I already had plans that night with my girlfriend, and for whatever reason we were looking forward it. I can't remember why, or what we were going to do besides the usual, when I get a call from a fellow Minnesotan, also a girl, and member of the Prince fan club. She has procured 2 tickets in the 5th row for that night's concert at Staples Center. Knowing that I couldn't make the tour rehearsal show in Reno, could I go tonight?
The girlfriend was disappointed. I reasoned that this was life-changing. SHE went to the Reno show. It's only fair. Honestly, it didn't matter what she said.
The opening act is Morris Day & The Time because, apparently, I have taken a time machine to 1984. I am singing along to The Walk, dancing like a moron, yelling out requests for Gigolos Get Lonely Too. They played it when I saw them the summer before at Hollywood Park. Even just with that set, I'd have been happy. (No Chili Sauce, but we can't win them all)
But then the main event. The music, from the beginning, washes over me. The funk, the horns (Candy Dulfer was on our side of the stage for most of the night). No tiny pieces of a medley here and there. It was full on from the new album, and the past. He pulls out a back to back Shelia E cover just because.
It appears to be intermission...but then through the center of a stage, up comes Prince, sitting in a chair, playing a guitar. See, there will be no intermission tonight. He'll do an acoustic mini-concert, in-between songs shooting the shit with the audience. He defends Kevin Garnett to the L.A. crowd, who just knocked the Wolves out of the playoffs.
Act 2 begins, and we still don't have our breath. He covers Sam & Dave because he's fucking Prince. He does a Zeppelin song because why stop there? At this rate I remember wanting him to get even weirder, and just pull off a Beatles song. Or Johnny Cash. Go for it. Of course, we knew the end really wasn't the end. The crowd went bananas just in case...and the band returned.
The Beautiful Ones. We're right back at First Avenue, singing right to Apollonia, Morris stewing by her side. Nothing compares 2 U was after, but we know why we're there.
Purple Rain begins, and he's putting everything into it. I start, in what little brain I have available at the moment, thinking of the bootlegs of him opening for the Rolling Stones at the Coliseum here in 1981. All the burned out old rockers aren't having him, ignoring his guitar ability, and the audience pelts him with garbage. Both shows. And while he returned to southern California in the Controversy tour to an appreciative audience, here he was all those years later. Sold out arena, everyone screaming.
The song crescendos, and the band holds the note. He waves and bows to each side of the stage, and turns to mine. I look and he's crying, blowing kisses to the crowd. I'm crying. I'm crying? I'm cheering, and yes, crying. Having his music around your life, growing up as he grew popular, always a figure, always reminding everyone of his enormous talent. Moments of your life, the soundtrack, and how the two intertwine, how else could I be if not emotional after a concert like that, seeing a performer like that?
That's what music does to you. And that is what a musical genius can do.
