When doves cry


“Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life

Electric word life
It means forever and that's a mighty long time
But I'm here to tell you
There's something else
The after world

A world of never ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night”

- “Let’s Go Crazy”, Purple Rain (1984)


By now, if you know me at all, you know I write to purge and process my feelings. I wrote and cried and wrote and yelled and wrote when I heard about David Bowie’s death. It was like losing a godfather from an otherworldly place where everything’s funky and beautifully weird. At some point while I tried to make sense of my own reaction to his loss, I had this thought: “The only one who even comes close to him, that style, that fierce individualism, that genius wrapped in an unlikely package...is Prince.”

Now I’m faced with losing them both. And it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak or profound loss I’m feeling at watching my idols leave this earth one right after the other. Of course, they both transcended their place among us, treading with a fearless intent to cut their own paths and create in ways that simply did not exist before them.

If anyone exceeded Bowie’s uniqueness and eccentricities, however, it was Prince. He is a self-made, mind-blowingly mad musical genius. If his dancing, songwriting and vocal prowess weren’t enough to set him apart, he was a virtuoso guitarist of incomparable and often incomprehensible skill. There was an ease and deeply felt emotional connection between him and those six guitar strings. He created astounding solos, gritty textures and amplified soul that was pure magic. And he knew it. Over and over again he pursued perfection...because he knew he possessed the skill to achieve it both emotionally and technically. He could move mountains with those six strings, and he certainly moved us.

As much influence as Bowie had on my formative years and my acceptance of myself as a weirdo, Prince opened and blew my mind musically. There is a definitive before and after when it comes to listening to Prince for the first time. I was mystified by that diminutively fierce performer and found myself strangely attracted to his siren call. I was turning the corner on entering young womanhood in 1985, and Purple Rain was hitting on all cylinders. “Darling Nikki” became a particular point of fascination beyond the amazing bulk of the record and movie during that timeframe. It was so explicit, so raunchy. And buried in an Academy Award-winning and timeless classic album. Pure and unadulterated Prince, mocking and bold. I wore out two cassette tapes of that album, and the albums that followed. I have watched Purple Rain an embarrassingly excessive amount of times. And I will still hang on every single glorious note in the final musical sequence like it’s the first time with every viewing. I have no problem saying I believe "Purple Rain" to be one of the greatest rock songs ever written, a song that still brings me to tears - a personal, powerful and stunning masterwork.

Prince was a tour de force of sexual energy, rock and soul. He’s everything you wanted and needed him to be, aloof and awkward and yet charmingly capable of this insanely intimate connection. Many will point to his eccentricities, of which we have all heard crazy and humorous stories. But we forgave him for those because they were never manufactured or inauthentic. And that’s really what it boils down to; his performances, his art, his creativity, his skill. It was as authentic as it gets. A musician’s musician who walked his walk and who earned every single accolade because of his skill and soul. He did things HIS way, earning the ultimate respect of his musical heroes and contemporaries based on his own merit. His art lived and breathed solely of his making.

He knew he was special. And thank goodness for that. He shared his prolific creations with us and hoped we’d see and hear him. Prince always seemed like a man defiantly seeking acceptance to me, a fragile interior kept safe behind a blistering wall of talent. As if he was saying “Oh yeah, you still don’t think I’m the best? Lemme SHOW you just what I’m made of.” He lived his truth on the stage, and absolutely astounded me when I had the chance to see him perform live years and years ago. You don’t ever forget the moment the gleam sets in his eye and a smirk appears on his lips. Your face is about to be melted by a staggering guitar solo, and you are helpless to control your fangirl reaction.

I find now that I’m simply searching for the proper words to express how deep this loss cuts my soul. I feel lucky to have witnessed his magic, weirdness and unbelievable artistic talent in my lifetime. There are artists who contribute to the musical landscape and then there are those who change its course forever. This is what it sounds like when doves cry. Rest in peace, Prince Rogers Nelson.



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