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.