it
used to bother me. Once I changed my name, it had no effect on me. If you read "Kurt Loder is crazy"
every day...

Loder: Oh, every day would be annoying. Once in a while, okay.

The Artist: All right. Sooner or later, you would wonder why people have this perception of you. Now if
you change your name to Malik --

Loder: [Laughs] Malik I can pronounce, but you've changed it to a symbol that can't be pronounced. It's
very difficult for people...

The Artist: It's very difficult for people to say, "He's crazy," isn't it?

Loder: No, that could still be said, but it's hard to say the name, because there's no way of pronouncing it.

The Artist: That's interesting, yup.

Loder: You see the problem?

The Artist: For whom? [Laughs] I'm doin' real good. Everything's all cool.

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Loder: What if I changed my name to just a little circle with an arrow through it?

The Artist: My brother...

Loder: [Big laugh]

The Artist: Any way that I could use my brain to come up with a way to make you happy and respect you,
I'm gonna do that.

Loder: I mean, but let's say you're in the business -- I don't want to belabor this --

The Artist: You don't?[Both laugh]

Loder: There's been some talk of some old tracks with The Revolution, your previous band, your old band,
coming out as an album called "Roadhouse Garden." Is that possibly, maybe, going to happen?

The Artist: We did three tracks for the record, meaning I went in and finished them, and then I put
"Roadhouse Garden" on the backburner, so nothing's really happening with it.

Loder: You've remained here in Minneapolis. I mean, what is it about Minneapolis? Is it just that you've
grown up here and it is home?

The Artist: I find that the people here are very loving. They are open to change. We've always been able to
break new music here. We played "Purple Rain" here before it was even on a record. I saw Ani DiFranco
here recently. She said, "I'd like to do a new song," and the whole place went to a hush. The whole place.
You'd never get that to happen at Woodstock. Would have been a miracle.

Loder: Yeah. I was there. We don't want to talk about that.

The Artist: But I must say, though, to see you running for your life and getting pelted with stuff warmed
my heart.

Loder: [Laughs]

The Artist: We played in Tokyo once, and we gave tambourines away and put them on the seats, the first
hundred seats, in the venue. After we finished playing, these kids put the tambourines back on the seats and
walked single-file out of there, no problems. The left the tambourines because nobody told them that the
tambourines belonged to them. Now, there's something in them that's not in our children that we really need
to address, because we're looking at the future when we see the burnings, you know, when we see brothers
getting dragged in trucks down streets to their death. We're looking at the future, and either we can get in
here now and fix that and do the best we can to help God fix it, or we can... [Shrugs] You know, punch the
clock in.

Loder: If we went in your vaults -- I bet they're substantial -- what would we find in there?

The Artist: Some amazing jazz work. You'd find the best, most heady tracks that The Revolution recorded;
the ones that we thought were too far gone back in the '80s. You'd find the more psychedelic rock version
of The Time. You'd find the really erotic Prince.

Loder: Really?

The Artist: The really erotic central Prince. You'd find the future.

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Loder: What's going to happen to all this stuff? I mean, I'm glad it's in a vault somewhere... will it ever
come out?

The Artist: Oh, yeah. I'll give it away. You know, I'm not goin' nowhere. I'll be right here.

Loder: Where are you going to be playing "1999" New Year's Eve? Do you know that yet?

The Artist: Well, this year I've just spent reflecting on my life and work and loves. I've just been sort of
preparing for a big party. I know it's gonna be somewhere. I'm going to let everyone know when I know.
But I've always answered the question by saying, "Hopefully I'll be in the light."

Loder: Time's getting short here, of course. New Year's Eve is coming right up.

The Artist: I don't believe in time, Kurt.

Loder: Oh. What do you use instead? We have to keep track somehow.

The Artist: The truth.

Bringing Down the House

Twenty years after 'Purple Rain,' Prince has

reclaimed his crown with a funk-filled new

album and the year's most exhilarating tour

Interviewed by Anthony DeCurtis

Rolling Stone, May 27, 2004

Hammering! That's the word. Thats it!

Prince folds over in laughter and stamps his
high-heel boots on the floor. Those heels, as it
happens, are clear plastic, and lights twinkle
within them. Its a perfect metaphor for the
electricity that seems to be coursing through
the singer at the moment.

Prince is responding to a description of the

torrid version of D.M.S.R a jam from
1999 touting the virtues of dance, music,
sex, romance that he and his backing
band, the New Power Generation, unleashed
earlier that evening at the so1d-out Gund
Arena in C1eveland. It was a full-on funk
stomp that got the house up and shaking.
Hammering only begins to convey the

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performances pulverizing rhythmic assault. Pulverizing! Thats good, too, Prince says, laughing again.
what you see is people responding to what this band is and what were doing.

Its just twenty minutes after the show, and, at a time when most peformers would be just beginning to cool
down, Prince is utterly composed. Hes crisply dressed in a purple tunic and black pants and looks as if he
has spent the evening relaxing in his living room rather than burning down a 20,000-seat house. But thats
how effortless things seem to be of late for the forty-five-year-old musician. Everybody in the Prince camp
most definitely beginning with Prince himself bristles when anyone suggests that the current wave of
Princemania constitutes a comeback. The official line is that he never went away. From a strictly literal
standpoint, of course, thats true. Hes been as busy as ever, using his own label and his Web site, the New
Power Generation Music Club, to release CDs such as The Rainbow Children (2001) and N.E.W.S. (2003),
as well as the DVD Prince: Live at the Aladdin Las Vegas.

But whether or not you buy the message that Prince never left, its clear that many of his millions of fans
had gone somewhere in recent years, and now many of them are staging a comeback of their own.
Suddenly, liking Prince doesnt feel like such a chore; in fact, its fun. His stripped-down, pleasingly
straightforward new album, Musicology, delivers on the promise of his spellbinding performances earlier
this year on the Grammy Awards broadcast and at his induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. His
live shows have become ecstatic parties, sweaty, two-hour romps through the likes of Controversy, U
Got the Look, Take Me With U and a sizzling version of Sam and Daves classic Soul Man. Nearly a
recluse before, Prince is now all over the media, chatting on talk shows, posing for photographers, being
interviewed by reporters.

Its like an old friend has returned. Indeed, the spring of 2004 is beginning to feel like the summer of 1984,
when Purple Rain made Prince one of the biggest rock stars in the world. When he sings, Dont you miss
the feeling that music gave you back in the day? in Musicology, he might as well be speaking about his
own music. After abandoning his name for an unpronounceable symbol, after painting the word slave on
his face as part of a battle with his record label, after disowning decades of his own work, Prince is
enjoying himself again. And, as always, his enthusiasm is irresistible.

I had an epiphany last night," Prince says about his appearance in Columbus, Ohio. Hes sitting on a couch
in his dressing room, shortly before taking the stage in Cleveland. The room is warm and humid, to keep
his throat and nasal passages clear and his vocal cords supple. Candles burn on every available surface.

I was offstage, listening to Michael Phillips take his solo. he continues, alluding to the instrumental
portion of the show in which the saxophonist takes a long, atmospheric excursion during "God" while
Prince changes clothes and takes a break. I was thinkng, 'Wow listen to those people responding, and all
hes doing is playing a saxophone. They can feel that what hes doing is real. So many shows now, they
have pyrotechnics, pre-taped vocals and musical parts, and its so dead. But heres one man breathing into
an instrument, and the whole room feels alive. It made me want to rise up to that level when I came back
onstage.

Part of the goal of the Musicology album and tour is to connect audiences once again to the power of live
music. Take your pick turntable or a band? Prince challenges on the album, and his concerts are like a
clinic in inciting the sort of pandemonium that only a band can create. Thats true even for the players
themselves. This is school for me, says Phillips, 27. Every night I watch how he connects his gift to
the crowd. Ive spoken to him about it. He told me that playing a solo is like making love. You have
to pay attention to the things that make your partner respond and space them out so they come at
exactly the right time. Its one big, long orgasm.

I didnt go to college to learn how to play, he continues. I come from playing gospel in churches. Thats
a language Prince understands, and when he hears me speaking it, he responds.

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If not exactly a new element in Princes music, that interplay among the musicians is something that Prince
is now actively encouraging. He is someone who often plays every instrumental part on his records, and it
hasnt come naturally for Prince to relinquish control to his band members. While he has always attracted
superb musicians, he's been criticized for rarely giving them the freedom to fully express their talent. As far
as he was concerned, he knew how the part should go; their job was to play it.

Those days are gone. The shows are alot looser, he says, leaning back on the couch. I used to be more
involved with every aspect of everything onstage. Im way more relaxed now. It feels like anything can
happen.

Thats one of the reasons were doing these shows in the round: The music is at the center of everything,
he continues. This show is much more about the songs than the staging, which is very simple. I wanted to
let the music do the talking. Weve also been playing in clubs on some nights, and we carry that with us
into the arenas. Its all one show to us. Clubs are where you really learn about crowd control. Youre
playing on small stages, so you have to be listening to and watching one another, and the crowd is right in
front of you. You cant push anything too long. You concentrate on what works, and you hit it.

As raucous as the show sometimes appears with Prince and band members racing around the stage,
seemingly at whim everything is, in fact, occurring within a larger, orderly plan. Prince, of all people,
believes that improvisation isn't a virtue in itself even spontaneous gestures must be meaningful. Only
rigorous rehearsals make that possible, and this band is flawless and taut. During a sound check in New
York one evening, Prince was working with the crew on lighting cues. Hed casually count off song parts
OK, second verse, from the top and the nine-piece band would instantly fall in exactly in time. It
was as impressive as anything in the show itself.

Oh, you cant go out there unless youve got the show completely in shape, Prince says after the
Cleveland gig. It can look pretty wild onstage, but everyone knows exactly where theyre supposed to be.
That was a lesson I had to learn from when I was starting out. When we first went out behind 1999, the
Time, who were opening for us, beat us up every night. They would laugh about it; it was a joke to them.
Our show wasnt together. I had to stop the tour and get things tightened up. Now me and the band have a
certain relationship with each other, and every night we make the audience part of that.

It's hard to tell precisely what accounts for the more easygoing Prince. He refuses to speak about any aspect
of his private life, but his becoming a Jehovahs Witness a few years back has seemingly brought him a
good deal of spiritual calm. The religions combination of absolute certainty and convoluted interpretive
zeal suits him perfectly. He began his remarks at the Hall of Fame induction by offering all praise and
thanks to the most high Jehovah, and his additional declaration there that too much freedom can lead to
the souls decay should be read as his acceptance of the strict tenets of that faith. In consequence, he has
expunged all profanity from his language and refuses to perform any of his racier songs no Darling
Nikki, no Head, no Gett Off.

And speaking of sexual decorum, Musicology, among its other subjects, is a paean to monogamy (Eye see
U picked me out like U want something/But shame on U, baby, cant U see this ring?). And Prince has
even become an unlikely advocate for cleaning up the airwaves. This culture is in big trouble, he insists.
All you see on television are debased images. Whether you believe it or not, black people do not want to
see pictures of people wearing bulletproof vests. You saw the Super Bowl. I dont even need to say
anything more about it. And who produced that? That should tell you something right there.

Princes problem with MTV which produced the Super Bowl halftime show with Janet Jacksons infamous
wardrobe malfunction, is its de-emphasis on music ("Do you ever see a video on there?") and, like every
other aspect of popular culture, its reliance on titillation. Discussing his Hall of Fame performance of
George Harrisons While My Guitar Gently Weeps (a song he claims never to have heard before it was
sent to him to learn for the show), Prince says, It was an honor to play with Tom Petty Free Fallin is

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one of my favorite songs. I used to love whenever he would come on MTV because you knew you were
going to get a great tune. MTV isnt like that anymore.

More personally, Princes marriage to twenty-seven-year-old Manuela Testolini in 2001 seems also to have
settled him. Beautiful, slender and soft-spoken, she was by his side virtually every moment he wasnt
onstage in Cleveland. The past seven years or so have not been easy for Prince. The child he had with his
first wife, Mayte Garcia, died from a rare illness after living for only a week. The couples marriage ended
not long after that. Both his parents passed away. Amid all that loss, remarriage and faith appear to have
come as great, restorative gifts.

As for Princes public re-emergence, L. Londell McMillan, the singers longtime friend and business
partner, says simply, It began with a yes. McMillan is referring to Princes surprising agreement to
perform on the Grammy Awards after years of turning down such requests. That appearance and his Hall of
Fame induction had two significant results. First, sharing the stage with Beyonc at the Grammys and being
hailed by OutKast and Alicia Keys at the Hall of Fame induction demonstrated to Prince how decisive an
influence he has been on an entire generation of younger artists. He was so moved by Keys speech
Because of him, Ive never wanted to be like anyone but myself.. . . Because of his music, my music has
wings to be different that a video of it introduces him every night on the Musicology tour.

Prince is well aware that his antics in the past have caused him to be portrayed as, in his words, a petulant
brat or a megalomaniac. That aspiring musicians heard a call to freedom amid the din of controversy
surrounding him couldnt possibly be more important to him. The respect of young artists I love that,
he says. Despite everything, no one can dictate who you are to other people. Alicia Keys gets it. All these
hip-hop artists, the first thing they do is start their own label and lock their business down we had a lot
to do with that.

But, perhaps even more important, the initial steps that Prince took to re-engage his fans reignited their
passion for his music. I think people sometimes forget how great a genius he is, McMillan says. Whats
happening now represents the vindication of one of the best all-around artists of all time.

Because "Musicology" is so listener-friendly, Prince over came his near-pathological wariness about record
companies and agreed to allow McMillian to work out a deal with Columbia Records. Columbia, which is
part of Sony Music, will distribute and help market the album domestically (and be reimbursed for the costs
of doing so) and license it for sale in the rest of the world. Its an arrangement that essentially requires no
upfront costs on the labels part, while providing a strong profit incentive for the company to sell as many
copies as possible. On his end, Prince gets the enormous reach of an international corporate powerhouse.

According to Sonys president, Don Ienner, the label has filled orders for upward of a million copies of the
album worldwide. And with the first copy shipped, we started making money, he adds. We have really
high expectations for this, and, though there are no guarantees, we hope to remain in business with Prince
for a lone time. How often does an artist of his stature become available on any terms?"

Prince received no payment from the label Thats the price of freedom, McMillan says. But the singer
retains complete ownership of the album, the whole point of his grueling battle in the Nineties with Warner
Bros. He also gets a much higher percentage of sales than he would under a more traditional arrangement.
One advantage of writing slave on my face back then is that when I meet with a label now, they
already know theyre not going to be owning anything, Prince says wryly. Maybe at one time they
could get Little Richard for a new car and a bucket of chicken. We dont roll like that no more. In
addition, everyone who purchases a ticket to the Musicology tour receives a copy of the album, though
without the packaging or the Musicology video included in the Columbia version.

The overall strategy is for Prince to have what McMillian calls an ongoing, "multi-delivery model for
bringing his music to the public. Everything Prince releases will be directly available online to the members
of his NPG Music Club. Albums such as Musicology, with a potentially broader appeal, might also receive

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major-label distribution. More specialized projects, such as the instrumental album Prince has discussed
with the Blue Note label, might benefit from still another approach. Live performance, meanwhile, rather
than recordings, will increasingly become the center of Princes musical universe.

Such imaginative flexibility may not only be ideal for Prince but might prove essential for record
companies in the years ahead, particularly in the wake of the recent upheavals in the music industry. I
want to make heart decisions in business, Prince says. If you cant do that, youre not free. I want to be
able to dictate which way Im going to go.

For a tumultuous run of songs at the end of the Cleveland show U Got the Look, Life o the Party,
Soul Man, and Kiss Prince invites perhaps two dozen women in the audience onto the stage to
dance. One willowy girl wears a purple two-piece bathing suit festooned with the glyph that had become
the singers name for a time. Prince struts over to her, and she becomes his dance partner during Kiss.
After the line Act your age, not your shoe size, he holds the mike out for her, and right in tune, she sings,
And maybe we can do the twirl! Princes eyes widen and he yowls, Wooo!

The security guard wasnt going to let her get onstage, Prince says backstage after the show I said, You
cant send that girl home dressed like that!

Everybodys ready to hit the Spy Bar in Clevelands Warehouse District for an after- party, but Prince and
the band wont be doing a late-night set there tonight. I always love to play, he says, but weve been
doing so many shows that I feel like I need to give the band a chance to rest. Asked why he booked a tour
with so few days off, Prince smiles and holds his hands out in front of him, as if weighing an object in each.
Lets see, he says, sleep, or half a million dollars? Sleep, or half a million dollars?

But while the cash is obviously welcome particularly as a proud refutation of the recurrent rumors that
he was going broke Prince is satisfied by more than money these days. My fans bring their sons and
daughters to my shows now, he says. Thats how I grew up. I hope to be an inspiration to those people.

I feel at peace. I knew it would take time, and I had to deal with a lot of ridicule. But this feels like peace
right now. Spiritually I feel very different from the way I used to, but physically? Not at all. I dont look at
time that way, and I dont believe in age. When you wake up, each day looks the same, so each day should
be a new beginning. I dont have an expiration date.

"Comeback? I never went anywhere!"

Interviewed by Jeff Jensen
Entertainment Weekly, April 23, 2004

Prince, in an unusually revealing interview, talks about his wild and wicked past, holding hands with Stevie
Wonder, and why the music biz deserves William Hung.

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 They've been rocked. They've been funked.
They've been wooed. Now it's time to show him
the love. It's a manic Monday night in late
March, and 19,000 men, women, and even
children the largest crowd ever to see a
concert at Los Angeles' Staples Center are
giving it up for Prince. He has plied them with
hits from "Let's Go Crazy" to "Kiss" to "U
Got the Look" but one song in particular has
brought them thunderously to their feet: an
unplugged, stripped-down, rendition of "Little
Red Corvette." It is the centerpiece of a solo
acoustic set by turns warm, funny, and riveting,
and it earns him a standing ovation that goes on
and on and on...

Prince beams. He covers his me-so-pretty face

with his hands, and the applause only gets
louder. It's a big, messy wet kiss, and it clearly
means a whole lot to him. More than his fans
might have considered possible. More, perhaps,
than he's willing to admit.

The last time we paid attention to Prince, it was

as much for his increasingly bizarre behavior as
for the brilliant rock/funk/R&B fusion that
made him one of the greatest artists of modern
pop. Changing his name to an unpronounceable
symbol. Scrawling the word slave on his cheek.
Releasing half-assed albums like Come to burn off his contract with Warner Bros. His most notable cultural
contribution of the past decade? Carmen Electra. Thanks, Prince. Thanks a lot.

Yet through it all, there existed the hope

that a talent called "genius" time and again
could return to form. That moment finally
seems to have arrived. In February, his
electrifying Grammy duet with Beyonc
opened the show, and stole it. That was
followed by Prince's introduction into the
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; his guitar
heroics were the highlight of the
ceremony. His current tour on which
he's allegedly playing his hits for the last
time is selling out across the country.
Critics are calling his new CD, Musicology
(in stores April 20), his best in years. It's
the kind of thing we media types like to
call a comeback, though according to
Prince, we media types, as usual, are
mistaken.

Two nights after the L.A. concert, Prince is

backstage before a sound check at the
Glendale Arena outside Phoenix, a city
named, appropriately enough, after the

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fiery, feathered avatar of resurrection. Clad in a black sleeveless tunic and cranberry pants, Prince takes a
plate from his bodyguard and loads it up with fruit, pasta slathered in cream sauce, and salad. Yes, Prince
eats. He also goes to the multiplex. Last night, after his show in Bakersfield, Calif., he and his band
unwound by checking out Kevin Smith's latest flick, Jersey Girl, a so-so departure from his usual lewd-
and-crude comedies. Prince was unimpressed. Not that the 45-year-old, happily married, devout Jehovah's
Witness can't appreciate a cleaner act: he himself has scrubbed from his set list staples like "Head" and
"Jack U Off." It's just that according to Prince, Smith didn't replace it with anything interesting. "We
walked out after an hour," he sniffs. "Guess that's what happens when the potty mouth don't work for you
anymore."

Though 5 foot 2, Prince does not radiate short. From his complicated poodle haircut, to his dark doe eyes
and the geometrically groomed stubble along his razor-sharp features, to his toned arms and quirky,
customized attire, Princes carefully considered visage is a superconductor for his considerable charm, and
it tricks the eye. He even has a scent, though an elusive one. Not a perfume but a powder, like hes been
dusted with incense. Prince in the flesh is pop evanescence incarnate. Its only when he opens his mouth
that he resembles the rest of us mortals.

Hearing him talk about ordinary things is almost a shock. He speaks in hushed-voice gushesmegabyte
downloads of wit, logic, and Christian evangelism. In one rant about the nature of democracy, how the
media shape perception, and the decline of morality in America, Prince links terrorism-induced regime
change in Spain, Bowling for Columbine, The Matrix, Adam and Eve and the Fall of Man, the Jayson
Blair/New York Times scandal, Mariah Carey, MTVs Jackass, and Santa Claus. (We were discussing
whether he thinks hes misunderstood.) Strangely, the whole thing makes sense.

Of course, he does have his obsessions. Or perhaps obsession would be more accurate. Nearly every answer
to questions about Musicology or his career is colored by his battle with Warner Bros. over ownership of
his master recordings and the pace of his output (beginning with 1978s For You, Warner released 20
albums in 21 years). Talking to him can be like chatting with a flashback-racked war veteran, or a
heartbroken ex dumped for no good reason.

Princes attitude about the music industry in a nutshell: He wishes it would go away. He hates how labels
have exploited our warp-speed culture at the expense of nurturing long-term careers. It took me four
albums to get on the cover of Rolling Stone. Now it takes new artists only one. There should be rules for
that kind of thing!

Nothing Compares 2 These

We didn't bother gradingthey're all A's

DIRTY MIND (1980) His rockfunk fusion jells into a

signature sound. Combined with a genderbending stage
persona, it establishes a musical identity with room to roam
not to mention provoke.

1999 (1982) His early-period peak. Rich in cheery hooks

slathered in quality synthesizer-cheese, 1999 is party-time
Prince, and "Little Red Corvette" was a landmark crossover
hit.

PURPLE RAIN (1984) The defining album of the '80s? Could

be. This tight, inventive collection of hits made Prince a
superstar, established him as an heir to Hendrix, and made
him a culture-war hero.

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 His rhetoric is either deeply
PARADE (1986) A year earlier, Around the World in a Day
cynical or worldly-wise,
digested '60s pop with derivative results. Here he owns his
depending on your point of
experiments instead of vice versa. Best known for "Kiss," but
view; he is convinced
full of arty elegance.
record labels conspire to
phase out their most
SIGN O' THE TIMES (1987) Not just the ultimate statement successful artists at their
of Prince's one-man-band pan-genre aesthetic but a record peak in order to avoid
that sums up all pop music while spinning it forward. getting locked into cash-
rich deals. But occasionally,
some grace breaks through.
His beef is with the system, not the people who run it. When I realized that, thats when I took the word
slave off my face, he says. I realized that they are as much slaves as I am.

Thats why in 2001 Prince created the NPG Music Club, an online service that is now the official outlet for
most of his music. Hes giving Musicology away to everyone who attends his concerts, an experiment hes
been itching to try since 1994 (the costabout $9.99is included in the ticket price). With its focused
songcraft and shout-outs to James Brown, Earth, Wind & Fire, and Sly & the Family Stone, Musicology
has an old-school vibe that reflects Princes belief in old-fashioned musicianship. If todays young artists
just knew their stuff Prince suggests, they could have greater control over their careers and gain the clout to
transform the industry.

I think of the music business as a city, he says. You tear one down, another whole city starts developing.
But a city needs human beings to run it. My whole point is that if the music came first, if the city was run
by musicians instead of people with M.B.A.s, everything would flip. This is what we need today. This is
what I want to bea musical mentor. To pass on the knowledge.

He doesnt find the current system completely useless: Columbia Records is handling the traditional retail
distribution of Musicology. I expect people will respond to it as a 21st-century Prince record, says Sony
Music U.S. president Don Ienner, who likens Musicology to Bruce Springsteens The Rising and Bob
Dylans Time Out of Mind: urgent (and commercially successful) statements from supposedly dusty
maestros. As for Princes desire for music-industry regime change, Ienner says: There are certain things
we dont talk about. Obviously, he doesnt feel the same way about us as he does about [his old label]. I
hear what hes saying. I dont necessarily have to agree with everything hes saying, but I hear him.

Prince does see a place in his new world order for the current power players. You know that guy who
dances funny on American Idol? The Asian-American kid? He means William Hung (see review on page
79). That works for the record industry, he says with a laugh. We need somebody to release those kind
of records. Does his implied critique include packaged popsters like Britney Spears, too? Prince begs off,
not wanting to name names. Kinda. I mean no disrespect, he says. But I see it as my duty to school
young people coming up. Lip-synchers? What does a kidwhat do other artists get out of that? I dont
mind if Mariah Carey hits bad notes.

Being a role model doesnt mean Prince lacks mentors of his own, like Stevie Wonder. His insight is
priceless, says Prince. Its easy to see why he would connect with Wonder. Both are undisputed musical
geniuses who fought forand gottotal creative control over their music. Prince Rogers Nelson was just
19 when he signed a multiniillion-dollar, three-album deal with Warner Bros. in 1977. A wunderkind from
Minneapolis who could play a dozen instruments by ear and wanted to combine James, Jimi, and Sly into a
single, idiosyncratic sound, Prince used his freedom to create three albums of mounting brilliance that set
the stage for his 80s reignand, perhaps, for a profound sense of entitlement.

So what is he learning from Stevie these days? I learn just by watching him, he says. One day, he
wanted to show me what its like for him to experience the world, to actually feel a piece of music, so he
held my hand. Here, hold my hand. Prince extends his palm, and I take it. Its warm and dry, and his nails
are exquisitely manicured. Now at first, its like Whoa, Im holding hands with a man! He quickly

163
releases his grip and throws his hands up. Now, those thoughts and feelings are mine, and we all have to
work those things out for ourselves. But then I started thinking what it means for Stevie to be able to hold
someones handanyones hand, even a mans. Hes telling me he respects me. And by extension, hes
teaching me that I have to have that same
respect for everybody in life.

There are two things Prince doesn't talk

about. The first is his personal life, which
means that we wont he chatting about his
wife, Manuela Testolini, whom I meet briefly
in Princes candlelit dressing room after the
sound check. She shakes my hand and tells
me its a pleasure, all without breaking stride
as she leaves the room. Her husband looks
longingly toward the door, then invites me to
sit on a small sofa. Musicology is steeped in
the pining of a man not only in love but in
love with fidelity. Yet when I ask him about
this seemingly more mature Princea man
almost as infamous for his romantic
conquests as his musiche shuts me down.
Thats for all of you to decide. I dont
intellectualize my music.

The second off-limits topic is Princes past..

.which rules out almost everything else youd
want to discuss with him. Ive changed. Im
a different person. Im about the present and
moving forward. New joke, new anecdote,
new lesson to be discovered, he says. You
know that old lady in Sunset Boulevard,
trapped in her mansion and past glories?
Getting ready for her close-up? I dont run
with that. Even so, Prince begins concerts
with a self-venerating video quoting
extensively from a speech by Alicia Keys at his Hall induction.

Much of what has changed in Princes life has occurred in the several years since he committed to the
Jehovahs Witness faith. His music has always wrestled with Christian-tinged spirituality, but Prince says
he didnt start reading the Bible until hed become a Witness. His religious fervor was evident in the 2001
concept album The Rainbow Children, which was roundly knocked by critics. (Prince also attempted to
produce an evangelical video based on the album directed by...Kevin Smith, whose surreal tale of working
with Prince can be found on the DVD An Evening With Kevin Smith. Im cool with him not liking Jersey
Girl, says Smith. I f---ing hated his album Crystal Ball, so now were even.)

As a result of his faith, Prince has developed an uncharacteristic modesty. In concert, hes taken to
changing Im your messiah and youre the reason why in I Would Die 4 U, to Hes your messiah. . .
Still, it appears he has some kinks to work out in squaring his dogma with his golden-god persona. Asked if
he feels hes alienated his fans over the years, Prince says: No. The love has never left. Ive always felt
that there were people in my corner. Its a gift, that God gives us the chance to feel such love. And its all
for His glory: I dont believe in idol worship. Thats why I dont sign autographs. When I get asked for my
autograph, I say no and tell them why, because Im giving them something to think about. This from a
man who often prompts his concert audiences to scream his name. Ironies, contradictions, and exceptions
escape Prince like doves from a cage.

164
 There is also the
Pop (After) Life
predicament of his
Though he's notorious for his harem of sexy muses (Vanity, Apollonia, Carmen
own potty-mouthed
Electra, etc.), some of Prince's most fruitful relationships have been with other
pastthe one where
musicians. So what ever happened to his brothers and sisters in funk? We tracked
a few of them down to find out. he sang of erotic cities
and a love that is soft
WENDY MELVOIN AND LISA COLEMAN and wet. But Prince
The Revolutions guitarist and keyboardist are now TV has this problem
and film composers (Crossing Jordan, Dangerous solved as well. He
Minds). Their 1986 exit from the group was doesnt perform those
acrimonious, but theyve made up with Prince and say songs anymore. The
theyll record a CD with him soon. Ive heard hes founding father of the
Bible-toting now, but hes the same person hes always warning label freely
been with me, says Melvoin (right). Adorable, kind, concedes hes come
and gorgeous as ever. Were like ex-lovers. We love full circle since he
each other but also have issues. scandalized Tipper
Gore with the word
masturbating in
Darling Nikki.Look
at this situation with
SHEILA E. the FCC after Janet:
The Glamorous Life singer still makes records, but Weve gone too far
her foundation for abused kids is her big priority. A now. Weve pushed
benefit last year reunited much of the 80s Minneapolis the envelope off the
scenewith one omission. Its sad Prince wasnt table and forgotten
involved, she says, though he did give us our very there was a table. You
first check. cant push the
envelope any further
than I pushed it. So
stop! Whats the
MORRIS DAY point?
Purple Rains vainglorious villain, who now lives in
Atlanta and L.A., will release Its About Time on June But the more Prince
22, and he continues to perform with the Time (which, talks about the sign of
amazingly enough, still includes valet Jerome the times, the more he
Benton). As for his turn in the film, well, he claims hes ends up talking about
never actually seen it. I was at a party and Chris his pastand
Tucker was there, he says. He was quoting all my defending it. Weve
lines. He knows the movie better than I do. all used shock value to
sell things, he says. I
used shock to get
attention. But back
when I was doing the
freaky songs in the
DR. FINK
freaky outfits, we were
Married father of two Matt Fink currently owns and
exploring ideas. I
operates the StarVu recording studio in Minneapolis,
wanted my band to be
but the wacky M.D./keyboardist persona he originated
multiracial, male and
in 1979 lives on: A new Dr. Fink CD came out in 2001.
female, to reflect
So what do his kids make of his alter ego? They think
society. The song
the scrubs are cool, he says.
Sexuality was about
education and literacy.
P Control and Sexy
MF were about
respect for women. Go and listen to the verses. All people focus on is the hooks.

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Of Princes many contradictions, perhaps the strangest is this: Here at the white-hot moment of his revival,
the singer still simmers over small flash points of insult. By and large, hes flattered when told that his
influence can be seen in everyone from Beck to OutKast, whose Andre 3000 describes Prince as the total
package. To me, hes the best of our generationa total musician making almost otherworldly music.

But ask him if hes heard the Foo Fighters version of Darling Nikki and Prince, who a minute earlier
said he never listens to the radio (When I want to hear new music, I go make some), replies by describing
a Hawaii radio DJs response to the Foos cover. The DJ wondered if Prince had heard itthen said he
couldnt care less if he had. Just no respect, says Prince. I wonder if thats the kind of thing the FCC
would like to clean up, too.

So...does he like the cover? No! I dont like anyone covering my work. Write your own tunes! He says he
got up in R&B singer Ginuwines face for bungling the lyrics in a 1996 version of When Doves Cry.I
was just busting on him to bust him, but I was a little serious: Have some respect, man, If anyone tried to
cover Respect, by Aretha? I would shoot them myself!

Of course, the Queen of Soul was herself covering an Otis Redding tune, but his point is clear: Young
artists, respect your elder betters. Which is a savvy position for Prince to adopt in our 80s-crazed moment.
Its the kind of thing a marketer might call repositioning your brandas in angling for renewed
relevancy while never admitting you lost it in the first place. Whatever you call it, dont use the C-word.
People are calling this my comeback. Comeback? I never went anywhere! Prince, in fact, denies that his
Grammy appearance, his oldies-packed tour and the nationwide movie theater simulcast of his Staples
Center concert were part of an orchestrated effort to kick-start his career. I never stopped playing and
recording. Never had a problem filling arenas. My appearance on Ellen wasnt part of some master
strategy: She asked if I would perform; I said yes. Then, quoting from another mans song, Prince says,
Dont call it a comeback. Ive been here for years.

When I joke that hed better be careful or LL Cool J may come looking for him, Prince smirks: I was
about to say the same thing.

The Pheonix concert starts an hour late, due, perhaps, to a certain interview ending right at showtime. As a
result, Prince has to cut the acoustic set, which means no Little Red Corvette. But dont worry, Phoenix:
You should take the whole last-time-for-the-hits thing with a grain of salt. Well, it is called the 2004ever
tour, says Prince when pressed on the subject. And time is forever. So...probably not the last time?
Probably not.

Earlier, I asked Prince what the Little Red Corvette ovation at Staples meant to him. What I was
thinking in that moment was, Without any real sacrifice, theres no reward. The affirmation of the Staples
show was a blessing from God. Youve read the magazines, the gossips. Im not supposed to be here. But
here I am. Guess thats what happens when the potty mouth dont work for you anymore.

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Prince Hits N Runs N Talks! - Ebony interview Dec 22, 2015

HousequakeWednesday, December 23, 2015

The original article was published on the Ebony site Dec 22, 2015, but was taken down for reasons
unknown. Prince asked me to keep some secrets. I may still have a few, truth be told. This past summer, a
call went out to a few music journalists to visit the purple rock, Paisley Park Studios in Minneapolis.
Joshua Welton, 25, had a few words to share about producing his first Prince project, Hit N Run. The
operative word being few. After 10 minutes of talk, Prince himself entered Studio A and took over the
conversation for two enlightening hours, discussing everything from Jay Zs Tidal streaming service to the
origins behind Purple Rain and The Beautiful Ones, and the reformation of The Time. Bob Seger,
Esperanza Spalding, Kendrick Lamar and beyond.
Our couple of hours raced by faster than the accelerated voice of Camille. Then Prince disappeared, pulling
up later in front of Paisley Park in a Cadillac sports car to play his already finished, secret follow-up to Hit
N Run. On December 12, Hit N Run: Phase Two arrived on Tidal for streaming and digital download. So
now you know. The following is a feverish transcription of more of our August convo from the
summertime, previously unpublished. There may be more; Prince is full of secrets.
EBONY: Do you ever see yourself writing a memoir?
Prince: You ever heard of checking your list to see whos naughty and whos nice? I just let people talk. I
was talking to somebody about The Beautiful Ones. They were speculating as to who I was singing
about. But they were completely wrong.
If they look at it, its very obvious. Do you want him or do you want me, that was written for that scene
in Purple Rain specifically. Where Morris [Day] would be sitting with [Apollonia], and thered be this back
and forth. And also, The beautiful ones you always seem to lose, Vanity had just quit the movie. To then

167
speculate, Well, he wrote that song about me? Afterwards you go, Who are you? Why do you think that
youre part of the script that way? And why would you go around saying stuff like that?
So we just let people talk and say whatever they want to say. Nine times out of 10, trust me, whats out
there now, I wouldnt give nary one of these folks the time of day. Thats why I dont say anything back,
because theres so much thats wrong.
EBONY: But you could set the record straight.
I hadnt heard The Walk in ages. That can never be duplicated again. It was a time period.
Prince: Theres too much! They get down to, See, what he was thinking at that specific time was His
mindset at the time They psychoanalyze you.
There was one engineer who said that their sole purpose in life was to get the stuff out of the vault, and get
it copied so it wasnt lost to the world. Im trying to figure out if thats illegal. Should I fear for my safety
that you might need some medical attention? You want to come up in my vault and you feel like that
belongs to you and thats your purpose? You better find something to do. Thats scary.
EBONY: Youve never had a producer. What made you choose Joshua Welton for Hit N Run: Phase One?
Prince: His faith in God really struck a nerve. And you know how you can just feel that somethings gonna
work and it feels right, its a good fit? I knew the band was going to work, I knew the relationship with him
was gonna work. I check people out now to see how faith-based they are and how real they are about it.
That goes a long way, I gotta tell you. Because I can trust them. I can give him the key and dont have to
worry.
EBONY: A lot of initial media reports wanted to count out Tidal.
Prince: With a million-plus subscribers. Spotify has 10. So if you imagine a million people in front of you?
Thats a lot of people. So you gotta talk to them, and you getting ready to drop something, and all of em
are gonna get it. What do you wanna say? How are you gonna move all of em? Oh, now it gets interesting.
Its always going to be the peanut gallery and thats all right.
My thing is this. The catalog has to be protected. And some of our fans were actually disingenuous. Taking
the time to get their playlists together, and yeah, its gone. Now you got to actually go subscribe to get the
music that you lost on Spotify. Spotify wasnt paying, so you gotta shut it down.
EBONY: I talked to people about switching from Spotify to Tidal who didnt want to recreate their
playlists all over again.
Prince: Thats the line in the sand. That is exactly what Im talking about. When you make issue of those
things, that is exactly what ownership means. It doesnt mean that you just get pimped by somebody. And
none of our kids should be subject to this.
You cant give away Google. You cant give away the country. Nobody can just come up and just start
selling the Statue of Liberty, stuff like that. So the Prince catalog nowand again, I dont want to sound
like a megalomaniacbut I have to manage it, thats Americana now. You gave the Beatles $400 million
and then tried to squash the news? Thats why Apple held out. I had more albums than they did.
EBONY: Did you hear the last album by The Time, Condensate?

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Prince: No. You know, it was Morris playing drums and me on the bass. Thats how we would make the
basic track. Naked. Just like that, and nobody would know. And then when you put the keys on it and the
guitar, then thats what The Time was. And it was perfect. Going through it now, I can hear all that stuff.
Like The Walk. I hadnt heard The Walk in ages. Its like you cant believe that you did it. I dont even
know how its possible. I dont. I do but I dont. That can never be duplicated again. It was a time period.
His son [Derran Day] sings now, and look just like he did. So it should be like Steph and Dell Curry. Lets
do this. The Time can still be alive, he just needs to do it. Im gonna see him in a minute anyway to work
together. Musicians Im cool with. But other folks standing around talking about they gon take out the
vault? Boy
EBONY: Will you be remastering the catalog?
Prince: Hopefully, yeah. A new Greatest Hits. Because I never had anything to do with [The Hits/The B-
Sides]. But put great liner notes in it to explain what record came from what and why. Explain the
backstory of it. Somebody said Purple Rain was inspired by Bob Seger! I said, call him in. Sit down,
man. Yall got to have everything, huh? Bob Seger?! You gon put that in the ether? OK. [laughter]
EBONY: Lets talk about horns in your music. The lore is that you went to a Bruce Springsteen concert and
saw how much Clarence Clemons brought to winning his crowds over. And then you incorporated horns
into your live shows afterwards, with Eric Leeds on the Purple Rain Tour.
Prince: How do you get Hot Thing from Born in the USA? Cause thats where Eric shines, on Hot
Thing. But how do you get Madhouse from Dancing in the Dark? I have a lot of respect for Bruce and
everything hes done. Hes one of my favorite bandleaders of all time. But he wouldnt even say that.
But seriously, heres the thing. Theres half of me that understands that. Because I dont talk about it, they
have to fill in the gaps because theres nothing. Theres nobody saying anything about it. So they gotta say
something. But what I notice is that they keep naming names that theres no connection. Clarence Clemons
dont play funk. Theres nothing about Clarence thats funky. He plays old 50s saxophone that was on
those types of records, Frankie Valli and that type of stuff.
If you notice when Eric showed up, it was during the Purple Rain tour. And I was the only soloist in the
band if [Matt] Fink wasnt soloing. And he had his solos that were planned out. He didnt improvise.
Theres the channel and then theres the practiced, technical way that somebody plays. And Fink, hes
incredible at that: something hes practiced.
No Doubt, you know that group? Friends of mine. Came in here and jammed together. They dont know
how to jam. They dont know nothing about that. You get them to play one of their songs? Theyll pound
you in the ground. Girl jumping on top of tabletops and all of that, all kinds of stuff. But you get them to do
anything other than what they done practiced at the house, they dont know where they are. You know what
Im saying? Esperanza Spalding, thats a different story. Shes gonna actually lead.
So there was no other soloist in the band. So Eddie M., one of the horn players, and Eric was brought in.
But Clarence

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Clemons, thats just a sideman. One of the greatest sidemen in history, and hes a star in his own right.
Them two was nothing like that. Cmon, man. Thats a whole different thing. Clarencell smile and youll
forget every solo Eric ever did. Like Louis Armstrong. Beautiful dude. Aura was huge.
And you cant copy Bruce. I would never mess with somebody whom I respect and who was actually
gigging at the same time.
EBONY: Ive read The Beautiful Ones was based on Susannah Melvoin.
Prince: Any ballad like that, you know its not going to be about anything, uh, whats the word? Carnal. Its
not gonna even be based in flesh. Regardless of what Im singing about, its all spiritual. This is a channel.
Im trying to do Somewhere over the Rainbow. Its not about somebody human that Im looking at right
now. It wouldnt have worked if it was. This was literally for that character. And thats why it worked.
Everybody thinks the song is about them. This songs about me and the other ones about Bob Seger.
[laughter]
[Prince leaves Paisley Park Studios, pulls up later in a sportscar and plays Hit N Run: Phase Two in his
Cadillac. Plays Stare]
This bass is wicked, you understand? Thats why none of em will come to the gig anymore. Theyll just
stand in the back, because they know what they said. Making up all these names about people and giving
credit where credit aint due. Kendrick [Lamar], this is his year now. I asked him to come up here just to
visit. This is related: I told him, You got the whole year. Dont worry about it. Aint nobody gonna bother
you.
EBONY: I interviewed him for the June cover. He said he came to Paisley Park, but he wouldnt talk about
the conversation.
Prince: We talked about a lot of stuff. Listen. A lot of times I dont talk about the past because you cant do
it without naming names. Im not bitter by no stretch of the imagination. But I grew up poor, so Im used to
something: if its mine, Im used to it being mine. If somebody takes it from me, its taken. Its taken a lot
to get used to that. That, ok, youre somebody else. But Im like, thats my coat thats in Hard Rock Caf.
Theyre not supposed to have that. Get that outta there. And second of all: how did they get it? And then
theyll say, well, a bandmate. I say, oh really? Go get the band member and bring him to me. And then
they sit down and come in with their head down. I aint gonna say who it is, but thats what Im talking
about.
Why? What do I say to your wife now? I came on hard times, I dont know what to tell you. Now in
my heart, I forgive them. But like I said, its like, you wont hear from him anymore. See, back in the day,
he was making some comments too. Weve all had to deal with it, but I just, wow.
I didnt wanna go this far, because its about Hit N Run and Josh and all that, but this is where Baltimore
is. It starts this whole album. Check this out.
[Plays Baltimore]
And it goes right into this.
[Plays RocknRoll Love Affair]

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EBONY: How close is this to being?
Prince: Its done.
EBONY: Its done! My man
[Plays 2 Y.2.D.]
Prince: They say that stuff when I aint around. Aint nobody else heard this.
[Plays Look at Me, Look at U]
EBONY: Are you feeling more oriented to the bass lately?
Prince: Yes. I spent years on the guitar, so.
[Plays Groovy Potential]
This came out briefly on a file on SoundCloud or something, but never been on an album. You know the
sequencing is perfect into this one. This is driving music.
EBONY: You produced this album?
Prince: Yeah. Josh did the other one. And just so you know, where Josh is to me, hes like me, younger.
But Im trying to get him to cut through all the junk that I had to learn on my own. Im trying to throw it all
on his desk at once. Because he can grasp it. Hes learning quickly. Mixing is the thing that he appreciates.
Itll float. Itll literally levitate when you find the right spot for it. When he hears it, I see his light bulb go
on. If his light bulb didnt go on, I wouldnt waste the time. I would say maybe hell be a beat manufacturer
or something like that. But to do the whole thing, you need to learn how to make stuff float. And its hard.
It doesnt work all the time.
Paisley Park is an academy any which way you look at it. Musicians have gone through here. Weve
jammed, weve shared with one another. And ultimately theres now a storehouse of great music to learn
from, productions and arrangements you can study. And we pride ourselves with working with the best
people. Eric and those guys were some of them, but not the only ones. And so what people cant do is say,
oh, well, that team was better than any. Please. Its actually just getting better. Im not saying that cause
its us. I just hear it.
[Plays When She Comes.]

Recording like Al Green. I dont need no words. I dont need nothing. You know, Doug E. Fresh told me
we used to hang out when he was touring with ushe said, Man, Prince, Rakim is so bad, Prince, he dont
have no friends. Just no friends. I said, Why? Nobody wanna be around him, they just feel small. And
thats why I always know Im doing alright: nobody comes around. Be quiet around here. I love it just like
this.
EBONY: Did you do all the instruments on this?
Prince: No, no. Keyboards a little, just parts. Im getting in the habit of that now. I did it on one album a
long time ago. I love schooling musicians on just one track. You are gonna do a masterpiece today. You
just gotta listen. And when they get it, its so fun, because you see them go through what I go through. Its
magic, you know? You gotta feel that you did something magical. It all blends, and you get everybody to

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calm down and listen to when theyre playing and get outside of themselves, like theyre listening to the
record rather than playing it.
[Plays Black Muse]
This is the oldest one on here, and I loved it so much I just saved it.
EBONY: I like this album better than Hit N Run: Phase One. No disrespect.
Prince: Hit N Run sounds like today. Tidal is sinking money into it, and they need it. And my heart is
always on because I want them to do well. [Beyonc and Jay Z] have taken a lot of abuse, their family has.
A historic amount of abuse between the two of em. And when we win on this, none of usll gloat. Hes not
the gloating type anyway. Hes slick with his. He says to brush the dirt off your shoulder. Yall just need
to stop. Just calm down! Everybody calm down! There ya go.
When this does well, nobody gloats, we go about our business. But well do another one. And this is a way
for Josh to step up. Cause hes not gonna stay around here forever. So I gotta work with him while I can.
And you remember: Teddy Riley was under somebody before; Pharrell was under somebody before. Jimmy
and Terry were under me.
EBONY: America is my favorite Prince 12-inch, an extended version over 20 minutes long. Those 1980s
Prince singles werent remixes.
Prince: It blew my mind too. I brought them I Hate U and I thought it was one of the greatest records I
had ever done in years. And they said, Yeah man, this is dope. Now we gonna have Puffy do the remix.
Like, I was in shock. OK, Im out. That wasnt the reason; that was just another compound to the thing.
All the musicians that played on this, they go, He just records and he puts it in the vault. All of them have
stories. Hes recording stuff you would not believe. He just threw it away. I didnt throw it away. It just
has to be on the right project. And all of these fit together now. It reminds me of this time period. I can see
all of their faces. And this is probably the last record Ill do with Shelby J. Shes all in here too. And Andy
Allos singing background here too.
EBONY: Shelbys a powerhouse.
Prince: Sos Liv Warfield. Watch this though. [listening to a song transition] You know: where else would
it go except there? But before, I had that whole song starting another album sequence. And it didnt work.
So now, where its placed, its right where you wanna be at that point on the album.
[Plays Revelation]
EBONY: Housequake really starts with the end of Play in the Sunshine. Its not the same without that
interruption.
Prince: When I was doing that, thered be no way I could hear this. Now I think this is the best stuff. This is
Revelation. Thats Marcus Anderson on soprano.
EBONY: That moody keyboard effect works.
Prince: When I did the track, it was about an hour and a half of just messing around with the groove. He
just kept messing around with programming. When he got that one, it sounded like U Got the Look. I

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said: That. Stop. Then he didnt have to play that much on the keyboard. And thats why this song has the
sex appeal it does.
And those types of records you cant make unless you had a hit prior to that, you get what I mean? You do
it out of confidence. I can do anything now. So then you try anything. And thats what this is.
And thats when faith comes into it. [Listening to the end of Revelation] What thats about is Moses.
Remember they said he put his hand into his cloak and pulled it out and it was white? [Exodus 4:6] What
color was it before he put it in? So now we can start talking about that stuff. We couldnt do that until you
had a [Black] president. Couldnt do that until hip-hop.
Hip-hop is its own force now. It took a minute. And thats why Jay has to succeed. Our entities have to
succeed. Baby and Lil Wayne aint supposed to be fighting. Thats supposed to be where cooler minds sit
down and say, Check this out fellas: for all of us, stop. Cause we said so. Everybodys gonna calm
down. Rap aint gonna be a ghost town. Nobodys gonna shoot nobody.
Im saying: now we can start talking about this stuff. And without faith I was telling a friend of mine
who was here was that I wouldnt have met Josh if it wasnt for faith. We wouldnt have had nothing in
common. Hed have thought I was crazy, and vice versa.
Religion, when used properly, actually is like a health regimen. And theyre finding now that people who
have faith live longer. I mean, it says so in the book. Thats what its supposed to be. You aint supposed to
die. If theres God, then thats what God would be.
EBONY: What do you say to people who are more spiritual than religious?
Prince: Thats okay. Because eventually theyre gonna get more responsibility. And thats where religion
will come into it. Because you have to have some sort of glue thats gonna keep people honorable. Even if
youre thieves. And thats what religion is. Its order. Just think about it like that. The words been
muddied. We forget what it was in the beginning. Did you see Tut?
EBONY: No.
Prince: It was interesting. Cause thats the way it was in the beginning. And its all explained out there.
Remember: all of that was African. If you just look at it for its African properties, then everythings
straight. Its all in there. Every story is based upon that story, the story of Tut and his father. They just keep
retelling it in different ways. And the Bible is just the same story, that story, told different ways in several
different parts in the Bible. Once you know that, then you dont get overwhelmed by whats in the Bible.
Thats if its taught properly. You dont get overwhelmed by it, and theres nothing to fight about.
Like, this supposed to be like wings. Take you up higher. Now do your work from a higher place, get more
done, cover more ground, and whoop your competitors. Comparisons with this, that and the other, we never
thought of ourselves as having competition with anybody.
Miles Marshall Lewis is the Arts & Culture Editor of EBONY.com. Hes also the Harlem-based author of
Scars of the Soul Are Why Kids Wear Bandages When They Dont Have Bruises, Theres a Riot Goin On
and Irrsistible. Follow MML on Twitter and Instagram at @furthermucker, and visit his personal blog,
Furthermucker.

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A Final Visit With Prince: Rolling Stone's
Lost Cover Story
By Brian Hiatt, www.rollingstone.com
View Original
May 2nd, 2016

It is, in theory, a mundane sight, nothing 2 get excited about: just a 55-year-old man in his suburban
Minneapolis workplace, scrolling through a Windows Media Player library on a clunky Dell computer. An
equally ordinary multi-line phone sits beside it, near a lit candle, bottled water and some expensive-looking
lotion. A huge old Xerox machine looms over the desk; a window at the far end of the room looks out onto
barren trees and an empty, snow-lined highway. It's early evening on Saturday, January 25th, 2014, in
Chanhassen, Minnesota.

A journalist recalls his surreal 1999 visit to Prince's Paisley Park Studios, where he interviewed the late star
and watched him rehearse.

The office is on the second floor of the 65,000-square-foot Paisley Park compound. The little guy sitting at
the keyboard owns it all, had it all built back in the Eighties. And Prince being Prince, it's fascinating to
watch him do just about anything. The more ordinary the activity clicking a mouse, say the weirder it
feels. Prince has a large Afro, and he's dressed in dark, diaphanous layers, with a vest over a flowing long-
sleeved shirt, form-fitting grayish-black slacks, and sneakers with high Lucite heels that light up with every
step. He's wearing obvious makeup foundation, eyeliner, probably more. His thin, precision-trimmed
mustache extends just past his lips in a semicircle.

On characteristically short notice, Prince invited me here to report what we intend to be his seventh Rolling
Stone cover story. I spend seven hours at Paisley Park, and he sits for two lengthy, thoughtful, amiable
interviews. I was told not to curse or to ask about the past; though I eventually violate both rules, he invites
me to join him on the road later. In the end, however, he won't sit for a photo shoot, instead offering us pre-
prepared, heavily retouched pictures. The whole thing falls through. I hold on to my reporting, assuming,
all too correctly, that we will save the material for our next Prince cover.

That night, Prince doesn't look his age doesn't look any particular age, really. He's very thin, but not
fragile a strict vegan who, by his own account, sometimes doesn't eat at all ("I have gone long periods
with no food, and also water people have to remind me to drink water because I always forget to do
that"). He doesn't sleep enough, either, and he avoids sex: One of the most deliriously sensual performers
who ever lived the one who sang "Jack U Off" and "Gett Off" and "Do Me, Baby" insists he's celibate.
His reasons are both religious and "energy"-related ("The hunger turns into something else," he says),
though he maintains close relationships with several young female singer-songwriters. He is, at this stage in
his life, a kind of cheerful musical monk. "I am music," he says. Playing it is his greatest and perhaps only
pleasure. But he's been an ascetic even on that front as of late, recording less than ever, waiting four years
between albums. It'll stand as the longest break of his career.

Prince famously liberated himself from his record deal with Warner Bros. in 1996, and it apparently took
him years to realize that his freedom extended to not releasing music. "I write more than I record now, and
I also play live a lot more than I record," he says. "I used to record something every day. I always tease that
I have to go to studio rehab.

"I'm a very in-the-moment person," he continues. "I do what feels good in the moment....I'm not on a
schedule, and I don't have any sort of contractual ties. I don't know in history if there's been any musicians
that have been self-sufficient like that, not beholden. I have giant bills, large payrolls, so I do have to do

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tours....But there's no need to record anymore." He makes a direct connection between fasting, celibacy
and his abstention from recording. "After four days, you don't want food anymore. ...It's like this thing that
says, 'Feed me, feed me.' When it realizes it's not going to get fed, it goes away....It's the same with music.
I had to see what it's like to stop making albums. And then you go, 'Oh, wait a minute, I don't feel the need
to do that anymore.'"

Prince brings me up to the office to play tracks from Plectrum-Electrum, the album that would finally break
his recording fast. He chose from 100 or so songs laid down in one of the downstairs studios with his
recently formed backing band, 3rdEyeGirl the hardest-rocking ensemble he ever assembled. "All
recorded live, no punch-ins," he says. "You just do it till you get the take you like." (The album doesn't
come out for another eight months, by which time it's accompanied by a more traditional Prince LP called
Art Official Age.)

Prince and I meet for the first time a few minutes earlier, as he emerges from a rehearsal space with the
young women of the band. Hannah Welton, the drummer, a bubbly 23-year-old who looks like Carrie
Underwood and plays like John Bonham, introduces herself brightly: "Hi, I'm Hannah!" Prince laughs, not
unkindly, and imitates her, chirping "Hi, I'm Prince" in a high voice, as he reaches out a firm, businesslike
handshake. His actual speaking voice is deep, soft and calming, like a DJ on a smooth-jazz station.

As we walk along, he shows no sign of reported double-hip-replacement- surgery no limp, no cane, no

apparent discomfort. His brown eyes are alert, and his wit is quick looking back, it's nearly impossible to
square his affect with posthumous rumors of an opioid addiction. He claims not to feel the passage of time,
and says mortality doesn't enter his thoughts: "I don't think about 'gone.'" To the contrary, he is immersed in
the moment, invested in a creative future that he believes will be long and bright. The pause between
albums seems to have been healthy for him, as is the youthful, enthusiastic, near-worshipful presence of the
3rdEyeGirl members. For the first time in years, he's been opening up Paisley Park to local fans for
spontaneous events. There's talk of staging one of these shows on the night of my visit, though it evaporates
with no notice.

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On his way upstairs, Prince struts past a hallway decorated with a photographic timeline of his career
there's "Batdance" Prince, "Slave"-on-his-face Prince and even his 1985 Rolling Stone cover (he notes that
he refused to do a photo shoot, so we ran a still from a video that, in his considered opinion, made his teeth
look strange). "There's room for Purple Rain or the Super Bowl here," he notes of one empty space,
murmuring something about eventually turning Paisley Park into a museum. It already seems a bit like one:
a huge, dark, nearly empty space with only a skeleton crew on hand.

We stop at a mural where a painted image of Prince, arms spread, stands astride images of his influences
and artists he, in turn, influenced. He tests me, making sure I can recognize Chaka Khan and Sly and the
Family Stone, while giving me a pass on missing Tower of Power and Grand Funk Railroad.

Playing the album in his office, he charmingly takes pains to turn the player's visualizer function on,
providing state-of-2002 fractal accompaniment to the music. On a stand in the corner is a century-old
Portuguese guitar with a teardrop-shape body. A Canon telephoto lens with no camera attached sits atop a
couple of coffee-table books: Vanity Fair's Hollywood; Palaces of Naples. The walls of the office are
painted in a blue-skies motif, with the words "Dream Style" on one of them. Hanging on another wall is a

176
clock emblazoned with the cover of his 2007 album Planet Earth the only timepiece of any kind I see
anywhere in Paisley Park.

Between songs, Prince laments the state of a music industry he thinks is focused on anything but music.
"You're trying to find the personality first, make sure you've got that locked in," he says. "And it's better if
they got scandal on 'em or a reality show or sex tape. And they have it down to an art. They're getting street
cred for Justin Bieber now!"

He puts on one of the album's poppier tracks, the sweet throwback "Stopthistrain," with vocals from
3rdEyeGirl drummer Welton and her husband, Josh. I suggest, gently, that the song might fare best on the
charts if no one knows of its Prince connection. He nods. "That's kind of the blessing and a curse these
days," he says, "that I'm competing with [my] older music. And I don't know anybody who has to do that.
They always play Beyonc's latest track. But I go on Oprah and they want me to play what they
remember."

He ends by previewing a couple of songs from what will become Art Official Age, excusing himself from
the room when he gets to the wailing ballad "Breakdown." The breakup-themed lyrics seem particularly
personal: "I used to throw the party every New Year's Eve/First one intoxicated, last one to leave/Waking
up in places that you would never believe/Give me back the time, you can keep the memories." Afterward,
he confirms that the song comes from a "sensitive...nude" place: "You could touch it and it would just hurt
instantly."

Before Prince sits for an interview, there is another test. I sit and chat with the members of 3rdEyeGirl in a
cavernous atrium, where the black carpet is decorated with Prince's old symbol and the words "NPG Music
Club," and the motorcycle from Purple Rain is on display above. We gather on a purple couch that is
noticeably frayed, and they explain their unlikely origins. The bassist, taciturn Denmark native Ida Nielsen,
arrived first, joining Prince's bigger funk band, the latest incarnation of the New Power Generation, which
he's still gigging with as well. Prince tells me how she beat out an old bandmate of his who re-auditioned:
"She was eight times better than him, and she was new."

Prince specifically wanted a female band, seeking out members via YouTube back in 2010, he had
discovered Nielsen on MySpace. "We're in the feminine aspect now," he says. "That's where society is.
You're gonna get a woman president soon. Men have gone as far as they can, right?...I learn from women
a lot quicker than I do from men....At a certain point, you're supposed to know what it means to be a man,
but now what do you know about what it means to be a woman? Do you know how to listen? Most men
don't know how to listen."

I ask 3rdEyeGirl's guitarist, Donna Grantis, who has a half-shaved head and Hendrixian chops, about her
influences. "Prince," she says, flatly. Her husband, a pleasant rocker dude named Trevor Guy, came along
with her and ended up working closely with Prince, serving some managerial functions. (Prince believes
artists shouldn't have managers: "You should be a grown man, be able to man-age yourself.") Josh,
Welton's husband, an R&B-singer-turned-producer, also became part of the Paisley family, working on
some of Prince's final albums. They've all been living in a nearby hotel for a year and a half, spending at
least six days a week in Paisley Park. They come off as members of a benign cult. "It's sort of like an
alternate reality," says Grantis. "It's an alternate universe being here, because we're in this awesome bubble
of, like, making music all day. I have no idea what the date is or what day it is."

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As we talk, I glance over my shoulder and realize that Prince has at some point materialized behind me,
silently eavesdropping. He nods and moves away again into the darkness. The band and I go into the
industrial kitchen, where we're served dinner, and I am soon summoned into the control room of the
complex's Studio A, where Prince sits at the mixing desk. "This room was built in '87, and the first record I
did in here was Lovesexy," he says. "We never really got this room clickin' like any of my home studios or
the hot-rodded boards I used in Los Angeles when I had a record deal. It's real cozy and private I just
kinda wished it sounded like what goes on in my head. And I've been tinkering with things forever....I
suppose I will keep messing with it or another generation will."

We talk of many things, and his ban on discussing the past turns out to be slightly flexible. He makes a
point of noting that his reputation as the puppet master behind the Time and even Vanity 6 was
exaggerated. "It was all collaborative," he says. "It's not just my vision. It's one thing to say, 'You know
what would be cool?' and visualize it...but then you've got to actually find the people. [The Time's] Morris
Day is as good as any funk drummer who ever did it. And Vanity? Nobody could talk like her." He's most
passionate and lucid when he talks about music: "'Rock Steady' by Aretha Franklin, 'Cold Sweat' by James
[Brown], all the Stax records, Ike and Tina Turner we took it for granted, thinking that music would
always be like that. That was just normal to us."

There are frequent, sometimes tricky-to-follow digressions: He seems to have branched out from his study
of the Bible, which began in earnest when he became a Jehovah's Witness under the tutelage of bassist
Larry Graham. "It's just all expanded," he says. "Anything I believed then, I believe even more now it's
just expanded." While still deeply Christian, he's also spent time studying what appears to be an Afro-
centric interpretation of history, along with the physics of sound, some Eastern ideas (chakras are "science,"
he says) and a selection of unabashed conspiracy theories. He has thoughts on the JFK assassination ("The
car slows down why doesn't it speed up?"); AIDS ("It's rising in some communities, and it's not rising in
others any primate could figure out why"); and the airplane trails known in some circles as chemtrails
("Think about where they appear, why they appear, how often and what particular times of the year").

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At one point, the phone rings: It's the young British singer-songwriter Delilah. Prince's voice suddenly gets
even deeper. "I know it's late there," he purrs into the handset. "I'm going to will you awake." On a possibly
related note, Prince says he's unsure if he'll marry again. "That's another thing that's up to God," he says.
"It's all magnetism anyway something would pull me into its gravity, and I wouldn't be able to get out
from it."

We take a break and head to Paisley Park's empty nightclub, where 3rdEyeGirl are waiting onstage. "I can
take you out there and hit this guitar for you," Prince promised earlier, "and what you'll hear is sex. You
will hear something where you'd run out of adjectives, like you do when you meet the finest woman." He
wants to prove that 3rdEyeGirl can activate my chakras, so he seats me on a stool onstage, no more than
three feet away from him. He picks up a custom Vox guitar the brand some of James Brown's guitarists
played. "You're gonna start vibrating in a second," he tells me, and kicks the band into the fiery Seventies
fusion instrumental "Stratus," tearing through solos that arc endlessly upward. He warned of goose bumps,
and delivers.

Afterward, the band does a photo shoot in Studio C one shot is intended for the cover of a "Stopthistrain"
single that never actually comes out. Prince disappears for a while before returning with a MacBook that
has Delilah live on Skype he shows her the shoot via webcam. It's past midnight when we begin talking
again. He mentions a desire to mentor Chris Brown, says he invited him to Paisley Park. I note that some
people think what Brown did to Rihanna was unforgivable. He's shocked. "Unforgivable?" he says.
"Goodness. That's when we go check the master, Christ....Have you ever instantly forgiven somebody?" I
shake my head. "It's the best feeling in the world, and it totally dismantles that person's whole stance."

He talks more about mentoring and helping peers, so I wonder aloud if he thinks he could've forestalled
Michael Jackson's fate. "I don't want to talk about it," Prince says at first. "I'm too close to it." He goes on:
"He is just one of many who have gone through that door Amy Winehouse and folks. We're all
connected, right, we're all brothers and sisters, and the minute we lock that in, we wouldn't let anybody in
our family fall. That's why I called Chris Brown. All of us need to be able to reach out and just fix stuff.
There's nothing that's unforgivable."

He seems to be hinting at past problems of his own, so I ask if he was ever self-destructive. His eyebrows
shoot up. "Self-destructive? I mean...do I look self-destructive?" This leads him to a disquisition on why
he avoids talking about the past. "People say, 'Why did you change your name?' and this, that and the other.

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I'm here right now, doing what I'm doing right now, and all of the things I did led up to this. And there is no
place else I'd rather be than right now. I want to be talking to you, and I want you to get it."

We talk about retirement. "I don't know what that is," he says. "There's always some way to serve....It
feels like I'm teaching at a school, but also a student at one. I never felt like I had a job does that make
sense? So those words, 'job' and 'retire'..."

He tries to explain why he can imagine playing into old age, with a dizzying detour into mysticism via the
Wachowskis. "Life spans are getting longer," he says. "One of the reasons is because people are learning
more about everything, so then the brain makes more connections. Eventually, we'll be in eternal brain
mode because we'll be able to hold eternity in our minds. A lot of people can't do that. If you can't think all
the way back eternally, you can't think all the way forward eternally. Everybody usually thinks about a
beginning, a big bang. If you take that event out, then you can start to see what eternity is. Remember in
The Matrix where they said the only thing that has an ending had a beginning, and vice versa?"

It's nearly 2 a.m., and Prince is done for the night. He walks me through the depths of Paisley Park, his
shoes glowing in the dark, to retrieve my jacket and bag. As we walk, I hear doves cry actual doves that
live in a cage somewhere in the rafters. As I put on my coat, Prince invites me to join the band in London.
The zipper catches badly on the way up. "Fuck," I say, and my host looks stricken.

"So much for not cursing," he says.

I apologize. Prince looks me in the eyes, and wraps me in a tight hug. I am, as promised, dismantled by his
instant forgiveness. I can still feel that embrace as I walk outside, where moonlight shines on a thick layer
of immaculate, freshly fallen snow.

Prince ruminated on sex, music and death in a previously unpublished 2014 interview. See excerpts from
the interview below.

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