Let's go crazy

Some readers of this blog will have realised that I got to see Prince at the weekend. Some of my friends hadn't realised that I had such respect for Prince as an artist. Back in 1992, when he had already been around for some years, I was cleaning a shop that we had just rented in Sheffield. Radio One was on and there was a Paul Gambaccini special about Prince and his music. I'd always liked his songs, but I didn't really get where he had come from and what he was doing. It was a revelation. I never expected to see him. I certainly never imagined seeing him in a small venue in Manchester. I was quite content with my plan to see the Strypes with Mel Smith. When we left Academy 2 there was a new queue outside in the rain. There was the chance of getting in to Prince's late show, or at least to see part of the performance underway. Mel had her bank card. Neither of us had any cash. When we got to the ticket desk we were told cash only. Massive disappointment. Then the couple behind us said they'd lend us the cash and we could meet them and pay them back after the show. Such excitement, such goodwill. We got into a packed Academy One to hear Raspberry Beret. There were four or five further songs in the encore, and then they left the stage. No one knew what was going on, not even the security men, who we knew were booked to work till 3.30am because one who had chosen to work on the Strypes concert told us. Usually the Academy is cleared within minutes of the house lights going up. We must have hung around for over an hour. There was a queue round the building. Word had gone out on twitter that the late show was happening. But it didn't. We managed to find the generous couple, who had put in a complaint before leaving. There was talk of refunds if we got in touch with the box office on Saturday morning. By Saturday morning the Manchester Evening News was announcing that tickets for the late show would be honoured for Saturday night. I went down to the students' union box office to check and it still wasn't official. Eventually it was confirmed. Plans were changed and plans were made. About 150 of us had bought late show tickets for half price. We were invited to join our own special queue. Very welcome as the other queues snaked round the block in both directions. People had been there since early morning, both ticket holders and hopefuls. It was amazing. He was incredible and his band were fantastic. I also got to write a review for Louder Than War which you can read on the LTW website. There are a few more things I'd like to say about the whole experience. I realise that when I review I am interested in how the music and performance makes me feel, what memories and associations it sparks. I'm no good at set lists and the technical stuff. When we were waiting in our exclusive queue a woman commented that everyone there would be over 40, as that was his era. She was wrong. There were people of all ages there. She had missed the point that Prince is still current, still creating, still influencing a young generation of artists who are playing with their creative output and their image and persona.This wasn't about nostalgia, in spite of the youngsters dressed in Purple Rain fashions and in spite of the fact that we all knew the lyrics well enough to sing along, testify, play a part. I would never have wanted to go and see him in an arena. To be up near the stage, so close that you felt that you could catch his eye, or kid yourself he had caught yours, was perfect. He reminds me of those who have gone. Michael Jackson who worked that soulful falsetto. Jimi Hendrix who played rock guitar. Shades of Funkadelic, Norman Whitfield's production, the Undisputed Truth. I'd love to hear him and 3rdeyegirl do 'Smiling Faces'. He can be mocked and misunderstood. His Purpleness, his diminutive size. Size really doesn't matter. He's both sexy and androgynous, a Jehovah's witness who writes sexually charged lyrics in the best tradition of the blues and rock'n'roll. He connects and shares. He's a trickster and a tease, flirting outrageously with the crowd. I have a theory that musicians are our shamans. Not just the Princes and the Patti Smiths, but even the commercially manipulated girl or boy bands who play such a part in rites of passage in our society. Was Saturday night's shared experience physical or spiritual, sex or communion ? It was like the best kind of one night stand. You know it will never happen again but it's everything you desire at the time. And I got to be there twice!