Tonight while making dinner, I stood in the kitchen
listening to Prince’s Under the Cherry
Moon album. It’s one of those
albums I bought on a whim in some used record store when I was about 15. I
played the shit out of it, and there are so many good tracks on it, but when Sometimes it Snows in April came on
tonight, I began to cry. The girls came in and wanted to know what was going
on. I explained to them that one day they’ll look back and that they will
remember different events in their lives because of the music they were
listening to at the time. I told them that Prince had provided so much of the
soundtrack to my life, and that the news of his death today has made me so very
sad.
When I was 10 years old, my Aunt Karen bought me the Around the World in a Day cassette tape.
I think it was the first one that was all MINE. I wore it out. There was
something about the lyrics of Raspberry
Beret that made me 1, want to run away with Prince, and 2, want to know
what was going on in that head of his. That feeling never really ended. The
first time I heard Darling Nikki, I
knew it was filthy and awesome because it made me feel filthy and awesome, which was
a pretty conflicting feeling for a not quite teenaged white girl. Prince had a
way of doing that. I had my first slow dance with a boy to Arms of Orion from the Batman soundtrack. I was a freshman and it
was homecoming, and he kissed my neck as we danced. It’s one of those memories of being young and naïve and
sweet that makes me envy my girls for getting to have those first feelings some
day.
Prince was the music playing when I went out dancing with my
girlfriends in my early twenties.
One night I danced to Pussy
Control.
On a stage.
In a cage.
In a gay bar.
Wearing not so many clothes.
Just exactly the way I believe Prince would have wanted
it.
Prince was the music playing
when 1998 turned 1999 and I looked at the jackass I was dating and thought,
“this can’t be all there is.” Prince was the music playing for lots of…well. My
dad might be reading this. So…you know. Sorry, dad. I believe Prince would have
wanted that, too. Prince was the music playing when I had to explain to my
sweet pal Emily what Pink Cashmere was. We talked and laughed about this
conversation just tonight.
Just a few months ago, I was at a bar in downtown KC and they had
a turn-table playing Purple Rain. I
sat with a friend and listened to that album from beginning to end. I knew each
and every word. So did everyone else at the bar, and it was so much fun to
sing, laugh, and share memories of that music with complete strangers – who
weren’t strangers by the end of the night. I believe Prince would have loved
that, too.
I’m sure I’m being overly dramatic when I feel the need to
write about this, but the idea of one of my heroes not being around and not
making music anymore honestly kills me a little bit. Prince was more than just
a musician. He was a character. An icon. A persona. Tonight my friend John who
lives in Minneapolis texted me a picture of the crowd gathered on the streets
there. He said, “This is the greatest impromptu festival ever. Complete
community. Complete love. Everyone is happy and singing – it’s beautiful…it
gives hope.” First, I love that someone I’ve known since I was 13 thought
enough to text me about this. Clearly, he knows me a little bit. But I also
think, once again, this is what Prince would have wanted.
After I told the girls why I was sad tonight, Zoe looked
at me and said, “hey, mom? remember when I was a little kid and I loved ACDC a
lot and then you told me that Bon Scott wasn’t alive and I couldn’t ever see
him? I know how you feel.” Oh, sweet Zoe. Someday you really will know exactly how this
feels, and I hope I’m around to share those memories with you.
