I’m not a huge Prince fan, but the man is a living legend, a future Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, and he doesn’t tour all that much any more, so when I was offered a free ticket to go see him on Saturday night, there wasn’t any hesitation. Not to mention, who in their right mind turns down a free ticket with a face value of $225? Not this guy.
I head to Chow’s to meet up with my Mom, step dad and a friend of theirs before the concert. Their fourth friend bailed which is how I ended up with the ticket. I sip on some Hoegaardens as we discuss the political and religious climate. My step-dad has somehow come under the misguided perception that Bush is, despite his other flaws, a moral man. I make the argument that any version of morality ceases to be moral when it is forcefed to others who don’t believe in the same thing. This argument misses him.
We’re in the street looking for a cab, and I can tell I’m with some amateurs. They’re wandering up Market aimlessly, looking for cabs and complaining. I tell them to keep walking and let me worry about the cab. We go a few more blocks and the situation doesn’t look good. I have three inebriated adults complaining about walking, being late to the Prince show, and being a general nuisance. I give them a joint, which because he can’t block the wind to light, he actually steps into a restaurant to light, chucking to the wind every safety rule I use to keep myself out of jail while smoking pot in public.
I get on the phone and call Maurod. He’s five minutes out, I give him the cross streets and he tells me to wait. 4 minutes later, they’re bitching at me about where’s the cab and you said five minutes and what are we doing here. I tell them to relax a little bit and trust me. They seem unwilling to comply. 2 minutes later, Maurod and his bad ass towncar pull up. He’s got the hip hop going, the parents are comfortable in the back seat, and suddenly they ignore everything they had said and praise me as master of the universe.
We get to the show and the crowd is lively, drunk and ready to go. The old school tunes filtered through the sound system has everyone dancing in their seats. Or the aisles. The seat I have is amazing…it’s in the last row of the orchestra section, which makes it about 28 rows back from the stage. Let’s say close enough to see everything going on on the stage without squinting.
Then Prince comes out. White suit with a button up collared black silk shirt. And let me tell you, this guy is crazy. He’s got two saxophone players, a trumpet player, trombone, bass, keyboard and drummer up there with him. He starts off with a 15 minute gospelesque song about his various women, including one woman “I got a lady, she cross-eyed, she looks both ways at the same time. But I love her, because she’s fine.” Something about asking her for the salt and getting the pepper.
Over the course of the two hour set, he plays virtually every style of music known to mankind. He plays R&B, funk, old school classics, rock, jazz, salsa, pop. You name it, this guy plays it. Often exclaiming, “Y’all ain’t ready for me, I’ve got too much funk!” And he just might be right about that. Hell, at one point he leaves the stage, putting the music into the hands of the keyboardist and saxophone player to do a 10 minute instrumental duet.
The one problem I have is the manner in which he ends the show. He finishes the set, then comes back out for the encore. He plays a song, then leaves again. Then he comes back, plays another song, and leaves again. Each time making the crowd wait longer for his return. It’s a bit infuriating. Play your set, play a 5 song encore and go! Don’t do this back and forth shit the whole damn time. At the encore he changes into a red shirt and hat.
Of his pop songs, he plays Kiss, Let’s Go Crazy and Purple Rain, which he remarks at one point during the song, “I love this song.”
Fucking crazy concert. I haven’t seen one artist go for that long, with that intensity, over that kind of genre range in a concert before. My hat goes off to the purple one.
After the show finishes, I hitch a ride down to the Cat Club for Black v. White. The bouncer asks me if I’m looking for versus. I guess he doesn’t notice the all black attire and white hat I’m sporting. I get in the door and see Lina from the Carol (LC), who remarks that I’m all alone. I let her know that everyone else is coming, I’m just the first one here because I just saw motherfuckin Prince!
I get a drink, learning that the male bartender there will always charge 7, and the female 8. Mental note to self. Don’t use female bartender at Cat Club. I head back doorside to talk to LC because she’s one of the only people in the place it’s so empty. I run into Glasses and her friend Suzanne, and we head outside for a toke and a smoke. We’re heading back in so they can go upstairs and check out the burlesque show when X, her brother, Gid and McButter show up.
It’s drinks, dancing and delirious behavior. Xena and E show up, Za, T, etc. It’s your standard crowd, with an interesting set of subplots between all of them (Za and McButter, myself and X, Glasses and Gid, etc).
This is when my night turns to shit. X is ready to go, so they head outside. I’m waiting for Gid. I go outside and tell her that I’m getting her and will be right back. Back inside, Gid pulls the best move I’ve ever seen in my life, and certainly one that gains her all the stripes in my book. She asks me where Glasses is, I point to her, she walks through the crowd, obviously on a mission, walks straight up to her and starts making out with her. I almost fall out of my chair. Gid has finally stepped to the plate, and god damn, I’m jealous of her determination.
I get back outside, attempt to put my arms around X and get a shoulder cold enough to freeze the tropics.
I end up back in my car, which I drive expertly and soberly home, then reverting back to my semi-stupefied state the minute my feet hit pavement in my garage. I don’t know how I do it, but when I’m behind the wheel of a car, I’m sober, no matter what’s happened previously.
I end my evening dancing around my apartment with my iPod on, smoking a joint and feeling inexplicably happy with the joy that is my life.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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