by Ronin Ro
In Los Angeles on March 28, Prince yanked the group from the bill. People whispered that he didn’t want The Time upstaging him in front of big city audiences that might include Warner executives. Prince thought it was more important for them to focus on their own career, especially now that he was going to let them have a hand in their third album.
8
BE GLAD THAT YOU ARE FREE
JACKSON’S THRILLER CONTINUED TO SELL. BUT WARNER HAD their own slick-haired black musician in shiny clothes. Though they had already promoted the “1999” single, executives chose to send it out again that spring, this time to Pop Radio. Since “Little Red Corvette,” these stations had eagerly embraced Prince as an exciting new pop act. It reached No. 12. With “Little Red Corvette” and the reissued “1999” on the charts, the double album soon reached No. 9 on Billboard’s Pop Chart and No. 4 on what Billboard now called the Black Chart.
But the neck and neck race continued. Epic and Michael Jackson had another video ready. This one, “Beat It,” cost over $150,000 and involved a Broadway choreographer. In it, Jackson wore a red leather jacket with his black high waters and glove. He snapped his fingers, danced and yelled, and led dozens of extras in choreographed dance routines. MTV quickly put it in heavy rotation, raising Thriller’s sales even more.
Prince, meanwhile, continued to tour.
April 8, he pulled The Time from the bill in Detroit, one of his major, most reliable markets—billing the show as simply Prince with Vanity 6. One musician was impressed by the music. Before twenty thousand of his own fans in Tulsa, John Cougar ran backstage for his cassette deck, then played a tape of “Little Red Corvette” into his microphone. Cougar kept trying, unsuccessfully, to invite Prince onto his new album.
In April, Prince was back in Rolling Stone. “There just don’t seem to be any bounds to Prince’s nerve or talent,” the magazine opined. “Each album is better than the last (he’s made five), each stage show more outrageous.” The feature noted his tour grossed almost $7 million from November 1982 to March 1983, his double album 1999 sold almost 750,000 copies, and “Little Red Corvette” was “closing in on the Top 20 on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart.” Further, two side projects landed in the Black Chart’s Top 10 that winter: Vanity 6 “whose ‘Nasty Girls’ was a disco smash, and The Time, the tightest, funkiest live band in America.” At only twenty-two Prince was “the father of it all,” but equally mysterious. He wouldn’t discuss his past. He didn’t dress like the Commodores or like Bruce Springsteen. His eye makeup and hairstyle evoked Little Richard.
Prince tried to move past his provocative Dirty Mind image. “My songs are more about love than they are about sex,” he said. Co-manager Fargnoli said he wasn’t playing a role. “His persona is Prince, onstage and offstage.” Prince was also just as outspoken and outrageous “in his business dealings.” Prince was shy, Fargnoli added, but demanding of himself and everyone around him. “You always have to be on your toes. He doesn’t play by the rules.”
His androgynous look, name, and lyrics, Rolling Stone noted, continued to scare some whites, and rock radio wasn’t playing much of his music. They were claiming heavy-metal listeners didn’t want funk even as his popularity on MTV made his audience as “integrated as that of the old soul stars,” 40 percent white during concerts.
At Warner, executive Russ Thyret superintended the effort to push the song “Delirious” to pop radio. Thyret had wanted to do this for a while but every time he had the pop department start promoting one single, Prince’s managers submitted another new album. With Prince touring this year, not releasing something new, Thyret hoped to get the innocuous dance track into record shops on August 18.
On the tour bus, Prince kept filling pages in his notebook, concealing what he wrote. With 1999 sales rising even higher, his contract with Cavallo, Ruffalo & Fargnoli about to end, and Steve Fargnoli, traveling with the tour, urging him to stick with the agency, Prince figured the time was right. He pulled Fargnoli aside and said his newfound fame was great but he wanted more. He kept talking. Later, Fargnoli grabbed a phone and called Bob Cavallo. “It’s very simple,” Fargnoli reported. “He wants a movie. If we don’t get him a film deal with a major studio, he won’t stay with us.” None of them knew the film business. They managed Weather Report, Earth Wind & Fire, and Raydio’s Ray Parker, Jr—musicians, in short.
The next day, Cavallo had put piles of press clippings together. For You had yet to sell 400,000 copies in six years. But his next three (Prince, Dirty Mind, and Controversy) all went Gold (sales of 500,000 copies). And since late 1982, 1999 had sold nearly 3 million copies. It was on the Pop Charts ninety weeks after its release, thanks to its title track, “Delirious,” and “Little Red Corvette.” Still, a movie was a difficult sell. Most of the audience had never heard of Prince.
It was shopped around, and many studio executives and filmmakers declined. During his own meetings at major studios, Fargnoli saw many laugh at his pitch. Few believed Prince would carry a bankable film. Richard Pryor’s production company was mildly interested but nothing happened. In the end, Cavallo turned to Warner Bros. Records Chairman Mo Ostin for a loan. The double-album idea had worked. And that year MTV kept his videos in constant rotation. Prince was now an unlikely superstar in the making. And his next album could potentially create a cultural explosion. If he insisted on releasing this movie with it, then fine. Mo Ostin acquiesced. Mo didn’t need to see the script, either. He signed Prince and believed in him. He would personally loan them the money.
Back on the road, with the tour winding down, Prince sat with Matt Fink and told him the next step was a movie. Fink faced him with amazement. “It’s already in the works,” Prince added.
Fink wondered if he could pull it off.
Eventually, the tour reached Los Angeles, and Prince booked two days at Sunset Sound. There, he started the third Time album, called Ice Cream Castles.
During a break from recording, he made time to see Stevie Nicks, lead singer of Fleetwood Mac. Though still with her group, Nicks had seen her 1981 solo debut Bella Donna become a major hit. She joined her band for 1982’s group effort Mirage then started her second solo album The Wild Heart. She was looking for a sound like the one on “Little Red Corvette,” which she loved. After writing “Stand Back,” she called to ask if Prince would help. He agreed.
Prince arrived at her session at the S.I.R. studio and heard Nicks play him her song. He liked it. He approached the piano, quickly tapped out an improvised keyboard track with two fingers, then left. She felt his contribution merited half of the songwriting credit. Since she recorded for rival label, Modern Records, however, they left his name off the album, Uptown magazine noted, “to avoid criticism from Warner Brothers.”
Prince returned to Sunset Sound and his work with The Time. The situation with Jam and Lewis weighed heavily on his mind. Allegedly, Per Nilsen reported, he suspected they helped The Whispers create “Keep On Loving Me,” a song that sounded like The Time. “Prince swore we did that record,” said Jam. If anything, the song’s producer Leon Sylvers just wanted to try the Minneapolis sound. Either way, on April 18, Prince summoned both to Sunset. When they arrived, Prince called them into a lounge. With Morris and Jesse watching, Prince faced Jam and Lewis, and said, according to Jam’s quote in Nilsen’s book, “I told you guys how I felt about you doing the outside production and I realize that’s what you want to do, so I feel at this time it’s best to part ways.”
And just like that they were fired. Some band members believed it was a ploy to dissuade them from outside production work. But the duo really was gone. Disbelief turned to anger. Keyboardist Monte Moir and drummer Jellybean Johnson quit and Prince invited them back. Jellybean Johnson hadn’t held a job in years, and had to support a family. “I needed the money so I went back.” Prince soon had Jellybean call Terry Lewis, Jam claimed. “Prince wanted Terry back, but not me.” Terry, however, told Jellybean, No way. They were a team: “It’s me and Jimmy and we’re doi
ng our own thing.”
During the same trip, Prince and Fargnoli went to an Italian restaurant in Hollywood where they waited to meet William Blinn, whose credits included the Emmy-winning TV movie Brian’s Song, a few episodes of Starsky and Hutch, and an installment of Roots. Most recently, Blinn had executive-produced the second season of NBC’s Fame. He was waiting to hear if the network would commit to more episodes. Prince’s managers wanted him to turn a vaguely conceived idea into a script—and he was interested. Manager Joe Ruffalo felt he had a “sense of music.” Blinn didn’t know much about Prince. “I seem to be strange casting for this kind of project,” he later said.
When Blinn arrived, Prince ordered spaghetti with tomato sauce and some orange juice. Blinn thought Prince was “not conversationally accessible,” but agreed to work on the script in Minneapolis. They would let Blinn write and direct.
Prince took a moment to reflect back with pride. He had played thirty-nine dates last year, and already fifty-one since January. It was only April but reporters already called his tour one of 1983’s biggest earners. He was achieving the kind of stardom he had dreamed of.
After London shows on April 18 and 19, Prince finally left the road and leaped into creating the Vanity 6 follow-up. But writer-director William Blinn wanted to meet. In Minneapolis, Blinn arranged a few appointments, but Prince had to cancel. He had a lot going on.
One day in April, Dez arrived at his house. In his basement studio, where they had created “Corvette” and other hits, he told Dez, “We’re at a crossroads with this film. We’re making a big investment. I need you to either bail now or make a three-year commitment to stay with the program.” He’d understand if Dez did the “solo thing,” Prince added. “I’ll help you do it, my people will manage you, and the whole bit.” Dez needed time to consider. At home, he prayed for guidance. He decided he was too unhappy. Three more years wasn’t an option. He told Prince, who understood. He could have been angry; instead he sent Dez a salary “for a long time,” Dez recalled.
Suddenly, Prince learned Blinn wanted to leave town and the project. “Look,” Blinn apparently said, “I want out of this. You’ve got a rock‘n’ roll crazy on your hands. I know he’s very gifted, but frankly life’s too short.”
Blinn left Minneapolis. But within days, Prince called him to say he’d been under stress and that he wanted to talk. So Blinn returned, and in his purple home, Prince approached his piano. He played some of the songs he wanted in the film. Prince included one by his father, and mentioned the broad strokes of John’s life: performing, marrying a singer, leaving home. He discussed how he came to live with André’s family. To Blinn, music was “obviously a cloak and a shield and a whole bunch of things for [Prince]. It’s a womb.” Blinn got the sense this time that Prince was serious, and so he agreed to write the project, which they had taken to calling Dreams. Prince wanted his character’s music to be “a kind of life force,” Blinn recalled, “and his home life representing the opposite of that.”
Blinn thought, “this picture was either going to be really big or fall right on its ass.”
In May 1983, Prince’s double set 1999 finally passed the 1 million sales mark and was certified Platinum. It should have been a major moment. But all anyone wanted to talk about was Michael Jackson, again. This time, in early May, Jackson stole the show during the NBC-TV special Motown 25. That night, forty-five million viewers saw him perform “Billie Jean” and his new dance step the “Moonwalk” (borrowed from break-dancing).
Prince was still writing new songs, and listening to his usual favorites (Sly & The Family Stone, James Brown, Joni Mitchell, even some Miles Davis) but Alan Leeds recalled, “Of course he knew what Michael Jackson was accomplishing.” At one point, he even discussed the Thriller star with Jill Jones. Ever competitive, Prince put aside his feelings to focus on creating the film that would break him out.
Blinn completed his draft of Dreams on May 23. In it, Blinn depicted a character called only “the Kid,” who was haunted by memories of his father killing his mother, then himself. Blinn included the local music scene, and Vanity would play the role of one of the Kid’s girlfriends, a soothing presence. Blinn told Prince’s managers, “You’re clearly heading for an R-rated picture.” They didn’t mind. “They felt they wanted to broaden Prince’s audience.”
The warehouse on Highway 7 in St. Louis Park was a huge depot with cement walls. It was an unlikely spot for a new studio.
A difficult tour had only ended a few weeks ago, but Prince had workers carry his recording equipment into the structure he had recently purchased. They put the mixing board at the center of the enormous loft. Once workers erected a soundstage, Prince and the band started creating songs for Dreams. Some days, a business a hundred yards away complained about the noise. Other days, truck drivers sat outside the loading dock and ate their lunches while listening to them play.
During this period, Alan Leeds says Prince wanted more “creative control and authority over every aspect of his career.” And this included his image. Prince had sewing tables placed inside, and Marie France, a talented costume designer, joined two other designers in creating new outfits. Before he knew it, the trio had come up with a new look—his purple raincoat, ruffled shirts, and skintight pants that were equal parts new wave, late-period Beatles, and Jimi Hendrix.
Prince prepared everyone for the movie, and a world tour. Blinn hired Don Amendolia to help. “We started taking acting lessons every day,” said The Time’s Jellybean Johnson. “We were taking ballet, pirouetting and shit across the floor.”
Lisa Coleman came in from Los Angeles for the sessions, which Matt Fink felt were “like boot camp.” Prince stayed on The Revolution, The Time, and Vanity 6, telling all to stay disciplined and dedicated. “He just worked nonstop,” said Fink. “He never slept.”
In one room, The Time might be practicing. In another, he put The Revolution through paces. Everyone was nervous around him. But not Wendy. One summer day, he was at a keyboard, playing with no shirt on. She reached over and yanked his underarm hair. He pressed his elbow against his side. “Don’t!” He kept playing.
She did it again.
“Cut it out!”
They started play fighting, slapping each other. No one else dared be as informal with him. He dug that about her. Despite the flirtatious rapport, Prince’s attraction to Wendy wasn’t a romantic one. If anything he liked that she was new to the business and still enthusiastic; honest enough to speak out if she disliked something; friendly enough to crack jokes; and humble enough to accept his mentoring and advice. He was smitten, however, with her twin sister, Susannah, who came to town to visit Wendy, met him at a party in Dez’s home, mentioned she already had a boyfriend, but accepted the flowers Prince now sent to her California home every day.
Prince monitored the script. With Blinn halfway through a second draft, Prince decided he wanted “purple” in the title. Blinn thought it strange but understood he identified with the color. It was dark, passionate, foreboding, and had “a certain royalty to it, too.” Prince wanted to call the film and the album that would accompany it Purple Rain.
Then he was thrown a curve ball. He learned Blinn had left the project—NBC wanted him on another season of Fame.
With Blinn gone, they had a partially finished script but no director. His manager Bob Cavallo scouted directors. First choice, Reckless’s James Foley, couldn’t do it; he suggested Reckless’s editor Albert Magnoli. Magnoli had recently graduated from U.S.C. grad school, where he studied film. And while the thirty-year-old had yet to direct a feature, his student short Jazz—detailing the lives of a few black musicians in LA—won over a dozen awards.
Prince’s managers called to say they liked it. Magnoli thanked them. He knew Prince only from “1999,” “Little Red Corvette,” and a Rolling Stone profile, but he agreed to read Blinn’s script. When they next spoke, he told Cavallo a new deal with Paramount prevented him from doing their film. Cavallo was stunned. “Lis
ten, I’m offering you the possibility of getting behind this and you’re telling me you’re too busy!”
Magnoli felt Blinn’s script needed work, and he wasn’t interested in pursuing it. But Cavallo was persistent; he wanted to meet for breakfast.
At the table, Cavallo asked what they should do.
“This is what I would do,” Magnoli answered. He described a story. “It just came out.” The script already had the Kid, Morris, and a girl in the middle. But he thought Where do you go with this? He outlined Prince’s story arc, described Morris’s, and explained Vanity’s character. Then he suggested having the Kid’s mother and father—an interracial couple—alive and fighting whenever the Kid came home. Within minutes, improvising, he shaped the film’s world. And simultaneously, he said, “I had convinced myself that this would be an extremely exciting film to make.”
Cavallo was pleased. Now all he needed was Prince’s approval. Prince met with Magnoli in Minneapolis. Over dinner, Magnoli spoke for twenty-five minutes, outlining his story then “working off what was emanating from him.” Magnoli devoted much of his pitch to the parents: the musician father and the mother as “sort of a woman wandering the streets.” If Prince visibly reacted to anything, Magnoli lingered on that point. Finally, Prince said, “Okay, let’s take a ride.” After driving through town for a bit, he faced Magnoli. “I don’t get it. This is the first time I met you, but you’ve told me more about what I’ve experienced than anybody in my life.”
With that, he agreed to hire Magnoli.
“Al and Prince were writing it as they were going,” Wendy remembered. That entire summer, Magnoli kept calling band members into meetings. When Wendy sat with him, he asked, “What is your relationship with Prince?” Then, “How would you see a situation arise?” She thought Blah, blah, blah. But within ten days, she saw new script pages materialize from their meetings.