Today, on what would've been Prince Rogers Nelson's 60th birthday, an unreleased live Prince album from the 80s was announced by his estate and label. I will be waiting anxiously throughout this summer for its arrival on September 21. I'm a fan. From the first time I heard "I Wanna Be Your Lover" as an eight-year-old, I was intrigued. My very young ears hadn't heard anything that slinked and strutted like the falsetto and guitar on Prince's first major hit in the US. It was different than other popular music of that time and felt...naughty might not be the right word, but I definitely felt like it was music that older people (you know...teenagers) listened to. Not a naive 3rd grader. I'm sure other kids around that age felt similar mischievous glee when they heard "Erotic City," "Darling Nikki", or "Sexy MF" for the first several times, years later. Prince's music was certainly something to hide from overbearing, anxiety-ridden parental units, depending on the release in question.
I was a child of the 80s - raised on radio, babysat by MTV, and thankfully exposed to enough random elements of pop culture to last a lifetime. Prince was a huge part of that. I saw Purple Rain in the theater. Owned the soundtrack album. Had the posters on my wall. Was routinely spouting off (to anyone that would listen to a 13 year-old's reasoning) about how Prince was truly a musical genius. I even had a purple, Prince and the Revolution Velcro wallet. Hey, I was 13. Despite the silkscreen image of Prince on the wallet's exterior looking more like John Oates than the purple wonder himself, it seemed like the right move at the time. Teenage logic...
Losing anyone from the era that gave shape and meaning to my life is painful enough, but when I heard the news that Prince had died, my jaw unhinged as it did nearly seven years prior when it was announced that Michael Jackson had passed away. I was in a courthouse on April 21, 2016, watching my Turkish sister-in-law take part in her naturalization ceremony to become an official US citizen. Just before things were about to begin, I overheard someone close by say something unintelligible about Prince in a tone that didn't sound positive. I whipped out my phone and did a quick search to discover that Prince was no longer of this Earth. I was floored. Seconds later, the packed room was reminded to turn off all phones during the proceedings. I sat there for the next hour or more, in awe. That stunning news, as well as the humbling, inspirational process unfolding before my eyes, fought for supremacy inside my frozen body. Once my sis was officially a US citizen and the picture-taking and celebration completed for a minute, I hopped back online to confirm that it wasn't a hoax (oh how I was wishing it was). My gut sank. My eyes started to water up a bit (as they had been doing for the opposite reasons of joy and humility throughout that morning) and I began to process the unthinkable.
Like many others, Prince's music sound tracked my youth, got me on the dance floor, and took me to many places that music previously hadn't. Alexander Nevermind, Christopher, TAFKAP...whatever moniker he went by, Prince was a mercurial mashup. The best parts of James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, and Stevie Wonder, all in one dimunitive, ass-kicking package.
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