THE DUKE REDISCOVERS
HIS LOVE FOR PRINCE
HIS LOVE FOR PRINCE
It's funny how things work out, man.
The last time I really listened to the music of Prince with any
real commitment was when I was, I believe, eleven years old.
Prince was my first big "obsession", is what, and I bought VHS
videos, or had them bought to me, and listened to my cassette
copies of Diamonds And Pearls and that record with the symbol on
the cover. The one with The Ballad Of The Sexy Motherfucker or
whatever it was called.
My brother saw the little fella live in Belfast just after
Diamonds And Pearls was released, and who knows, maybe The Duke
was trying to ape his much older sibling, and so started
listening to this fella with the funky police hat and the gun /
microphone ensemble, by way of granting myself some kind of
faux-maturity. Truth be told, those albums were a bit too
sprawling for a child of my age and gender. I wanted immediate
pop fixes, man, and thankfully there were quite a few to be found.
Money Don't Matter 2 Nite, My Name Is Prince, The Morning Papers,
Cream, all these things were sufficiently melodic and free from
extended noodlings.
The real meat, though, was to be found in a promo CD a friend had
taped for my brother, a Best Of retrospective by the name of The
Crown Jewels. This was before those greatest hits collections, so
I had yet to experience the likes of Raspberry Beret, Purple
Rain, Sign O The Times, all in succession, all smacking a young
buck like myself around the chops with arrangements I couldn't
fully appreciate and melodies that had me salivating.
What happened, though, is that the next Big Thing came along in
the Life De Duke, and so Prince was forgotten for a time. A hella
long time, as it turns out.
Sure, I followed his shenanigans with interest, but barring a
copy of Sign O The Times picked up for a song at a record fair,
and the recent Musicology, I never parted with the green for to
hear anything he was getting up to. I mean, who in the fuck wants
to sit through three CD's worth of jazz-funk experimentation with
a hard-line Christian message? Who? Exactly, couple maniacs here
and there. No one with a grain of sense in their skull.
The other night, though, The Duke was sitting watching the
wonderful DVD by the name of An Evening With Kevin Smith. Turns
out Kevin has actually made a film with Prince, a full-blown
documentary type affair revolving around Prince's beliefs about
"God", "life" and all sorts.
You ain't never gonna see it, though.
Like the 15 music videos his current management have oversaw the
production of, full-blown videos for 15 fully finished recordings
that have never been released either, the Kevin Smith Meets The
Bloke What Sang About Weeping Pigeons Or Whatever film is locked
away in a vault someplace.
This story was wonderfully told, as anyone who has listened to
the commentaries on any of Smith's DVD's will easily believe,
and, next thing I knew, I was seeking out those old Prince
albums, anxious to hear them again, foaming at the mouth with
anticipation for no apparent reason.
Why? All I could remember for the most part was the singles,
three minute bursts of glory saddled alongside nine-minute long
jam-sessions with cringe-inducing skits lopped into the middle of
it all.
But here I am, knee deep in The Recorded Works Of Prince, and I
feel like I just found a door in the back of my wardrobe, man.
That wardrobe has been there for years, is what, and all I ever
saw were a bunch of Bad Religion T-Shirts and a couple jackets
that been ate to all hell by moths the size of basketballs.
And all of a sudden, there's a door right there, right in front
of me, and I open it and it's filled with the most glorious
dazzlements you might ever have imagined. Narnia my ass, man, if
those kids wanted for to see some sights, they should've been in
The Duke's bedroom when this satanic furniture was uncovered.
The last time I really listened to the music of Prince with any
real commitment was when I was, I believe, eleven years old.
Prince was my first big "obsession", is what, and I bought VHS
videos, or had them bought to me, and listened to my cassette
copies of Diamonds And Pearls and that record with the symbol on
the cover. The one with The Ballad Of The Sexy Motherfucker or
whatever it was called.
My brother saw the little fella live in Belfast just after
Diamonds And Pearls was released, and who knows, maybe The Duke
was trying to ape his much older sibling, and so started
listening to this fella with the funky police hat and the gun /
microphone ensemble, by way of granting myself some kind of
faux-maturity. Truth be told, those albums were a bit too
sprawling for a child of my age and gender. I wanted immediate
pop fixes, man, and thankfully there were quite a few to be found.
Money Don't Matter 2 Nite, My Name Is Prince, The Morning Papers,
Cream, all these things were sufficiently melodic and free from
extended noodlings.
The real meat, though, was to be found in a promo CD a friend had
taped for my brother, a Best Of retrospective by the name of The
Crown Jewels. This was before those greatest hits collections, so
I had yet to experience the likes of Raspberry Beret, Purple
Rain, Sign O The Times, all in succession, all smacking a young
buck like myself around the chops with arrangements I couldn't
fully appreciate and melodies that had me salivating.
What happened, though, is that the next Big Thing came along in
the Life De Duke, and so Prince was forgotten for a time. A hella
long time, as it turns out.
Sure, I followed his shenanigans with interest, but barring a
copy of Sign O The Times picked up for a song at a record fair,
and the recent Musicology, I never parted with the green for to
hear anything he was getting up to. I mean, who in the fuck wants
to sit through three CD's worth of jazz-funk experimentation with
a hard-line Christian message? Who? Exactly, couple maniacs here
and there. No one with a grain of sense in their skull.
The other night, though, The Duke was sitting watching the
wonderful DVD by the name of An Evening With Kevin Smith. Turns
out Kevin has actually made a film with Prince, a full-blown
documentary type affair revolving around Prince's beliefs about
"God", "life" and all sorts.
You ain't never gonna see it, though.
Like the 15 music videos his current management have oversaw the
production of, full-blown videos for 15 fully finished recordings
that have never been released either, the Kevin Smith Meets The
Bloke What Sang About Weeping Pigeons Or Whatever film is locked
away in a vault someplace.
This story was wonderfully told, as anyone who has listened to
the commentaries on any of Smith's DVD's will easily believe,
and, next thing I knew, I was seeking out those old Prince
albums, anxious to hear them again, foaming at the mouth with
anticipation for no apparent reason.
Why? All I could remember for the most part was the singles,
three minute bursts of glory saddled alongside nine-minute long
jam-sessions with cringe-inducing skits lopped into the middle of
it all.
But here I am, knee deep in The Recorded Works Of Prince, and I
feel like I just found a door in the back of my wardrobe, man.
That wardrobe has been there for years, is what, and all I ever
saw were a bunch of Bad Religion T-Shirts and a couple jackets
that been ate to all hell by moths the size of basketballs.
And all of a sudden, there's a door right there, right in front
of me, and I open it and it's filled with the most glorious
dazzlements you might ever have imagined. Narnia my ass, man, if
those kids wanted for to see some sights, they should've been in
The Duke's bedroom when this satanic furniture was uncovered.
Prince - "Funky As A Motherfucker"
So I'm wandering through this netherworld of Prince related
glory, sitting on top of one of those buses with the fellas what
yack about "And to your left you can see the hotel where Nikki
got all over-familiar with herself" and "To your right is
Alphabet Street. He's going down there, is what."
"Just behind you now is For You, the debut. I know, who'd a
thought he could've sounded so under-produced?"
"Oh, watch out! It's that motherfucker The Gold Experience. Be
careful, now. Don't wanna cut your finger on it and need a
tetanus jag and all sorts a shit."
What's most amazing about all this, though, is that the stuff
what the critics yack about, the "Essential works" are indeed
essential. Purple Rain, Sign O The Times, LoveSexy. What fool
would contest their worth?
The real pleasures, though, lie in pressing play on the stuff you
don't hear about so often. Lying back and slowly realising that
Graffiti Bridge is the funkiest damn thing you ever did hear.
Realising that Parade is bursting with gorgeous invention.
Realising that Around The World In A Day is a transcendently
beautiful piece of work, a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic pop record
with the best song about a tambourine since Bob Dylan went
disappearing through the smoke-rings of his mind.
Around The World In A Day is also positively demented. Final
track, Temptation, ends with a banter between Prince and some
deep-voiced omnipresent entity of some kind, likely the same
omnipresent entity what can be heard in the intro of 1999. It's
time for Prince to die, on account of all the sex thinking he's
got up to.
"Now you must die!"
"No!" screams Prince, before finally, breathlessly, noting that
"Love is more important than sex. I understand now." It's utterly
surreal, bafflingly nonsensical. And ever so damn wonderful, also.
I'd go so far as to say that Around The World In A Day is his Pet
Sounds. These here are perfect pop songs, and yet mischievously
complex. Sure, they may last eight minutes a damn time, but they
remain consistently interesting. You can imagine Prince sitting
at his little purple mixing desk yacking about "Hey, man, what if
we throw some more pipes on there? What about a few more pianos?
I only hear three pianos. I want, at least, like, nine or some
shit. And what the fuck, man? Where's the damn spoons? Didn't I
ask for a guy to play the spoons? I don't hear any motherfucking
cutlery right now."
This record came right after Purple Rain, another utterly unique
record, and one that never takes a wrong turn. I could yack all
night about the intro to Darling Nikki, but suffice to say it's
got the best motherfucking synth / guitar duel you ever did hear.
And yeah, the movie was daft as all hell, but have you heard this
shit? Did you know that not only has this got Purple Rain and
When Pigeons Weep but also an intermission of sorts called
Computer Love what is seemingly made up of random noises made
from things being bashed about the place?
If Around… is his Pet Sounds, Purple Rain justifies a comparison
or two with Smile, that other Beach Boys classic, one that,
granted, more people talk about than have heard.
And if Purple Rain was a bad film, then you can bet your left
testicle that Under The Cherry Moon was an utter debacle. But
guess what? Guess this here right now, the soundtrack is
fantastic.
That opening track, man. Christopher Tracey's Parade. That right
there is the kind of genius Track 1 Side 1 you don't expect to
find on such an underrated, neglected album. It's like if a guy
walks up to you and he looks like he's got no arms, and you think
you should talk to him, but he kinda freaks you out all the same.
Then all of a sudden he punches you upside the head. Where the
hell did that fist come from, you're thinking? Who knows, but
watch out, cause here comes another one, and this time it's got
"Kiss" written across the knuckles.
And then the song about I Need Another Lover Like I Need A Hole
In My Damn Head. And then, holy shit, listen to that jazz-
malarkey on Girls And Boys. And what the sweet fuck is this
achingly beautiful piano ballad about Sometimes It Snows In April?
What The Duke needs to do now is swallow up the rest of this
cat's catalogue. I'm up to That Symbol Album right now, so I need
to get my hands on those later sets of epic nonsense for to wrap
my head around.
But, guess what? I'm looking forward to it. I've read so much
nonsense about albums that are supposedly "misfires" and "under-
achieving", and then next thing I know I find out those folks
were all talking out their assholes.
I feel like Neo, man, spinning wildly through that virtual
existence, except it's not skyscrapers and businessmen and stuff
what's scattered about me, it's negative opinions of albums that
are nothing short of masterpieces.
I'm taking the pill and following the purple rabbit, man. He's
taking me some fucked up places, and my jaws are in agony with
the G-Force, but I still got my digital camera out, taking
pictures of every damn stop along the way, so I never forget how
magical this place is, this place hidden away in the back of that
wardrobe that I was just gonna grow up and move on and forget all
about.
Fuck the critics, is what this critic would like to suggest.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
Buy The Albums Listed Up The Side, What The Duke Recommends As
The Best Of That Prince Motherfucker, Via Amazon.Co.Uk
glory, sitting on top of one of those buses with the fellas what
yack about "And to your left you can see the hotel where Nikki
got all over-familiar with herself" and "To your right is
Alphabet Street. He's going down there, is what."
"Just behind you now is For You, the debut. I know, who'd a
thought he could've sounded so under-produced?"
"Oh, watch out! It's that motherfucker The Gold Experience. Be
careful, now. Don't wanna cut your finger on it and need a
tetanus jag and all sorts a shit."
What's most amazing about all this, though, is that the stuff
what the critics yack about, the "Essential works" are indeed
essential. Purple Rain, Sign O The Times, LoveSexy. What fool
would contest their worth?
The real pleasures, though, lie in pressing play on the stuff you
don't hear about so often. Lying back and slowly realising that
Graffiti Bridge is the funkiest damn thing you ever did hear.
Realising that Parade is bursting with gorgeous invention.
Realising that Around The World In A Day is a transcendently
beautiful piece of work, a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic pop record
with the best song about a tambourine since Bob Dylan went
disappearing through the smoke-rings of his mind.
Around The World In A Day is also positively demented. Final
track, Temptation, ends with a banter between Prince and some
deep-voiced omnipresent entity of some kind, likely the same
omnipresent entity what can be heard in the intro of 1999. It's
time for Prince to die, on account of all the sex thinking he's
got up to.
"Now you must die!"
"No!" screams Prince, before finally, breathlessly, noting that
"Love is more important than sex. I understand now." It's utterly
surreal, bafflingly nonsensical. And ever so damn wonderful, also.
I'd go so far as to say that Around The World In A Day is his Pet
Sounds. These here are perfect pop songs, and yet mischievously
complex. Sure, they may last eight minutes a damn time, but they
remain consistently interesting. You can imagine Prince sitting
at his little purple mixing desk yacking about "Hey, man, what if
we throw some more pipes on there? What about a few more pianos?
I only hear three pianos. I want, at least, like, nine or some
shit. And what the fuck, man? Where's the damn spoons? Didn't I
ask for a guy to play the spoons? I don't hear any motherfucking
cutlery right now."
This record came right after Purple Rain, another utterly unique
record, and one that never takes a wrong turn. I could yack all
night about the intro to Darling Nikki, but suffice to say it's
got the best motherfucking synth / guitar duel you ever did hear.
And yeah, the movie was daft as all hell, but have you heard this
shit? Did you know that not only has this got Purple Rain and
When Pigeons Weep but also an intermission of sorts called
Computer Love what is seemingly made up of random noises made
from things being bashed about the place?
If Around… is his Pet Sounds, Purple Rain justifies a comparison
or two with Smile, that other Beach Boys classic, one that,
granted, more people talk about than have heard.
And if Purple Rain was a bad film, then you can bet your left
testicle that Under The Cherry Moon was an utter debacle. But
guess what? Guess this here right now, the soundtrack is
fantastic.
That opening track, man. Christopher Tracey's Parade. That right
there is the kind of genius Track 1 Side 1 you don't expect to
find on such an underrated, neglected album. It's like if a guy
walks up to you and he looks like he's got no arms, and you think
you should talk to him, but he kinda freaks you out all the same.
Then all of a sudden he punches you upside the head. Where the
hell did that fist come from, you're thinking? Who knows, but
watch out, cause here comes another one, and this time it's got
"Kiss" written across the knuckles.
And then the song about I Need Another Lover Like I Need A Hole
In My Damn Head. And then, holy shit, listen to that jazz-
malarkey on Girls And Boys. And what the sweet fuck is this
achingly beautiful piano ballad about Sometimes It Snows In April?
What The Duke needs to do now is swallow up the rest of this
cat's catalogue. I'm up to That Symbol Album right now, so I need
to get my hands on those later sets of epic nonsense for to wrap
my head around.
But, guess what? I'm looking forward to it. I've read so much
nonsense about albums that are supposedly "misfires" and "under-
achieving", and then next thing I know I find out those folks
were all talking out their assholes.
I feel like Neo, man, spinning wildly through that virtual
existence, except it's not skyscrapers and businessmen and stuff
what's scattered about me, it's negative opinions of albums that
are nothing short of masterpieces.
I'm taking the pill and following the purple rabbit, man. He's
taking me some fucked up places, and my jaws are in agony with
the G-Force, but I still got my digital camera out, taking
pictures of every damn stop along the way, so I never forget how
magical this place is, this place hidden away in the back of that
wardrobe that I was just gonna grow up and move on and forget all
about.
Fuck the critics, is what this critic would like to suggest.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
Buy The Albums Listed Up The Side, What The Duke Recommends As
The Best Of That Prince Motherfucker, Via Amazon.Co.Uk
