Saturday, April 23

Prince Is Dead

Performing in 1985. Photo by Michael Ochs
Prince's death hits hard. Unlike Bowie, who reached me late with the 1983 album "Let's Dance" and more a product of the 70s, Prince arrived when I was in the 8th grade, introduced to my class by the black girls titillated by Dirty Mind and Controversy and Prince's funk pop vive. His was the background of my youth, played at parties, in the car, with friends or alone. When I returned from Switzerland in '84 greeted at the airport by a bunch of friends in a limo, we blasted "When Doves Cry" crossing the Bay Bridge.

Prince followed me through college and my first years of work then faded with his later experimental and softer music. Our relationship resumed in London when I rediscovered live music. When Eitan and Madeleine took an interest in sound, I directed them to the Master. Prince always the gold standard.

And now he is gone and life the less interesting for it.

Sonnet is in Amsterdam for a conference.
Madeleine: "Is the water boiling?"
Madeleine: "Is the water boiling?"
Me: "For Pete's sake, I don't do a lot of cooking but I know how to boil water!"
Madeleine: "Can't you just tell me without making a big deal out of everything?"