Prince.

When we be making love, I only hear the sounds of heavenly angels crying up above; tears of joy pouring down on us. — Adore, Prince

“Did you hear about Prince?” One of my closest friends and fellow Prince stans called me on a particularly warm day in Chicago last year. When a friend calls you and asks if you “heard about Prince” there could be a myriad of things that follow:

1. He threw epic shade at another celebrity.

2. He announced a bunch of secret concert gigs.

3. His passport photo.

I mean the list of things that could go on the other side of “Did you hear about Prince” is literally endless. What I was not expecting were the two words that came out of her mouth next:

“He died.”

My breath left my body. I was on my way out the door and all I could do was take a seat on the edge of my bed. There were no tears — yet. There were no words between us. We just kind of sat on the phone in silence as the text messages, Facebook notificaitons, and tweets started rolling in. It was true;: the Purple One had passed on.

At that moment, I was instantly taken back to that place, that dark place of grief, shock, disbelief, and profound sadness that had found its way over me when past heroes of mine had passed. I went back to that summer day in July in 2005 when I heard on the radio that Luther Vandross had died. I was taken back to that dreadful day in August of 2001 when, at 14, and at 7AM in the morning, I got news that Aailiyah had passed. It was that same place I went to Christmas Day in 2008 when the Godfather of Soul passed and a year later (to the day) when Eartha Kitt had died. I went back to that same place in February 2011 when in a span of 2 weeks, we lost Etta James, Don Cornelius, and Whitney. I was still mourning Natalie Cole who had died in January — and now this.

It didn’t hit me right away. In fact, after I finally hung the phone up with my friend, I closed my eyes, and sat still for a few moments. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but I didn’t cry (yet). I set there for a few moments and collected myself. I went on about my day. Within the hour, the entire city of Chicago was in mourning. You couldn’t walk past a block without hearing “Purple Rain,” “Kiss” or “When Doves Cry.” Make-shift memorials had popped up on the Westside and t-shirt sellers were already selling Prince’s face. Still, I held it together.

It wasn’t until about 2 days later, that Saturday, where I was in the shower listening to Adore — a song I had heard literally 1,000 times. Listening to Prince sing arguably one of the most beautiful love ballads ever written, I broke completely down. I couldn’t even fight it anymore. Prince was gone.

A Late Comer.

My love for Prince came much later in life even though I grew up with his music in my house. Both of my parents, teenagers and young adults at the height of Prince fever, kept Kiss, When Doves Cry, Purple Rain, the 1999 album, Diamonds and Pearls, and The Most Beuatiful Girl in The World (and their albums) on repeat. Still as a budding child, I thought he was weird. I didn’t find his sound particularly interesting and like most young people who do not understand musicianship, when it came to the Prince vs MJ debate, there was no question in my mind that Michael was indeed the superior artist.

Prince at the Superbowl with My alma Mater, FAMU 2007

And then, my senior year in high school, Prince dropped one of the most beautiful songs I had ever heard in my life — Call My Name. It was sexy. It was sensual. It was political. It was smooth. It was soulful. In other words, it was Prince Rogers Nelson at his absolute best. From there, the love affair with Prince’s music began. Over the next 11 years, I delved into his music and did not let up. I went all the way back to his first album and just hit play.

I just can’t stop writing songs about you, I love you so much/I just can’t wait to get my arms around you and feel your touch/ If I don’t see you real soon real soon baby girl, I might go insane/ I know it’s only been 3 hours but I love it when you call my name. — Call My Name, Prince

Prince: The Lyricist.

Much ado can be made about Prince and his iconic status: The entertainer, the musician, the composer, the arranger, the sex icon, the style icon. But what about the lyricist? Prince had an uncanny ability to write about sex, love, and God in ways that no one else could. In fact, out of his entire catalogue, I do believe that every single one of his songs can fall into one of those catgories. International Lover, probably my favorite Prince song of all-time, is a 6-minute masterpiece. Prince describes the act of love making as a flying experience on a 747. From the first kiss to the climax, He takes you on a sexual journey that is so vivid, you find yourself lost in the song long before it reaches the end. I don’t care who you are, International Lover is so sexy, so scrumptiously BRILLIANT, that even if Prince isn’t your thing, that song will make you think twice about that positon.

Good evening This is your pilot Prince speaking You are flying aboard the Seduction 747 And this plane is fully equipped with anything your body desires

If for any reason there is a loss in cabin pressure I will automatically drop down to apply more To activate the flow of excitement Extinguish all clothing materials and pull my body close to yours Place my lips over your mouth, and kiss, kiss… In the event there is over excitement Your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device

We ask that you please observe the no letting go sign I anticipate a few turbulence along the way

We are now making our final approach to satisfaction Please bring your lips, your arms, your hips  Into the upright and locked position For landing, can you feel it?  Can you feel it? — International Lover, Prince

Prince The Vocalist

Prince is the only person in the world who can sould like a white woman, Black woman, white man, and Black man at the same damn time on the same damn song. On The Most Beauitiful Girl In The World, the man was out here dueting with himself on two totally different ends of the music scale. Prince had a falsetto like Phillip Bailey, then turned around and scraped the bottom of the baritone barrel like Melvin Franklin of The Temptations. I’d put Prince’s vocal runs up against the very best of Luther and Aretha; I’d put his ad libs up against Patti Labelle and Natalie Cole; Even his storytelling, a hallmark of Bobby Womack are among some of the very best.

Prince The Business, Man.

You’ve probably noticed by now that I haven’t linked one Prince song to this article; that is because I feel in my heart that the Purple One would not approve of me using his music without paying for it. In fact, After he died, I purchased a Tidal subsciption just so that I could listen to his music without feeling guilty (and breaking the bank). Prince showed us 20 years ago that ownership was the name of the game — nearly 10 years prior to Michael Jackson’s epic battle of song rights with Sony music. A few weeks ago, I was having a debate with someone on Facebook who inssited MJ was a “bigger” icon than Prince (whatever that means). Beyond the fact that homeboy was completely void of facts, he kept using album sales as a metric to determine that MJ was “more iconic.” What he failed to mention was, even though Prince had sold a considerable less amount of albums than MJ, for the last 20+ years or so, Prince had flat out owned his music. Every album sale, every song download, single purchase went directly to him. Before there was a Tidal, Spotify, or Napster, Prince was streaming his music from his website and selling his music and cd’s exclusively through his own brand. He taught the next genration of artisit how to protect themselves and their brand through ownership — a lesson that has been passed down to Jay-Z, Beyonce, and Chance The Rapper.

Prince and Michael Jackson.

I am not going to waste too much space comparing these two because it is pointless. Sure, it makes for good fodder, but there really is no debate: Prince was Prince and Michael was Michael. When they were at the top of their game, no one, and I mean no one could compare. They brought out the God in each other and from 1979 up until MJ’s death in 2009, these two men when tit for tat. When it comes down to flat out musicianship, no one can deny the feat of playing and mastering 22 instruments (Prince). But in all fairness, by the time Purple Rain became a thing, Michael already had given us Thriller, Off The Wall, and a gang of hits with his brothers. Some might even give MJ the superior dance accolades, although the things that Prince were doing with a mic stand and 4-inch heels were the stuff legends are made of. We never got the opportunity to see these two perform together, although we came extremely close in 1983 at a James Brown concert and again in 1987 (Mike wanted to sing “ Bad as duet with Prince but he declined).

Prince The Legend

Perhaps more than anything else, more than the song writing and lyricism; more than the entertining and dancing; more than the composing, arranging, and 22-instrument playing; more than the fashion and the business accolades, Prince should be remembered as a legend for a very distinct reason: Prince, more than any other artist of his time, challenged what it meant to be a Black man in America. Prince had the hood singing Soft Rock and love ballads. My parents, both reared in small town, religious America owned every album he released. The day he died, I was walking through Chicago’s Lawndale neighborhood (one of the roughest in the city) and a woman pulled up to the liquor store blasting When Doves Cry. “I got to get me a drank,” she said as she hurried into the store.“Motha Fuckin Prince don died! Prince!”

Prince certainly wasn’t the first Black man to pick up a gutiar or sing Rock music. But he didn’t have to be, because in his own Prince way, he showed the world that Black men were versatile and all encompassing; we could be many things and as complex and complicated as our hearts desired by challenging conventional standards of masculinity. Prince could take your woman and make you bob your head to his music at the same time. Like I’ve done with Aretha, and Natalie Cole, I want to reiterate for those who have any question: Prince was a Black artist who sang Black music. He told you that Black Lives Matter and wrapped his hair in front of 200 Million people to shade it from the rain. Prince wasn’t about to let his hair drop, even if it was the Super Bowl.

I don’t want to remember Prince as a man who died. He didn’t die; he just left this place. In his absence, let us celebrate his life, legacy, and legendary status through his music, his lyricism, and his example on Black Business Ownership.

I love you, Prince.

#Prince #Grief #Death #Chicago #Music