by Ronin Ro
“Because I swear.”
Instead of sticking with his chart-topping sound (“I Wanna Be Your Lover”), and treading the Michael Jackson and Kool & The Gang territory of his previous albums, this album found Prince exploring the darker themes hinted at on his first two LPs. Musically, he had unveiled a funk-filled twist on electronic dance music. Prince was a great album but Dirty Mind showed he could do more than master existing forms; he could mix them and create new ones. Critics today often focus on its vulgarity and hedonism when in fact Dirty Mind also found him expanding his thematic repertoire to include social commentary, an area he would approach in earnest later in his career. Writers may go on about Dirty Mind’s cold, electronic sound, but Prince also filled tracks with warm beats, intimate lyrics, poignant synthesizers, and impassioned choruses. Though it would sell fewer copies, creatively, Dirty Mind undeniably marks a step up from For You and Prince—a radical departure from disco, slow jams, and acoustic folk. It would also serve to introduce him to the mostly white rock press and inspire countless other dance acts in the decade to come.
But Dirty Mind alienated important segments of the industry. Warner included an atypical sticker asking deejays to “audition prior to airing.” They ended up not being able to play some lyrics. His cover shot meanwhile frightened record-store owners. Many saw him in those briefs and refused to set the cover on their shelves. But satisfied customers recommended it to friends. Left-leaning news outlets championed his work. Dirty Mind reached No. 45 on Billboard’s Pop Chart and No. 7 on the Soul Chart. Sales were low but reporters and Warner understood he wouldn’t let them pigeonhole him in one genre or market.
At the same time, Prince resisted Warner’s plan to have him meet radio disc jockeys and promotion people. “Originally I didn’t want to do any of that, because it was basically a stroking game and I didn’t want to get involved in it at all,” Prince told New York Rocker’s Andy Schwartz. Ultimately, he agreed to meet a few and saw they weren’t saying, “Well, this cat gave me a television set so I’m gonna play his jam, and it’s been nice meeting you.” They had genuine interest in his music.
But his interviews were just as off-putting as some of his newest lyrics. By now, his mother Mattie had earned her master’s in social work from the University of Minnesota and started working as a social worker in local schools. Even so, Prince told one reporter that she reared him on her soft porn novels. Prince also maintained he was half white, a claim that, while patently false, still attracted white pop critics that had ignored his first two albums. He went on to suggest to Barbara Graustark, of Musician, that the stories on Dirty Mind (including the incest story “Sister”) were serious.
With his new, bolder attitude and look, Prince was aiming for nothing short of a complete reinvention.
And he thought the response he was receiving was just fine. But at Warner, publicist Bob Merlis believed he had a “problematic” relationship with reporters. “He just didn’t talk,” said Merlis. “When he did do a few interviews, they were strange. They had non sequiturs.” Warner tried to spur sales by releasing “Uptown” as the first single. It didn’t chart in the R&B Top 5. Dirty Mind was selling less than Prince and stalling any momentum his low-level hits may have had on the radio. “Like many relatively new artists, he was only as good as his last single,” future employee Alan Leeds explained.
On December 4, 1980, Prince and the band traveled to Buffalo, New York, to prepare for his second national tour. The public had his second single, “Dirty Mind.” “The record’s not doing phenomenally well sales-wise, and airplay is pretty minimal,” Prince admitted. It sold half what Prince did. But he planned to fill ninety-minute sets with everything on the album.
In late December, he either—depending on which report you believed—took a two-week break or ended the short tour due to someone’s illness. Regardless of why, he was frustrated with how critics had reacted to his performances. “They didn’t understand that we are trying to bridge the worlds of rock, funk, jazz, and whatever,” he said. They expected songs as mellow as his albums. Older people and rock fans were just as hostile. “They thought we were gay or freaks.”
The February issue of Rolling Stone included the article “Will the Little Girls Understand?” and championed Prince to the rock journal’s largely white audience. Writer Bill Adler praised his interracial band, while calling him a star and mentioning he had “the potential of being a crossover artist.” Just as quickly producers invited Prince to perform on NBC’s high-rated Saturday Night Live.
And so on February 21,1981, he was in Manhattan, on the set of what has become a rite of passage for any rising talent. Charlene Tilton, a curvy young blond from the CBS weekly nighttime soap Dallas, was hosting. He and Todd Rundgren were the musical guests. Rundgren did two meditative works off his newest album. For his part, Prince delivered a rousing “Partyup.”
Back home, Prince was still looking to perform. One night he took the stage at Sam’s, a former bus terminal turned nightclub, to a house so packed some customers sat on bars or hung from balcony railings. National audiences might have had their doubts about Prince, but he was a star in Minneapolis. “There’s no place like home,” he said three times. His ninety-five-minute set found him stripping down to briefs and strutting across stage like Mick Jagger to dance near André and second guitarist Dez. He also shocked people with between-song banter in his natural voice. Then, during his encore, “Bambi,” he humped a mic stand and rubbed his guitar neck suggestively. Star Tribune critic Jon Bream wrote, “Minneapolis finally has its own bona fide rock star.”
The Rebels were short-lived, but Prince still wanted to create a side project to express different sides of his personality—more than ever after seeing November 1980’s The Idolmaker (about a songwriter making stars of a bar-band saxophonist and a waiter). But instead of The Rebels, he chose a band he called The Time. In California, management employee Steve Fargnoli thought it was a great idea; if Prince planned to hole up and record anyway, he may as well profit from it.
The Time didn’t officially exist, but in the home studio in the basement of his new two-story house near Lake Riley in Chanhassen, he spent part of April creating songs and combing through outtakes to come up with music for them.
In the studio, he made his own bandmates laugh. Some days, he’d leave a microphone on while cooking a grilled cheese sandwich. Or he’d press the Record button and race toward the drum set with the recorder capturing the noise he made leaping over objects, tripping on wires, and sliding into his seat. Usually, he taped the lyric sheet, torn from a notebook, to the kit. But some songs, “You’d hear him like kind’a grunting and singing a little bit of the song on the drum track,” bandmate Lisa remembered.
Soon, he involved a few of his band members in the new project. “He called me up with the title and asked me to write lyrics,” Dez said of a new song called “Cool.” Within twenty minutes, Dez called back to say it was done. “He asked me if I had any songs I wanted to submit.” Dez sent a complete demo of “After Hi School.” Lisa Coleman wrote “The Stick.” Prince threw in “Oh, Baby,” originally recorded with Gary Brandt two years ago. But André was reluctant to contribute. Their relationship, Dez explained, “was already changing.” Now, André reserved his songs for his own side project The Girls. Prince kept asking for material, he recalled, until he finally thought, You know what, I don’t wanna hassle about this song. Take the song. Take the credit. I don’t care. I’ll write some other songs.
With material ready, Prince now needed people to re-create the new songs on stage. He looked first to Flyte Tyme. Since 1973, this local unsigned band had played the sort of funk that made a million-selling hit of “I Wanna Be Your Lover.” And they could use the break. They were still trying to earn money with shows in bars and clubs. One club owner had told band member Terry Lewis, “You’ve got too many black guys in the band.” They tried to unveil originals to apathetic audiences. They hadn’t made any progress with an album. They
were also tired of Top 40 covers. “Prince, though, he had the ambition and the contracts,” said group member Monte Moir.
He met the band and their singer Alexander O‘Neal in a diner. According to Jellybean Johnson in Tones magazine, “This is what’s going to happen,” he began. He’d do the music, they’d play it on stage, and they’d tell reporters they did the music. They were into it. But after the meeting, singer O’Neal had second thoughts and backed out.
With a vacancy for a band front man, Prince remembered Morris Day. Day had let him include his song “Partyup” on Dirty Mind. He had also played with Prince back in the days of Grand Central. Morris was offered the opportunity, and he happily joined the group. He reportedly suggested adding guitarist Jesse Johnson. Johnson hailed from Illinois. He had become a huge Hendrix fan when he was fourteen and could now play every one of Jimi’s songs. Prince agreed to the addition.
Once he recruited every member, Prince played the new band the completed music. Each number had his voice singing the lyric.
When Morris came over, Prince coached Morris on how to match every phrase and intonation. One time, Lisa Coleman watched. “Morris had some hard times,” she told the Minneapolis Star Tribune. He kept blowing takes on a vocal. Stress—and Prince—made him cry. Lisa understood. He pushed hard but rarely included positive reinforcement. It was always a Machiavellian “you will do it.” Eventually, Morris got everything right.
Within two weeks, Prince finished the six songs. By April 28, he was in sunny Los Angeles, mixing them at Hollywood Sunset Sound. Forty-eight hours later, he was done and The Time’s first album was complete. Coyly, instead of removing his voice entirely, Prince left it on, so people could occasionally hear it right alongside Day. At Warner, executives viewed The Time as a welcome return for Prince to the warmer sound of “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” which sold a million copies. The label quickly signed the band.
On August 14, Prince again entered Sunset Sound Studio, this time to spend nine days completing a new album, Controversy. At this point, he could have gone to another record label. But after seeing Warner release and support his controversial change of pace Dirty Mind, he wanted to stay on their roster and get them another LP. By this point, he had already taped a few songs in his new, professional-quality home studio. Until then, he hadn’t let band members record on songs because he didn’t know “exactly which direction I wanted to go in.” This time he decided to involve them. He even decided to give them credit for composing, arranging, and performing.
“I usually change directions with each record,” he told Robert Hilburn. But he also had another batch of strong ideas. Tinkering with a guitar, for instance, had led to “Ronnie, Talk to Russia.” Playing drums resulted in his title track, “Controversy” And instead of sexual themes, he included more politics and religion in his music. He knew they would shock and make headlines. His title track was a reaction to interview questions about race and sexual proclivities. “Ronnie, Talk to Russia” was upbeat but urged the current U.S. President, Ronald Reagan, to enter peace talks with the Soviet Union “before it’s too late.” For “Annie Christian,” he set bits of roaring guitar to a bald-drum-machine beat. With a booming messianic voice, he rails against a flurry of current events (child murders in the South, Lennon’s killing, federal agents videotaping an illegal deal in the Abscam scandal), and hinted that the devil made them all do it. In “Sexuality,” he discussed education and a new generation that would escape old prejudices. He also made sure “Do Me, Baby” was ready.
He had just a couple more pieces to contribute to the recording. Back in his home studio, he filled the dim control room with perfumed candles and chiffon drapes. When an engineer arrived, he told him to turn the recorder on, then get going. Locking the door behind him, Prince taped a series of falsettos and come-on vocals.
By August 23, Controversy was finished. His bass-and-drum funk sounded tighter. His slow jam was more confident. His fifties-styled rock sounded more authentic. His keyboards incorporated more New Wave influences. As with Dirty Mind, he applied a bit of studio gimmickry to create one consistent sound for the album. Though not as groundbreaking as that previous album, Controversy has to be considered another strong, compelling, and experimental Prince album, from what many consider his golden era. Even today, Controversy remains as engaging, enjoyable, and—in most cases—as innovative as it was upon its release.
Prince felt the album was a bit erratic but he submitted it to Warner. And with another provocative new album in the can, he looked forward to getting out there, promoting it, and regaining ground.
Warner released “Controversy,” and his Dirty Mind number “When You Were Mine” as a single on September 2, 1981. Once again, Al Beaulieu took the cover photo of him staring at the camera. Only this time he wore a purple coat and white Jimi-like shirt. For Jill Jones, who would sing backup for Prince, nothing had changed. “Dirty Mind is when it started,” Jill said of his look. “The fabrics just became better as money came in.”
Black radio loved the new song. But Prince had no time to celebrate. His managers had some tour dates booked.
With André gone from the band—he had left in June to work with Prince’s former manager Owen Husney on his solo career—Prince needed a replacement fast. He remembered Mark Brown (sometimes “Brown Mark”).
Brown was a young black bassist who had played with the local band Fantasy while in tenth grade, and battled Flyte Time and Cohesion. Prince also enjoyed Brown’s playing during a 1980 gig at Sam’s, the bus terminal turned nightclub. He called to offer the recent high school graduate a spot in the group. Brown accepted and immediately saw “how serious [Prince] was about his music.” He kept everyone on his or her toes. If they wanted to “play around” or act unprofessional they could “go someplace else,” Brown recalled. And with the tour starting soon, Prince had no time to stop and teach anyone. “He’ll give you a couple of weeks, and if you’re not on his level, he’ll get rid of you just that quick.”
While the band rehearsed for the Controversy Tour, The Time continued to play. He let Jerome Benton act as Day’s onstage valet. Jerome was a skilled dancer, a great comedian, and was willing to take artistic direction. By October 7, Prince felt they were ready for a low-key local gig. He joined them at the downtown club Sam’s and stood near the soundboard again, enjoying every practiced move and deciding they were ready for the tour.
He received even better news. The legendary Rolling Stones wanted him to open a few shows at the Los Angeles Coliseum. At this point, Dirty Mind had finally drawn the interest of rock critics. At the same time, his look was evolving. “Prince was in his full Dirty Mind regalia with the bikini and the trench coat,” Dez explained. Mick Jagger hadn’t forgotten seeing the long hair, regalia, and stage mannerisms during Prince’s November 1980 show for Dirty Mind.
He was offered the opening slot on their tour, including him at the bottom of a bill that also included the upbeat J. Geils Band, and the blues-based George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
When Prince learned The Stones wanted him at their shows, he was stunned. He had repeatedly told Dez he wanted his own band to be like a black version of the Rolling Stones, “with him being Mick and me being Keith,” Dez explained.
Prince couldn’t have been happier.
Warner meanwhile saw it as a wonderful way to introduce his latest work Controversy, which would arrive in stores in under two weeks.
Dez tried to hold his tongue. For weeks, he had warned Prince that the Stones audience might reject them. The rest of the band was too delighted to be very much concerned.
They flew West and eventually pulled up to the Coliseum in LA and entered an area filled with as many tents and trailers as a circus or fair. Everywhere they looked, they saw cables, generators, and technicians. Finally, Security led them into a tent filled with flowers, mirrors, lights, and a banquet of fruits, cold cuts, and assorted breads. Behind them, they heard the crowd roar.
Dez was just as excited.
A burgeoning Christian, he still felt uncomfortable performing some of Prince’s material. But he felt they were set to reach the big time. Recently, fans at Denver’s Rainbow Theater had caused Prince’s “first all-out fan riot,” and now, he was at the enormous Coliseum, opening for the band he said served as their template for success. Decades later, he still remembered it “as an incredible moment.”
Prince was ecstatic as Security lined their motley crew up at 2:00. The walk toward the stage felt, Brown said, “like a scene from the movie Gladiator.” They walked toward a stairway leading down to enormous white curtains. After passing through the drapes, they saw musical equipment all over the place; and technicians rushing in every direction. They circled stacks of amps and speakers and were finally onstage. But they couldn’t see the crowd yet because of more huge curtains up ahead. Prince faced the band then gave them the ready signal. With the curtains splitting, Bobby started hitting the drums.
Prince faced a sea of people, all standing. It was sweltering, and fans were sweating, screaming, dancing to the beat, and holding beer cans and bottles aloft. On each side, arena employees aimed giant water hoses at the crowd, to prevent dehydration.
The crowd, Bobby noted, had waited since six in the morning for the Stones, and was now “peaking on all their drugs.” On stage, Prince rushed out in his trench coat and black underwear. He led the band through “Uptown,” the crowd noise drowning out the music. When the song ended, Brown recalled, “I noticed people not liking what they were hearing.” These Stones fans—many of them bikers—wanted rock music. To his credit, Prince immediately changed the set list. They immediately played “Bambi” from his second album. But he changed it, singing not in his falsetto but in a deeper, more masculine voice. Then he filled its closing moments with him soloing on lead guitar. “Put your hands together,” he shouted. “Right here. Come on!” Then he yelled, “Rock and Roll California!”