The shirt in the picture was a Christmas gift from my sister. She’s a longtime Prince fan too, so it was very kind of her to give it to me instead of keeping it. It’s hard to explain how exciting Prince was when we were young. He sounded like no one else. He was pure sex, but unthreatening somehow, androgynous, a combination that entranced adolescent girls. I played my Purple Rain tape over and over, skipping “Darling Nikki” if my mother was around.
More than any other artist of that fantastical, excessive era, Prince was a sort of magician. He guided you through a romantic purple world with oceans of violets, and probably a bit of dramatic fog.
And that guitar. Oh God, that guitar.
He never stopped making good music. 24 years after Purple Rain, he showed us how it was done in the Super Bowl halftime show. He blew it away, strutting around with dead-serious confidence and owning the stadium because the music was so good and his presence was incredible. Some people just have that aura. And it seemed completely natural to him. I think it probably was.
word.