I Would Die 4 U Introduction IMAGINE A FIELD THE SIZE OF AMERICA. The field is filled with people. They represent all the people who care about American popular culture, people who feel American popular culture speaks to them and helps shape and define their lives. In the middle of the field is a stage the size of Nebraska. Many people are on the stage dancing and singing and rhyming and acting and saying, "Look at me!" These people represent stars in American popular culture. Then, someone comes strolling through the field toward the stage holding a large, open umbrella, even though it''s not raining. As this person walks onto the stage, the audience wonders, "Why is he holding an umbrella? It''s not raining." A moment later, it begins to rain.
The rain represents the feelings of the people in the audience--their dreams, fears, anxieties, and longings. It adds up to the ethos of the generation. The rain is the Zeitgeist. And the person who had the umbrella open before the rain is an icon. That person knew what the generation was feeling before they really knew, before they were able to fully articulate their feelings. When the icon takes their place on the stage they don''t say, "Look at me!" They say, "When you look at me, you''ll also be looking at you." Stars entertain us. Icons do something much more.
They embody us. They tell us something about who we are and who we want to be. They are both a mirror and a shaping force. Zeitgeist is German for the spirit of the times, the general cultural, intellectual, and political climate within a nation, or a specific group, in a particular period. You could call it the collective consciousness of a given people at a certain time. Icons can see and feel the Zeitgeist of their generation more clearly than the rest of us. They have the antennae, the sensitivity, and the intellect to become a thermometer of their era, and they have the talent to reflect the Zeitgeist through their art. For generation X, one of those icons was Prince.
There are truths about the soul of a generation that icons can see, as if they''re mystics, because they have vision and because they''re immersed in the culture. They are in the clubs and the bars and on the streets and they have their antennae up and they''re picking up signals about what''s going on in the world faster and more clearly than everyone around them. This not a skill that can be taught. It''s extraordinarily difficult to make statements that will resonate deeply with several million people in your generation, but that''s what icons do. They are not only mirrors, showing the generation who they are: they are connectors, bringing together a giant tribe, and sometimes they are sculptors, inspiring the generation to become something. Prince rose in the 1980s to become the mirror, connector, and sculptor of a generation, and he knew it. In 1998, I interviewed him for a cover story for Icon magazine and asked, "Do you realize you''ve changed a generation with your music?" Prince became defensive. His body stiffened.
The thought of it was too much. "I don''t think about that," he snapped. "Why would I? There''s no gain in that. Being in control of someone''s thoughts? You''ll second-guess your writing." He didn''t see the value in being conscious of his influence, but he didn''t deny that it was true. Of course, it takes more than antennae to become an icon. Prince developed every skill that would make him become a rock star. He learned how to write timeless songs in a range of genres with masterful construction.
(Questlove, the drummer for the Roots who has worked with Prince, says Prince''s best albums were built with the dramatic structure of Shakespearean plays: rising action, comic relief, climax, and denouement.) He could sing in a unique, spellbinding way. He could play music in an unforgettable way; he was not just a guitar virtuoso but the master of many other instruments including drums, percussion, bass, keyboards, and synthesizer. He could dance in his own compelling style. He could perform with a rare intensity, and demonstrated a stage generalship that outshone all of his contemporaries except, perhaps, Michael Jackson. He had presence and was spine-tinglingly sexy if you were inclined to be attracted to him and, even if you weren''t, he still seemed devastatingly cool. He conveyed a sense of mystery, and had an ineffability about him that left you unable to fully sum him up or feel as though you really knew him, keeping you intrigued. All this was powered by a superhuman work ethic.
He knew the importance of sweat equity as a kid. In Possessed: The Rise and Fall of Prince by Alex Hahn, a cousin reports that Prince as a young teenager told him, "I''m going to practice my behind off like James Brown''s band, and I''m going to have everything so tight that you''re not going to be able to say anything about it."1 He would grow up to be constantly working. His ex-wife Mayte once told London''s Daily Mail, "Being with him was like being at the centre of a twenty-four-hour creative machine. If we weren''t on stage, we were rehearsing. If we weren''t rehearsing, we were in the studio." That''s why Prince, for a long time, put out an album per year while most artists were releasing one every two years, and Michael Jackson once every four years, like a president. These are albums he wrote, produced, and played most or all of the instruments on.
He was legendary for working day and night, an inexhaustible music monster. As he says in "All the Critics Love U In New York": "Body don''t wanna quit. Gotta get another hit." Several people told me Prince often worked sessions that lasted twenty-four or even thirty-six hours. Chuck Zwicky, one of his engineers, told me, "I''ve always admired the diligence and discipline that Prince has and his work ethic. He just kept going and kept working until he had it. I''ve had more than one forty hour day with him. Pretty intense.
He''s extremely hard working and, much to the chagrin of women, he''d rather spend his time working on his music than hanging out in a club." Zwicky said that Prince''s time in the studio was almost always spent efficiently, moving at a rapid pace compared to his music-business peers. "He never spent an inordinate amount of time on one song," Zwicky said. "I''ve worked with artists who will agonize over a single song for many, many days. I''ve never seen Prince do that. He''s got a very, very clear idea in his head about what the song needs to do, what it needs to sound like and he could get through it very quickly. So, typically, a session started with three written songs and ended with three completely mixed songs. He never second guesses himself and he never scratches his head.
He never says, I wonder if this is good or not?" Alan Leeds, who was from 1983 to 1992 Prince''s tour manager and vice president of Paisley Park Records, said, "This is a guy who has studio diarrhea. Like you go to an office every day from nine to five, well, he goes to the studio every day. What am I gonna do today? Well, I wrote these lyrics last night in bed so I''ll make up a song. Then, he''ll sit with that song and say does it fit with what I''ve been doing? If it doesn''t, then it gets thrown in the vault. But he''s constantly, constantly creating songs. So, for every song on Purple Rain, there''s probably thirty or forty or fifty that didn''t make the cut because they just didn''t fit." Zwicky once told the Minneapolis Star Tribune, "He was so prolific, by the time he released an album, he may have had literally ten albums sitting around."2 Prince studied all sorts of music.
Eric Leeds, Alan''s brother, who played saxophone in his band on tour and during the recording of Parade, Sign "O" The Times, The Black Album, and LoveSexy, said, "Prince was quite a historian of music and could listen to something and suck up the essence of it." Associates recalled him doing a dead-on impression of Elvis, quoting obscure Bootsy Collins songs, and listening to Culture Club. Susan Rogers, who was Prince''s recording engineer and maintenance tech for five years spanning from Purple Rain to Sign "O" The Times and is now an associate professor in the department of music production and engineering at the Berklee College of Music, said, "He was a big fan of Culture Club, but you got the sense he wasn''t playing it for enjoyment''s sake, he played it over and over as a student of the game. A scholar." A former girlfriend said he also loved Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Erykah Badu, Stevie Wonder, Joni Mitchell, and Mozart. "He thinks he could''ve been him in a past life. He draws a lot of parallels between himself and Mozart." She told me that, at one point, Amadeus was Prince''s favorite movie.
In early interviews, when asked about influences, Prince pointed to Carlos Santana, Joni Mitchell, and James Brown, who he said he danced with onstage as a child. But, surely, he was also influenced by Sly Stone, Curtis Mayfield, Miles Davis, George Clinton, Rick James, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jackie Wilson, Jerry Lee Lewis, the Beatles, Earth Wind & Fire, David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Elvis, and Jimi Hendrix. Zwicky named others as well. "When he sits down at the drums he hears Dave Garibaldi (Tower of Power). When he plays his guitar parts, he''s thinking about James Brown''s guitarists (Jimmy Nolen and Catfish Collins); those guys had the definitive funk chord approach to the guitar. When he plays the bass, he''s thinking like Larry Graham (Sly and the Family Stone). When he''s at the keyboards, he''s eit.