The Rise of Prince 1958-1988

by Hahn, Alex

  The tour resumed on March 9, 1981 before a hometown Minneapolis crowd at First Avenue. From there, riding the Bloom-generated wave of positive publicity, ticket and album sales for the Dirty Mind tour improved. Prince’s management focused on urban centers, seeking to consolidate an audience of artists, intellectuals, rebels, and students. Shows at clubs in Boston and Chicago sold out, and the tour returned to the Ritz in Manhattan on March 22, a show again attended by luminaries, including Mick Jagger.

  With the mood around the tour now much lighter, Prince began a flirtatious friendship with Jill Jones, a back-up singer for opening act Teena Marie. Jones, 17, was no stranger to the music industry, having started with Marie at age 15, and was the daughter of a fashion model and a jazz drummer. Among the famous musicians she had known growing up was family friend Rick James, a frequent guest at Jones family barbecues. Despite her age, Jones was self-aware and underawed by fame, and her interactions with Prince had a saucy edge. This dynamic, as well as her hard-to-get approach, further piqued his interest. Jones was in turn mesmerized by Prince’s musical talent. “Prince’s shows were electric,” she recalled. “People just went crazy.”[203] Jones also became friends with Andre; Prince, to discourage him from making any advances, falsely told him that Jones was married.[204]

  But even as the tour’s fortunes improved, another dynamic began shifting within the band. During the hiatus, Dez Dickerson had experienced a life-changing epiphany in his living room in North St. Paul, becoming a born-again Christian as a result. While this did not radically change Dickerson’s personality – he remained self-effacing and low-key – it increased concerns he had already been harboring over Prince’s increasingly explicit lyrics.

  Dickerson did not raise his misgivings with Prince, but shared with the bandleader the spiritual change he had undergone. “He was like, ‘Oh, that’s cool. I’ve got my relationship with God, and you’ve got yours,’” Dickerson remembered. But while the exchange was pleasant, it was clear that the guitarist’s moral views were increasingly incompatible with the music the band was playing on a nightly basis.

  ***

  After the conclusion of the Dirty Mind tour, the band prepared for a brief European swing. It was now apparent that the album had ultimately triumphed in a manner that transcended record sales or hit singles. Prince’s instincts about releasing Dirty Mind in its demoed form had been vindicated; just as he, Fargnoli, and Cavallo had hoped, the album had helped mark the transition from the glossy, bombastic sounds of the 1970s to a tighter, more compact aesthetic.

  During a triumphal interview with an alternative publication, Prince reveled in the album’s stripped-down approach.

  “It’s not going to win any awards [for production],” he said in a manner that made clear his disdain for such accolades. “I used to be a perfectionist – too much of one. The ragged edges tend to be a bit truer.”[205]

  14. Exaggerations

  As Prince and the band headed overseas in late May 1981 for three shows in Amsterdam, London, and Paris, and as media interest grew, one question was how much of Prince’s true biography to reveal and how much to fictionalize. Both Prince and Howard Bloom wished to create an air of intrigue, raising the possibility of inflating the dramatic elements of his life story.

  At the same time, Prince’s history, even in an unadulterated form, contained enough pathos and pain to intrigue journalists. Thus, as he sat for interviews in Europe and the United States during the Dirty Mind campaign, elements of his childhood were conveyed accurately, such as his father leaving his family when Prince was seven. Other aspects of the story, however, were distorted or misrepresented. Dirty Mind was characterized as being wholly autobiographical, right down to the depiction of incest on “Sister.” Meanwhile, he consistently misrepresented his ethnic heritage. In one interview, his father John L. Nelson was a mix of black and Italian and his mother was Italian and “something else.” In another, his father became part Italian and part Filipino.

  His misstatements were prompted in part by one thing that he did convey truthfully: he had become estranged from his family. This was hardly surprising in the case of his mother, given the traumatic circumstances that had caused him to leave home at age 12. But his father had supported his musical activities throughout his teen years, and their relations had been friendly. Somehow, however – and the reason was not made clear – that relationship too had foundered.

  Even apart from his family relationships, Prince’s sources of emotional intimacy had diminished. His long association with Andre Cymone was in its twilight, with the bassist about to depart the band for good following the European shows. His relationship with Dez Dickerson had begun to cool somewhat following the guitarist’s religious conversion. Prince’s relationships with women, meanwhile, were characterized mainly by lust as opposed to emotional connection. It was primarily with the gay Lisa Coleman that he began developing something close to a friendship.

  Still, the atmosphere around the band remained upbeat during the brief European swing. Prince explored the urban counterculture of Paris, Amsterdam, and London, and came away stimulated. Prince’s show in London, however, drew only about 75 people, demonstrating that the media buzz around Dirty Mind was not translating into ticket sales. But Prince’s demeanor remained relaxed and enthusiastic, including with the press. Although he scoffed to reporters that he didn’t like interviews, he also discouraged one journalist from ending their conversation, offering to answer more questions.

  During another interview, he criticized Warners for impeding his progress. “I was conned into thinking I only had to establish a black American audience, instead of what I really wanted to do,” he said.[206]

  In addition to sowing mystery about his ethnic origins, Prince knew that some fans and journalists assumed he was gay or bisexual. His attire certainly suggested this; that his lyrics were directed towards women was perhaps irrelevant, given the large number of gay artists who did the same.

  A newly written song, “Jack U Off,” was sure to create further debate on this score. Although band members were aware that he was straight, the sexual acts that Prince described himself performing in the song had strong homoerotic overtones, whether intended or not. “When you talk about street lingo, where I come from, guys don’t jack girls off,” Mark Brown noted. “But I don’t think Prince knew that, he was just in his own world.”

  Prince, who as a result of Lisa’s presence in the band was becoming more conversant with gay culture, did not seem uncomfortable with perceptions that he might be at least bisexual. If anything, this could generate media curiosity, as well as further establish him as a unifying, cross-cultural figure. “What I like most about my audience is there are blacks and whites, straights and gays, conservative and non-conservative, and they’re all having a good time,” he told one European journalist.

  Religious themes were also on his mind, and he told one interviewer that themes of “sin and salvation” would populate his next record. And on a deeper level, Prince had gradually begun to think of himself as an instrument of God, someone put on earth to act out a destiny.

  Two nights after the sparsely attended show in London, the band played a Paris nightclub, although their arrival was delayed for several hours by a customs issue. The show was viewed by a small, lethargic crowd, some fixed near the front of the stage like mannequins. Some band members also seemed tired after months of touring that had concluded with a long flight to Europe. Bobby Z. lagged behind the beat at times, Andre hit various wrong notes, and Dickerson’s guitar occasionally fell out of tune.

  But Prince, unconcerned by the tiny audience and unaffected by the tumult of the last six months, exuded as much energy as at any point of the tour, prancing in a manner that evoked Mick Jagger and coaxing feedback from his guitar like Hendrix. When Fink hit a sustained high keyboard chord during “Partyup,” Prince threw his arms towards the heavens like a spellbound preacher. By the end of the show, he had stripped down to a black thong bikini
, his sweaty body seeming to consist of nothing but muscle and sinew.

  After the show, the band headed back to the United States, minus one – Andre Cymone remained in Europe for two weeks of sightseeing, an anticlimactic coda to the union between himself and Prince. The implications were far more than musical. Andre and his family had rescued Prince, providing him a home, a place to use his instruments, and a sense of community. Andre was also his most tangible connection to the Northside of Minneapolis where he had grown up. Bit by bit, Prince had shed the friends who had been part of that neighborhood, and with the departure of Andre, his most important connection to the Northside was ending.

  Andre, despite his frustrations over songwriting credits and other matters, felt little rancor towards his friend as they went their separate ways. Whatever his future held, Andre remained confident that it would involve music.

  As for Prince, any sentimental feelings quickly fell by the wayside as he left Europe, having been changed in some small but perceptible way by his visit, ready to go home and start recording again.

  15. Frankenstein’s Monster

  Mark Brown, Prince, and Dez Dickerson on the Controversy Tour

  After returning to Minnesota in April 1981, Prince purchased a house on the shores of verdant Lake Riley in southwest suburban Chanhassen, not far from his previous rented home on Lake Minnetonka. He promptly had the house painted purple. The color had not previously seemed to hold any great significance for him; it had made an appearance only in the unreleased 1976 song “Leaving for New York,” which contained the psychedelic image of a “purple lawn.” But this unusual decorative choice showed that Prince saw the color as reflecting some part of his persona.

  He also had Don Batts install a sixteen-track studio in the basement. The equipment was more advanced than at the Lake Minnetonka studio, allowing for a polished sound. The more expansive space also allowed Prince’s piano – which hadn’t been used at all on Dirty Mind – to be wired from the living room down to the studio.

  Even before beginning work on his fourth album, Prince’s first priority was making good on his bargain with Morris Day over “Partyup” – to create a side project for Day. He approached the task not out of obligation but with gusto. His plan was for the project’s live incarnation to be as much theatrical as musical; Day would be the drummer, and Alexander O’Neal, a talented Minneapolis soul singer, would be the singer and front man. O’Neal would act as a wisecracking hustler very much resembling Prince’s “pimp” persona that he joked around with in social situations.

  Unfortunately, Prince’s courtship of O’Neal proved brief and rocky; the singer wanted more money and freer artistic rein than Prince was willing to allow. The project appeared stymied. Surprisingly, Prince then suggested that Day himself could be the vocalist and frontman.

  The idea on its face was counter-intuitive; Day’s talents were far better suited to the drum kit, and he considered himself a musician rather than an entertainer. Still, he gradually warmed to the idea and became intrigued by the character Prince was asking him to play, which was not entirely removed from Day’s own flamboyant personality.

  Work on the project began in April 1981. Recording on his own as usual, Prince created a foundation of funk grooves and then sang guide vocals for Day to later imitate. Prince adopted a raspy voice that reflected the pimp persona. The plan was to release an album by late summer and then have the band perform shows, all without Prince’s involvement being revealed.

  As Day learned the vocal parts, Prince recruited a group of talented Minneapolis musicians for the group’s live lineup: Terry Lewis on bass, Jimmy “Jam” Harris and Monte Moir on keyboards, Jellybean Johnson on drums, and Illinois-born Jesse Johnson (no relation to Jellybean) on guitar. He named the band the Time, which was a derivation of the name of Flyte Tyme, a Northside group that had included Harris and Lewis during Prince’s teen years. Prince planned for the band members to become integral to the project’s image, preening onstage in vintage suits as they played.

  And the Time was only part of his plans for a roster of side projects that he would direct from behind the scenes. During the late spring and early summer of 1981, Prince began planning an all-female group called “The Hookers” whose members would sing explicit lyrics while wearing lingerie onstage. The concept was not dissimilar to the Rick James-created ensemble the Mary Jane Girls, and James would later grumble that Prince had stolen his idea. Several songs were recorded, and three women were selected, rather arbitrarily, for the live act: girlfriend Susan Moonsie, wardrobe assistant Brenda Bennett (the wife of set designer Roy), and Jamie Shoop, an employee of Cavallo, Ruffalo & Fargnoli. Prince recorded several songs for the project during the summer, including a potent funk groove called “Drive Me Wild,” but it shifted to the back burner as Prince focused on the Time.

  Musically, the Time reflected Prince’s funk roots more than any of his projects to date. Whereas his first two albums featured mostly poppy R&B, and Dirty Mind showed movement toward rock and New Wave, the material he recorded for the Time included long-form grooves reminiscent of the iconic ’70s funk group Parliament-Funkadelic, headed by George Clinton. “Get It Up” lasted more than nine minutes, and the stripped-down funk number “Cool” went on even longer, representing the two longest songs Prince had recorded.

  Despite the strength of the material, the project became frustrating for Morris Day, who was anything but a natural singer. Prince pushed him relentlessly to imitate the guide vocals; when Lisa Coleman stopped by during one of the sessions, she found Day in tears.[207]

  Other than Day, the band members played no role in the studio. But a grueling schedule of rehearsals in anticipation of live shows began, with Prince showing the members how to faithfully execute the songs he had recorded. After several weeks, feeling matters were under control, Prince retreated to focus on his fourth album. As the Time members continued rehearsing on their own, the band started to place its own stamp on the songs and developed a powerful chemistry. Prince’s reaction was one of pride that his handpicked lineup had proved so effective. “He could see that we were getting pretty frightening, so he started to leave us alone,” recalled Jellybean Johnson.

  The group’s first album, The Time, was released in July 1981 on Warner Bros. Records. No songwriting credits appeared on the front cover or inner sleeve, but production credit was split between Morris Day and one “Jamie Starr,” who had also received an engineering credit on Dirty Mind. Speculation appeared in the Minneapolis press that Jamie Starr was a Prince alias, and that he had been deeply involved in the creation of the album. Prince, his managers, and Morris Day all issued denials that were nonetheless ambiguous enough to stoke this mystery.

  The album became a surprise hit, eventually reaching No. 7 on the Billboard Soul Chart and No. 50 on the Pop Chart. In fact, the album outperformed the initial sales of Dirty Mind, which was in many ways a less accessible record than The Time. Prince had demonstrated his ability to create a successful side project out of whole cloth, which further fueled his confidence and ambition.

  ***

  As Prince turned his attention to his fourth album, a pastiche of new influences emerged. Cold, electronic textures, a staple of New Wave bands like Kraftwerk and Devo, made their way into the songs. He began to use his lower vocal register on some songs, part of his repertoire rarely used on his first three albums.

  Lyrically, the song “Controversy” explored the themes of gender identity and religion that he had been reflecting upon during the Dirty Mind tour. The song was structurally more complex than anything on his previous albums, and it combined synthesizer and guitar in a manner that few of Prince’s contemporaries had explored.

  Prince also explored a vocal scream technique like that pioneered by James Brown and also used occasionally by Stevie Wonder, notably on the song “Superstition.” Few pop artists had used this method, owing to its strain on vocal chords and the difficulty in creating a sound that was dramatic rather than grat
ing. On “Controversy,” Prince issued a lengthy scream at the song’s climactic point, adding a startling element to an already powerful composition.

  Screams were also used liberally on the ballad “Do Me, Baby.” The song was a straightforward soul ballad intended to appeal largely to female listeners, reflecting Prince’s R&B roots and containing none of the avant-garde elements making their way into much of the new work.

  While much of the new album was completed in his Lake Riley home, Prince also traveled to Los Angeles to work at two studios, Hollywood Sound and Sunset Sound. At the latter facility, he used a Linn LM-1 drum machine, a tool created by the California-based technician Roger Linn, on the song “Private Joy.” This was the first drum machine on the market to incorporate samples from real drums, as opposed to electronically generated sounds. Linn had created a prototype for the machine in 1979, and Stevie Wonder began to use it by 1980. The group Heaven 17 used it prominently on the underground hit “(We Don't Need This) Fascist Groove Thang,” which was getting significant airplay in Europe during Prince’s 1981 visit.

  Prince saw that the Linn would further diminish his need for musicians and studio technicians. Creating full-band recordings anywhere inspiration struck – in hotel rooms, at home, or anywhere in between – suddenly became possible. “When I heard ‘Private Joy’ for the first time, that was the moment I knew things were going to change,” remembered Bobby Z. Rivkin. “Recording drums is an expensive and slow process; it takes a long time to get a good sound. The Linn gave him an instant good sound.”

  The lyrics to “Private Joy” were directed at Susan Moonsie, whom he began dating after the Dirty Mind tour. Prince had met her in high school and even spent some nights on her family’s couch before the Anderson family took him in. When she emerged as a romantic interest in late 1980, his friends found her to be intelligent and grounded – perhaps the perfect complement to a mercurial artist with an outsized ego. “She was more of a girlfriend than any girlfriend he had ever had,” observed Rivkin. Added Alan Leeds, soon to become Prince’s tour manager and who would get to know Moonsie well in coming years: “She saw Prince as a hugely creative, but lonely young fellow who needed tons of support, tender loving care, and encouragement. And this was all during a critical time in his development.”