Prince, My Soundtrack

 

The collective gasp heard ‘round the world on Thursday must be what it sounds like when doves cry.

I get weepy, even more so than usual. My sons think I’m nuts. I sniveled in carpool, wiping snot on my sleeve and thanking the sun for warranting dark glasses as I pulled up to the middle school. This time I can’t blame hormones. I’m sad about the death of someone I never knew. Yet I feel that I did indeed know him. He was, at the very least, a part of my life for decades. Such is the nature of art in its many forms. It moves us, and in this case, we moved along with it.

Music, like the sense of smell, takes us back in ways that nothing else can. Prince plays in the background of my personal soundtrack from my impressionable years as a gawky middle schooler through to my adulthood. I’m pushing 50, and Prince’s music has enriched my life for the last 40 years. It’s a marvel, really. No other artist, hell, no other thing, has touched my life for this long in such a meaningful way. Scratch that, my old friend Cat ranks right up there.

It was with Cat that I listened to Purple Rain on repeat. On vinyl. Oh what torture it was to get up and move the record player needle back time and time again. Kids today have no idea how hard it was to been a teenager in the 80s. Cat and I made up dance routines in her bedroom. My sons were recently mortified when I broke out into one of those routines while breakfasting at Mecca, a favorite spot in downtown Raleigh. We danced to When Doves Cry at an old pizza joint long gone on The Corner in our home town of Charlottesville, Virginia. It was there that I shed the conservative cultural mantle that plagued me from truly feeling free. Meek, bashful, insecure Indian girl no more, not on that dance floor. I found my groove and have yet to rein it in. I danced with a boy named Rob who looked like a younger version of Phillip Spaulding from the Guiding Light, a soap I obsessed over through college (even scheduling classes around it since there was no DVR back then). Cat and I joke about the boys we kissed while that Prince record spun. And then we say a silent prayer of thanks that there was no social media back in the day.

“Dig if you will the picture/Of you and I engaged in a kiss” – When Doves Cry

Margaret and I danced to 1999 in her basement. Sometimes we let her little sister join us. I was just 11 or 12, the same age as my sons now. I’m telling you, Time is the drug that f*ck$ with your head more than anything. Back then as middle school girls, Margaret and I remarked how 1999 was unimaginably so far away. And now, in my late 40s, it seems so unimaginably long ago. We spent New Year’s Eve 1999 with dear friends in a cabin in Wisconsin. We all danced with wild abandon to that iconic song, set again on replay, this time on CD.

I was dreamin’ when I wrote this/So sue me if I go too fast/But life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last – “1999”

I had Prince posters in my bedroom in boarding school and when I spaced out in class I practiced drawing the iconic album cover of 1999. At school dances when the DJ played “Let’s Go Crazy” it was invitation, nay license, to do just that. We shrieked and danced and sang along with unfettered joy. I remember our headmaster dancing with his wife to Little Red Corvette at a school dance. Let’s just say I wasn’t particularly fond of him so that image has ruined the song for me. I might have audibly gagged during that dance as they waltzed across the gym floor. But therein lies the magic and allure of Prince. His music made headmasters waltz and young girls grind.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. – Let’s Go Crazy

Mac Daddy and I share a special spot in our hearts for the artist (formerly formerly-known-as-Prince) after living in Minneapolis for many years. Prince was part myth, part man about town. He was a mystery yet frequented places around town and acted like a regular guy. He was known to be private and generous. I worked with guys who went to high school with Prince. They said he was a force even then. As adults, decades past their teen years, they spoke about Prince with reverence and respect. They told us he was ripe to be bullied, exacerbated by his small stature and quiet demeanor. But he was so wildly talented that he invited nothing more than awe and accolades. While in Minneapolis we danced at the famed First Avenue and passed Paisley Park many times as we made our way to our corporate training facility that shared a zip code with the compound. We held our breath for a Prince sighting but never got so lucky. But Mac Daddy and I did Prince in concert, a bucket list item for each of us. Truly a thrill.

I only wanted to one time to see you laughing / I only wanted to see you / Laughing in the purple rain.” – “Purple Rain”

And now here I sit as a mom to sons the same age I was when I first felt the tug of Prince’s music. I evolved as his music did. I never did rein in the girl I discovered on that dance floor years ago. I say a tear-filled farewell to my youth but welcome introducing Prince’s talent and music to my own children. We listened to Prince while we ate dinner last night. Deal danced in his seat, not even realizing his shoulders were swaying. I tapped my feet and bobbed my head. Bird was big-eyed and aglow when he heard the line “Act your age not your shoe size.” “That’s where it comes from, Mom?!” he exclaimed. I’m guilty of using that line and truth be told, waited my whole life for the opportunity. And then we laughed. And we sang and danced in our seats, ending our dinner with a heartfelt chorus of “Kiss” as the song ended.

“Don’t have to be cool to rule my world” – Kiss

I am certain that when my life flashes before my eyes the music running alongside the images will be a medley of Prince songs. England might have The Queen, but we have PRINCE.