Episodes
Saturday Apr 23, 2016
Prince: Not Getting It, But Getting It
Saturday Apr 23, 2016
Saturday Apr 23, 2016
By Jim Shearer
I am not a fan of Prince’s music. Never have been, although it’s not for a lack of trying.
You probably don’t agree with me, but at least give me credit for not blindly gushing, like so many are guilty of doing.
(Also, let's be clear, if I'm at a party and hear "Kiss" or "1999" it's not like I'm gonna go sulk in the corner.)
His music, for my tastes, will forever be stuck in the 1980’s. To this day, when I hear the production on “Let’s Go Crazy”, I can’t escape the smell of popcorn, dirty socks, and carpeted-walls from grade school skating parties. Sexually-drenched lyrics aside, I always thought Prince’s music sounded like a Sunday worship gospel band from one of those mega-churches—one that had a big budget for keyboards and electric drum pads.
But, damn it, I am going to miss him.
I loved the buttons and boundaries he pushed in his career, his fearlessness, his grace, his defiance, his SWAGGER. I could imagine him walking into a room and having Paul McCartney sit up straight.
I loved that Prince kept it local, living in his own Paisley Park paradise…in Minnesota.
Though I didn’t care for his music, I’d be an ignorant fool to not admit his live shows were stamps on the Passport of Life. You can’t hate on someone who put that much thought, care, sweat, and passion into their craft.
I loved that he loved basketball, all 5’2” of him.
I loved that he threw all-night ragers that ended with early-morning pancake breakfasts.
When he was warned that it would be raining during his Super Bowl Halftime performance, he asked if it could rain harder. (Of course he did!)
I loved that I never knew if he was sneering or smiling…or both.
I loved when Prince stuck it to his record label and changed his name to a symbol.
I loved when artists were more honored to be presented with a Grammy from him, than actually winning a Grammy itself.
When Baltimore was boiling over with racial tension last year, I loved that Prince intervened with his Rally 4 Peace concert. (And I loved that he continued to spell words with numbers.)
Prince was protective of his art, the reason why no social-media minded teenager could use his music—not even for 15 seconds —to make another piece of mindless and disposable digital content.
Prince’s guitar solo at the 2004 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony—you know the one I’m talking about—will forever be humbling. It’s like getting to see Michael Jordan dunk over Michelangelo as both of them create their latest masterpieces.
In an age where everyone knows what we ate for dinner last night because we posted pictures on 10 different messaging platforms, it was magically wonderful that we knew little about Prince’s personal life. Even when beans were spilled (thanks to Chappelle’s Show), it somehow added to his mystique.
These days people throw around the words “literally,” “epic,” and “rock-star,” but for those who choose their words wisely: Prince was literally an epic rock-star.
That’s not hyperbole, that’s fact.
So, yes, I am not a fan of Prince’s music, but I’m definitely a fan of Prince.
Respect.
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