The legendary pop star defied both gender and genre
It’s 1:46 a.m., and the sharp tang of old cigarette smoke is clinging to my clothes. My sweatshirt’s a little damp from rain, the humidity and moisture in the air and the nervous sweat. I’m exhausted and giddy after getting home from my first paid musical gig. I love to sing, and up until this point in life, my shower and my car’s interior have been my usual stages.
“I was dreamin’ when I wrote this / forgive me if it goes astray…”
His Purple Majesty has passed from us. Prince Rogers Nelson, known mainly by his first name – but also, for most of the ’90s, as the symbol he created – was found unresponsive in an elevator in his Minneapolis home on Thursday, April 21.
At 9:43 a.m., a 911 call came in from his Paisley Park estate, where medics found him unresponsive in his home elevator. He was pronounced dead on arrival about 30 minutes later after attempts to revive him failed.
I’m devastated, of course, along with the rest of the world. He was only 57.
“You don’t have to be rich to be my girl / you don’t have to be cool to rule my world…”
For me, Prince was a liberator.
His library of musical work was relatively unknown to me until an old boyfriend encouraged me to listen to a couple of tracks. He was arguably Prince’s biggest fan, and in an effort to bond, I conceded.
After listening to “Kiss,” I was hooked for life. Soon, I was humming along and downloading new songs on my iPod for my own entertainment. It became more than a passing interest for some lover. I fell in love, instead, with Prince.
“I’m not a woman / I’m not a man / I am something that you’ll never understand…”
Here was this beautiful man, crooning all the romantic words you could ever want to hear. And he dressed in these tight, wild outfits, with eyeliner emphasizing those drop-dead, come-get-ya-some looks that could turn on the camera.
He was feminine and masculine, out-there but grounded, screaming one second and whispering the next. Unapologetically sumptuous, always, and I couldn’t look away.
I finally understood my grandmother’s obsession with Elvis.
“If I was your girlfriend / Would U let me dress U”
Prince existed outside of the gender binary before it was trendy to do so. And he never made a big speech about it. He simply did, and the world took notice.
“Damn you / Baby, you’re so fine…”
As a young teenager, my musical scope was extremely limited. When I started listening to Prince, it cracked open a world of sounds and imagery I had yet to encounter.
Prince was a profound musician, not just for his songwriting abilities, but because he could play just about every instrument needed to compose a tune. Also astoundingly prolific, he produced over 35 albums of original work, in addition to several live performance recordings.
“Thank you for a funky time / Call me up, whenever you want to grind…”
By embracing and exploring his sexuality on the national stage, he encouraged everyone else to do the same. I danced with abandon to his music, relishing the words that expressed sentiments I couldn’t.
“I never meant to cause you any sorrow / I never meant to cause you any pain…”
It was my dream to meet him one day; to maybe put out a few songs of my own and have him hear me. The terrible coincidence of his passing the day before I ever sang in front of an audience hurts deeply.
“Dearly beloved / We are gathered here today / 2 get through this thing called life…”
The first set did not go well, as I forgot some words and was off-pitch after a long delay of waiting for the rain to pass. The microphone was new, awkward and had an unexpected delay. I was offbeat. I saw the blank stares of the audience and my mouth went completely, cotton-gauze-style dry.
I sat down for a break. I drank a beer. And I whispered a tiny prayer into the universe, hoping that if we do, in fact, pass into some grand oneness upon death, a little bit of Prince’s soul could be with me.
Then, it got better. I could hear the music, feel the beat, and remembered 95 percent of the words. The mic and I made friends, eventually. I was still a nervous wreck, but at least it wasn’t so obvious.
After my last song, I stepped away to the bar to watch my much more experienced musician partner finish the act. A man came up to me with a huge smile on his face and an outstretched hand.
“You did a really nice job. Lovely voice! Thank you so much for singing tonight,” he said as we shook hands.
“Th-thank you!” I stammered back.
And there it was. I completely understood the vulnerability it takes to get in front of a crowd and throw your heart on the line.
More importantly, I understood the rush that comes with people enjoying the music you make.
Prince was reportedly ill with the flu the last two weeks of his life.
He canceled a couple of shows in early April, but did a make-up concert just one week before his death. Fans who attended his final performance said that true to his personage, he left everything on the stage.
A constant consummate artist, Prince could give a show like no other. Even, apparently, in the midst of battling sickness.
A few have already expressed what I will echo here: perhaps Prince’s lyrics, “I would die 4 u,” were for his fans.
The man exhausted himself for his passion, and candles that flame brightly burn out the fastest.
So, this is what it sounds like, when doves cry.
In honor of Prince, the Muvico Sundial theater in downtown St. Petersburg is showing his original 1984 film, “Purple Rain” until April 28.
Muvico Sundial 19 & IMAX: 151 Second Ave N.
“Purple Rain” showtimes: 1, 4, 7 & 9:30 p.m.
