by Hahn, Alex
The Rise of Prince: 1958-1988
ALEX HAHN
LAURA TIEBERT
Copyright © 2017 by Alex Hahn and Laura Tiebert
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof by any means
Mat Cat Press Paperback 2017
Front and back design by Michelle Palko-Smith
Front and back photography by Paul Natkin
All interior photography by Paul Natkin except where indicated
ISBN-13: 978-0692839249
ISBN-10: 0692839240
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means- graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems-without written permission of the publisher.
In Memory of Nicole Hahn Rafter
1938-2016
Also In Memory of Prince Rogers Nelson
1958-2016
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
1. Migration
2. Dandelions
3. Basements
4. Grand Central
5. Graduation
6. Demands
7. Record Sense
8. Bandmates
9. Against the Wall
10. No Girls Allowed
11. Battle I
12. Rough Mix
13. Ragged Edges
14. Exaggerations
15. Frankenstein’s Monster
16. Shock and Satisfaction
17. Battle II
18. Smorgasbord of Attitude and Vibe
19. Dreams Come True
20. Typecast
21. Backlash
22. Prince and the Counterrevolution
23. The End
24. Masterpiece
25. Asterisk
26.Don’t Buy The Black Album
27. Not Confused Anymore
28. Albert Understands Me
Epilogue
Acknowledgments and Source Notes
Endnotes
Foreword
How many bands around the world played “Purple Rain” or another Prince song on or near April 21, 2016, in settings ranging from arenas to dive bars? Chances are it was thousands.
On April 23, Bruce Springsteen performed a passionate and faithful version of “Purple Rain.” Pearl Jam followed suit. Then, Jimmy Buffett. At the Coachella music festival on April 23, the idiosyncratic folk artist Sufjan Stevens performed yet another “Purple Rain.” The same night at the festival, perhaps doing Prince the greatest justice, the techno outfit LCD Soundsystem ripped through a pained, pulsating rendition of “Controversy.”
Every musician in the world, it seemed, wanted to say goodbye.
I learned of Prince’s death at about 1:30 p.m. while writing in a coffee shop in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It was my 50th birthday. The artist who had most defined my adult life was gone. The term “living legacy,” long applicable to Prince’s work, was now legacy only.
But what a legacy it was.
Prince’s death, and the worldwide outpouring of emotion that followed, underscored the enormity of his accomplishments as a songwriter, instrumentalist, performer, and cultural figure. Perhaps not since the death of John Lennon had we lost a musician of such influence and impact.
How to choose the domain where Prince’s footprint was the largest? As a performer in the concert setting, where his skills, commitment, and energy never flagged across a nearly 40-year career? As the creator of an album and rock film, Purple Rain, whose impact rivals any such effort in music history? As a multi-instrumentalist who riffed with equal mastery on guitar, synthesizer, piano, drums, and bass? As the composer of innumerable pop hits that have not only stood the test of time, but long ago became timeless?
As fans and observers, we all have our own answer. And they are all correct.
The Beatles forever redefined the use of melody in pop and rock. Jimi Hendrix’s inimitable guitar work redefined the instrument. But just as importantly, Prince created a hybrid style that began to redefine pop music immediately upon its arrival. He blended multiple constituent elements – the funk of James Brown, the synths and drum machines of New Wave, the melody of Top 40 pop, the energy of hard rock, and even the angst of punk – in a manner no pop artist had remotely conceived of. By no more than 90 seconds into “Controversy” – perhaps the first definitive expression of Prince’s vision – a new direction for popular music had been set.
The influence of that sound would reverberate through the subsequent decades and beyond, permeating countless subgenres of music. That Prince altered the trajectory of music in the late 20th century is not in doubt. But well into the 21st, not just a portion, but rather a preponderance of contemporary artists continue to owe him a direct debt.
That any of this occurred was hardly preordained. Michael Jackson, by contrast, had a pedigree and inherited apparatus that promised a shot at stardom. The Beatles were bestowed with such melodic ability that their impact seemed divinely prefigured. Prince’s path was different, and never remotely as obvious. Nothing was ever guaranteed to a shy black kid from Minneapolis, a skinny motherfucker with a high voice and a huge Afro.[1] He succeeded because his talent, as bountiful as it was, was exceeded by his work ethic and ceaseless energy.
But if no one had ever achieved superstardom in the same manner, Prince left a roadmap that seemingly anyone could follow. Get a multi-track machine and start laying down ideas; form a band that includes girls and boys, blacks and whites, straights and gays. Have the men dress like women, and vice versa. Welcome everyone, and allow anything.
But Prince also taught us this: when making musical recordings, you can, and probably should, go it alone. Be a complete auteur, and insist upon executing your vision without any intermediary between yourself and the recording console. Like a poet or novelist, you must embrace the solitary life.
Prince never wavered from these core precepts, and it is unlikely that any musician in the history of recorded sound has spent so many hours alone playing and writing. The takeaway for aspiring musicians is apparent: there is no need to be dependent on anyone.
***
Of course, there are aspects of Prince’s legacy that ultimately must be wrestled with, rather than unapologetically celebrated. Specifically, there is the conundrum of his recordings from roughly 1989 through 2016, which have engendered endless debate about whether, or to what extent, Prince returned to the form that characterized his strongest work. Of course, Prince had erected for himself (and others) an impossible standard; his output from 1980-1988 constitutes one of the most prolific runs of brilliance in the history of pop music, one that rivals the heydays of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan.
Few would disagree that Prince’s efforts became less consistent from 1989-2003, and that the sheer volume of his output became at times overwhelming. But he nonetheless released plenty of indelible songs during that period, as well as several albums, such as The Gold Experience (1995) and Emancipation (1996) that were remarkably consistent and coherent.
Likewise, Prince’s recorded output from 2004 to 2016 has spawned considerable debate, and he himself stoked this controversy by releasing material in a puzzling manner, such as via the sprawling three-album set LotusFlow3r (2009), which was initially available as a physical CD solely in the United States, and there only in Target stores. But in hindsight, one can more easily discern that the first disc of that collection features musicianship that is an extraordinary combination of looseness, discipline, and ingenuity. And it is also poignantly clear that Prince had brilliant music left in him, as shown,
for example, by the cuts “Way Back Home,” “June,” and “Black Muse” from his final three albums, songs that some see as ranking with his strongest work.
Ultimately, the notion that Prince’s career at some point entered into a steady downward trend is not only unsuited to the moment, but also frankly not accurate. For example, Prince’s live performances during the past 15 years demonstrated that in this area, he remained an ascending talent, not one in decline.
Indeed, Prince played some of the most memorable concerts of his career in the last months of his life. These shows featured him alone at a piano, performing songs from across his canon and astonishing attendees with the expressiveness of his playing. Casual and hardcore fans alike were often literally brought to tears by renditions of “Purple Rain,” “Condition of the Heart,” and “Strange Relationship.” That the shows took place in venues such as the Sydney Opera House underscored the once-in-a-lifetime quality of the events.
If only that had not been so true.
***
And then, there was that guitar playing. This element of Prince’s repertoire – so incandescent from the outset – actually improved over the last decade of his life, showing greater focus, depth, and feeling.
In the immediate aftermath of his death, articles and television reports frequently recalled Prince’s solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” at a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame event in 2004. The performance of the song, by a Tom Petty-led supergroup, had been arranged to commemorate George Harrison’s posthumous induction to the hall. Prince himself was inducted the same night, but his guitar playing delivered an emphatic message: formal accolades mean nothing next to the visceral act of creating music. Certainly, George Harrison would have approved of the supergroup’s faithful rendition of his mournful composition. But in another respect, he was being blown off the stage.
In the days following his death, fans and critics also fondly recalled Prince’s performance at the Super Bowl in 2007, which dominated that year’s quintessentially all-American entertainment event. Indeed, the game itself proved forgettable in comparison to a performance that was immediately celebrated as the greatest in the history of the event.
Perhaps, then, Prince’s last decade will be remembered as a time when he cemented his legacy as an entertainer of the masses, but in a manner that enhanced, rather than detracted from, his reputation as a musician. How many classic songs he created during this time, or at any time following his creative peak, may ultimately be beside the point.
***
While events like the Super Bowl confirmed him as a world-class attraction, it was Prince’s famed “afterparties” that connected him most intensely with his fans. Typically, Prince would arrive at a small club in the wee hours following an arena show earlier in the night. Notoriously, it was this exhausting pace that burned through his band members and road managers so quickly. But Prince, feeding on the energy of his fans, delivered some of his rawest, raunchiest shows in these settings.
I saw one such show in Boston in 1988, in a club packed with people who had learned about the “secret” show. Joshing with us, Prince remarked, “I thought this was supposed to be a mellow little afterparty.” We all went crazy. So much for that.
As usual, Prince wore a knowing, slightly arrogant smirk. But for a moment, I saw something else. There was a hint of vulnerability on his face and gratitude in his eyes. He was happy to be alive, loved his work, and appreciated being among his most affectionate fans.
“I never had so many buddies,” Prince said.
He had that right.
Alex Hahn
Boston, Massachusetts
February 2017
Prologue
The Last December
“You will understand the action of the Thaumatrope….on turning around the card, the consequence is that you see both sides at once.”
- John Aytron Paris (1827), describing the operation of the child’s toy known as a Thaumatrope, which blends two contradictory images into a single picture.
“I like dreaming now more than I used to. Some of my friends have passed away and I see them in my dreams.”
- Prince, January 21, 2016 at Paisley Park
“Only Prince had a key and he was the one who would let people in or out.”
- Paisley Park Police Incident Report, 2013
1.
It cannot fairly be said that death preoccupied Prince Rogers Nelson, who preferred to celebrate communal experience, carnal pleasure, and the sheer joy of musical expression. More accurately, it was a dark subject that he kept at bay. This is not surprising; Prince had a lifelong pattern of pushing painful thoughts into the recesses of his psyche.
In December 1986, at the very peak of his creative powers, he legendarily erased “Wally,” a song that his longtime engineer, Susan Rogers, felt was the most emotionally candid work he had ever created. About a year later, after completing the anarchic and graphic Black Album, he abruptly became frightened and repulsed by it and scrapped the record’s release. And when making the 1986 film Under the Cherry Moon, he insisted upon the death of his character Christopher Tracy, whom he again felt represented an unacceptable part of his personality.
“It was a turning point for Prince – he was killing off this character who was part of himself,” observed former associate Howard Bloom. In late 1980, Bloom engaged Prince in a lengthy series of psychoanalysis-like discussions which helped fuel the publicity campaign for the album Dirty Mind. But by the time of Under the Cherry Moon, Prince was beginning to disown those parts of his psyche that felt threatening. In one cut of the film, Tracy survived and achieved redemption; in the version that Prince adamantly insisted upon releasing, he was assassinated.[1]
This pattern of erasing pieces of his own personality that he deemed unacceptable extended even to his homes in the Minneapolis area. Rather than simply moving out or selling his residences, he was instead apt to destroy them. In 2005, in the midst of a divorce from Manuela Testolini, he bulldozed his large residence on a 149-acre estate in Chanhassen. This followed his demolition in 2003 of another former residence, the famed purple house on Kiowa Trail on Lake Riley in Chanhassen, where Prince’s father had been living until his death in 2001.[2]
Throughout his life, this tendency to excise unwanted things recurred in unusual ways. In 2014, he engaged a young photographer, Maya Washington, to shoot the image that would that year grace the cover of the album Art Official Age and would be adapted, in an illustrated form, for the covers of his final two albums. But those images themselves were nearly destroyed.
“He had a freak-out where he wanted me to delete everything,” Washington related later. Only narrowly did she convince Prince that the photos should be saved.[3]
It is not clear what disturbed Prince about the images that Washington shot inside Paisley Park, although perhaps he was uncomfortable acknowledging his appearance as that of a man in his mid-50s. Even in the final airbrushed version of the cover, much of Prince’s face is obscured by sunglasses, his large afro, and a turtleneck. But whatever its proximate cause, Prince’s impulse to eradicate the photos is entirely consistent with his lifelong tendency to eliminate things that troubled him.
When tragedy occurred, this propensity surfaced again in the form of public denial and manipulation of narratives. The death of his son shortly after the baby’s birth in 1996 – an axial event in Prince’s life – was followed by repeated insistences that nothing was amiss. It would have been one thing to treat this calamity as an entirely private matter; it was another altogether to announce on The Oprah Winfrey Show that his son was fine and to show the host around a nursery that had been prepared for him.[4]
After creating counterfactual narratives, Prince would cope by escaping to the recording studio, where his solitude was complete, or to the stage, where adoration and applause drowned out negative feelings. But regardless of what method of retreat was chosen, he remained essentially alone; all crises in his life would be handled wit
h neither assistance nor consultation.
This tendency towards social, psychological, and physical retreat had emerged from a very early age, and became more deeply entrenched over time. Prince, somewhere at his core, had a profound desire to genuinely connect with others, and to enjoy a sense of community. And yet, when his ties to friends, bandmates, or lovers strengthened to a point of deep intimacy, he would usually pull away, often decisively. “He always found a way to separate himself from people who cared about him or loved him,” recalled Paul Mitchell, one of Prince’s closest friends throughout his teenage years. “He could never be in a really meaningful relationship with anyone, be it male or female or relative.”[5]
With all of this in mind, it is ironic that, in the final few years of his life, Prince began, albeit gradually and tentatively, to grapple with his own vulnerabilities and with an acceptance of mortality. In 2014, he wrote a landmark song, “Way Back Home,” which acknowledged his tendency towards self-isolation and spoke of a struggle to find a sense of peace that had always eluded him. Despite his impulse to destroy the photographs taken by Maya Washington, he treated this young woman as a genuine collaborator throughout their sessions. And beginning in 2014, discarding some of his rock star pretenses, he opened his Paisley Park complex to fans on a regular basis and interacted informally with them at these dance parties, providing extraordinary access to himself and his home. Finally, the death in early 2016 of an old friend – the beautiful woman he had dubbed “Vanity” – would prompt much more public emotion than had previous losses in his life.
