Prince

by Ronin Ro

  Michael Jackson remained intrigued. CBS/Epic had just released the first single from The Jacksons’ Victory, and their “State of Shock,” with guest Mickjagger, was in the Top 5. Epic had also shipped a historic 2 million copies of Victory to stores. Jackson made sure Warner knew he wanted to attend the film screening. Warner obliged the assertive superstar, but he ran late. At the small theater on the Burbank lot executives delayed the preview for his arrival.

  Finally, Jackson arrived in sequined jacket and sunglasses. He spoke to no one. When the lights went down, he slid into a seat in the last row and watched the film through sunglasses. Finally, ten minutes before it ended (when it became an extended Prince concert), he rose and left. Outside, an entourage member asked his opinion. “The music’s okay, I guess. But I don’t like Prince. He looks mean, and I don’t like the way he treats women. He reminds me of some of my relatives. And not only that,” he added. “That guy can’t act at all. He’s really not very good.” Jackson could only have been relieved.

  Prince was also reportedly present, watching it with longtime supporter Russ Thyret of Warner in the next seat. When it ended, Thyret smiled. “It ain’t Gone with the Wind but it ain’t bad.” Neither were record sales. July 18, Warner released “Let’s Go Crazy” as the second single from the soundtrack and saw it become his second No. 1 hit.

  Prince kept crossing paths with Michael Jackson. And while Thriller made Jackson pop’s biggest draw, Prince’s own fame was increasing. In mid-July 1984, Prince attended one of the Victory Tour’s three dates in Dallas’s Texas Stadium. Prince’s bodyguards arranged seating on scaffolding above the crowd of forty thousand, and waited until the lights dimmed before leading him in. Near concert’s end, Prince rose to leave.

  A girl below saw him.

  His guards knew what would happen next.

  Chick quickly leaned in, whispering, “Whatever you do, do not run …”

  “Well, he panicked and started to run,” another guard recalled. Even more people noticed Prince and got excited. Suddenly, leaving the stadium became a trial. Girls went crazy. A mob tried to grab his hair, his clothing, anything. Six bodyguards surrounded Prince and shoved the frail musician toward the exit.

  “Needless to say,” a guard explained, “Prince never ran again.”

  Thursday evening, July 26, Prince left his hotel in Los Angeles. He saw flowers in a garden out front and picked one. He entered the limo that would carry him to Hollywood. Chick was near the driver up front. Alan Leeds was near him in the backseat. Prince held his flower during the tense and quiet ride. It was a big moment—the premiere of the film Purple Rain, and everyone knew this would make him a major star “or be one of the most embarrassing flops of all time,” said Leeds. They knew the performance scenes were terrific but wondered if “the film would draw interest.”

  As planned, a series of limousines delivered the film’s stars individually. Club owner Billy Sparks, Morris Day Jerome, The Time, and Apollonia 6 strolled the red carpet leading to the entrance. Wendy and Lisa, drummer Bobby Z, Dr. Fink, and Brown Mark did, too. They each waved to fans, granted short TV interviews, and let hundreds of photographers snap shots. Prince’s car would arrive last. When it did, security people at curbside would help him make his grand entrance.

  A block from the theater, the limo stopped. The driver awaited a cue to keep driving. Leeds was ready to jump out, run ahead, and make sure everything at curbside was ready. But before Leeds opened his door, Chick turned on his walkie-talkie. Anxious, Prince asked, “What’s going on there? Can we go yet?”

  Chick turned. “The guys say there’s a traffic jam two blocks long, more fans than the police can handle and more cameras than a photography store!”

  Prince suddenly gripped Leeds’s hand tightly. With breaking voice, he whispered, “Whhh … aa … tttt d-diid he saayy?” Just as stunned, Leeds tightly held his hand. “He said we’re gonna have a day to be proud of and it’s gonna be fun. Now let me get to the theater and I’ll meet you there.” Prince hadn’t shown any vulnerability during the filmmaking process. Leeds was touched. But just as quickly, Prince snapped, “Yeah, hurry up over there. And don’t let them mess this up!”

  His mother Mattie and his stepfather Heyward Baker were in the crowd outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Nearing the entrance she looked at the stars around her, many of whom Prince had personally invited. Eddie Murphy (then riding high with comedic action movies) was there. Television star Morgan Fairchild was near her boyfriend, who worked as a camera operator on the film. Christopher Reeve, the big-screen Superman, told someone he was a new fan. Co-manager Joe Ruffalo had socialite Beverly Sassoon hanging on his arm. Bob Cavallo meanwhile concealed his nervousness. TV sex symbols Donna Mills and Lisa Hartman posed for paparazzi. Hartman’s escort, Henry Thomas of E,T., was also among the celebrities on the lilac carpet leading into the theater. Kevin Bacon of Footloose, Stevie Nicks, producer Quincy Jones, and John Cougar Mellencamp also attended. His mother blurted, “I can’t believe all the stars.”

  Best of all, an MTV crew broadcast the event live. MTV video jockey Mark Goodman—who donned purple socks for the occasion—greeted celebrities as they left limousines on Hollywood Boulevard. Thousands of fans pressed against police barricades. A public address system played his interview comments.

  Apollonia arrived in her transparent sequin- and feather-covered lavender gown. Lisa walked the red carpet, remembering her school days. Back then, she waited for her bus home at the stop right across the street. Dez was stunned when he arrived. “I’ve never seen so many flashbulbs,” he said. Paul Peterson was just as amazed. “It didn’t hit me how big Prince is until I got here and saw the limos, and having to stop for pictures coming into the theater, and just having someone telling me where to go.”

  As the purple limo neared the theater, Prince could hear screams and cheers. He left the car in his purple trench coat and with a purple flower in hand. With giant Chick at his side, Prince maintained a blank expression and marched directly inside. Fans saw he wouldn’t stop for an interview or pose for their photos, and they started booing. MTV’s Goodman told them, “Don’t feel bad. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  Inside, Prince took his seat near drummer Bobby, Bobby’s wife, and Bobby’s mother. About five hundred audience members had waited on long lines to buy ten-dollar tickets.

  As the film began, viewers cheered various scenes. They screamed when Dez appeared on screen. In his seat, Dez couldn’t believe it.

  Then, when the bar manager told the Kid his music made no sense to anyone but himself, a young female viewer cried, “It does to me.” Another woman yelled, “I love you.” A third said, “I love you more.” When the crowd laughed at jokes on screen, Prince smiled.

  The film over, Prince and fellow audience members headed to the Palace Theatre, which had purple searchlights outside for the occasion. Ushers handed women purple orchids as they entered. Inside the theater, guests saw purple wherever they looked—flowers in vases, purple balloons, streamers taped to the ceiling, napkins, tablecloths. Reporters asked various guests for reviews. Eddie Murphy stopped moving through the crowd with bodyguards long enough to tell a TV audience of millions, “Prince is bad.” Lionel Richie, enjoying his own string of hit ballads and MTV videos, offered similar praise and predicted, “Now everyone is going to want to make their own movie.” Steven Spielberg, riding high off E,T., said he didn’t give reviews. Bob Cavallo meanwhile smoked a cigar in triumph.

  Many of Prince’s musicians excitedly listened to Harold Ramis, star of the summer blockbuster Ghostbusters, praise Morris Day’s performance. Morris meanwhile moved through the crowd with his own two bodyguards. Jerome Benton told hometown reporter Jon Bream, “I feel sixty feet tall.” Jellybean Johnson told Bream, “This is like a dream come true.” Bobby Z told him, “Prince is bringing back the days of Old Hollywood.” But soon, guests noticed Prince was nowhere in sight. They faced a stage, where a new Minneapolis discovery (called “an unnamed ban
d with dancers” by one reporter) performed. Then Sheila came out and played for forty minutes. Finally, Prince took the stage. He didn’t address the crowd in any way. After playing three songs with The Revolution, Prince left, and stayed backstage for the rest of the night.

  By Monday morning, the numbers were in. Purple Rain had earned $7.7 million in its opening weekend, replacing the effects-laden blockbuster Ghostbusters as America’s top-grossing film. At twenty-six, Prince simultaneously had a single (“Let’s Go Crazy”), an album, and a movie at No. 1 on various Billboard and box-office charts. Prince had reached heights previously scaled only by Elvis and the Beatles.

  “We looked around and I knew we were lost,” Prince told Paper. “There was no place to go but down. You can never satisfy the need after that.”

  In August, Purple Rain and the Jacksons’ Victory Tour competed for headlines in the national media. August 4 saw The Jacksons’ album debut at No. 4 on the Billboard 200. But by August 21, Prince’s “When Doves Cry” had sold over half a million copies. With Purple Rain electrifying audiences in theaters, and urban and pop radio embracing its soundtrack, more reporters seemed interested in covering him. Rolling Stone’s film review ran in August, and Kurt Loder’s title said it all (“Prince stunning in ‘Purple Rain”’). That same month’s New Yorker notice (“The Charismatic Half-and-Halfs”) described his “neo-Liberace finery” and praised the music, but noted that once “When Doves Cry” played over a montage of the Kid regretting his treatment of Apollonia “we have nothing to do but listen to the words, which are not its strong point.” In the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, Mikal Gilmore compared it to Citizen Kane, adding that Prince “dominates the screen” like Brando in The Wild One. LA Times critic Robert Hilburn liked his “presence” but rejected the film as weak. The Los Angeles Herald declared it “the best rock movie ever made.”

  With the movie a sudden pop culture phenomenon, radio stations kept playing his music, fueling even more sales. In August, Purple Rain started outselling The Jacksons’ Victory and Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A., and People opined, “With his slightly sinister flash and sensuality, he provides an antidote to the eerie asexuality of Michael Jackson.” There were “an unusually large number of million-selling albums,” Rolling Stone noted. Record retailers had had a prosperous summer, and expected high sales until winter. But most successful was Purple Rain, which sold 5 million copies since June 13, and kept outdoing the competition “by as much as four to one.”

  One week in August, customers of the Record Bar, a 160-store North Carolina-based chain, bought nearly 15,000 copies. The chain’s second-bestselling album that week, Julio Iglesias’s 1100 Bel Air Place, sold only 3,288 copies. Said Norman Hunter, manager of buying, “Purple Rain right now is our biggest-selling record of all time outside of the Christmas season.”

  Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. sold 2.5 million copies; the Jacksons’ Victory sold over 2.5; Tina Turner’s Private Dancer sold around 1.3. “But the big story is Prince,” said Rolling Stone.

  In September, Prince kept dropping by Minneapolis’s Met Center, to rehearse for the big tour. By now, reporters were beginning to pitch publishers on biographies about him. “It just seemed like a no-brainer to write a book about a pop genius,” Barney Hoskyns noted. “There weren’t many around in the eighties.”

  The Family album was just about finished, but Prince decided to hold it until after the Purple Rain Tour. In various studios, he focused again on the next album. And where The Revolution assumed he’d include them in songwriting, now he worked alone. After Purple Rain, Alan Leeds explained, “They had an enormously inflated sense of their importance to the project.” Everyone knew Prince was the star, Leeds elaborated. And while fans did love The Revolution, with many choosing their favorite members, “some of us reckoned that whomever was in Prince’s band would [receive] similar appreciation. It was Prince they paid to see and hear.”

  They resented him for, as they put it, sneaking off to studios without them. They were also griping about money. Prince was a multimillionaire now but, Mark Brown claimed, paid each band member only $2,200 a week. Some were also still smarting about the end of the tour, when he gave each member a $15,000 bonus. “It was a slap in the face,” Brown felt. “We had grossed him over $80 million.” Brown, however, did not blame Prince directly; he attributed these compensation decisions to Prince’s management team.

  At any rate, Prince wanted to record a new song without them. He had Steve Fargnoli call David Coleman again. He wanted to cover David’s “Around the World in a Day” David not only let him, he was willing to bring his reels and instruments to the warehouse in Eden Prairie. On September 16, Prince met David and his musical partner—and Wendy’s brother, Jonathan Melvoin—at the warehouse and played with exotic instruments, and filled his new version with a playful energy. Prince added his drum machine and voice, and changed the lyric, but kept Coleman’s title and chorus. Prince liked the result and wanted the rest of the album to be just as daring.

  So far, Prince was having a phenomenal year. Music fans quickly snatched up The Time’s Ice Cream Castle, and Sheila E.’s The Glamorous Life. Then October 1, Warner released Apollonia 6. But while their single “Sex Shooter” reached No. 14 on the Black Chart and 85 on the Pop Chart, and with the album at No. 62 on the Pop Chart, and 24 on the Black Chart, Warner mysteriously decided there would be no more singles. Publicists stopped working the record. The group vanished.

  The Tour was starting in November. But Prince was almost finished with Around the World in a Day, what he’d taken to calling his next album. Everyone expected another Purple Rain, but he wanted to please his core audience. The new sounds would probably sell less but he didn’t care. “It keeps a roof over your head,” he said of high sales in Mojo, “and keeps money in all these folks’ pockets that I got hangin’ around here!” But money and soul were different. “I wouldn’t mind if I just went broke,” he claimed. If he could still play heartfelt music for crowds, he’d be happy.

  In Detroit, he started his “Purple Rain Tour.” “And everything connected with the concert tour had to be approved by him,” Ebony noted. Seven shows were already sold out. Opening night, the modern Joe Louis Arena held over 300 writers and photographers, some from overseas, 19,000 paying customers, about 150 guards, and Detroit police officers.

  During her opening set, Sheila stripped down to a G-string bikini, twirled a drumstick, and asked, “Do you want to play my timbales?” But fans in purple interrupted. “We want Prince! We want Prince!”

  After a lengthy intermission, the lights dimmed. A synthesizer chord rang. Everyone cheered. It was 9:40, and he whispered, “Detroit. My name is Prince and I’ve come to play with you.” The curtain flew up. He stood on a raised platform, in “a Hendrixian outfit” (shiny purple jacket, white serape top, and tight bell-bottoms). Then he slid down a firefighter’s pole as smoke bombs exploded and colorful confetti and the tops of fifteen thousand carnations dropped from the rafters.

  The band played “Let’s Go Crazy” over the largest quadraphonic sound system ever prepared for an arena show, but it sounded horrible. For a second, Prince visibly reacted. Then he kept singing and twirling in circles. What could he do?

  Prince played his upbeat 1999 single “Delirious.” Then, during “1999,” he handed lilies to the crowd. After half of “Little Red Corvette,” he stopped singing and went into the splits and slides seen in his video. But when he ran across the stage, sliding toward the microphone, a writer recalled, “He didn’t quite pull it off. The mike clunked noisily to the ground.” He did another spin, and fell.

  The audience wasn’t predominantly black or “a typical white rock and roll one,” Rolling Stone said. It was mostly white, with camera-clutching teens that knew him only from the movie. Anticipating this, Prince tailored most of the show to them, including every Purple Rain song but “Take Me With U” in his fourteen-song set. He added four 1999 songs and two recent B-sides but esc
hewed “When You Were Mine,” “Head,” “Uptown” or anything from Dirty Mind and Controversy. Prince also had his most ostentatious light show yet, and many costumes waiting in the wings (annoying critics to no end). He kept imitating mannerisms of Carlos Santana or Jimi Hendrix. But music and choreography from the film brought the most applause.

  During the early shows crowd reaction was “as close as anyone could get to a ‘Beatles’ experience,” said tour manager Alan Leeds. “Surreal.” Matt Fink said, “It was just insanity”

  A hundred outfits had matching boots. “Every night he was breaking heels,” tour manager Leeds explained. They asked an old Italian boot designer in New York, who usually did theatrical wardrobe, to make more. “The only problem is I’ve got a dozen boots to make for Luther Vandross,” he said. “As soon as that’s done, we can move to yours.” An employee pulled out her American Express gold card. “Luther who?”

  He was just as competitive on stage. Before anyone knew it, Prince invited the self-described “Boss,” Bruce Springsteen on stage. After handing Springsteen a guitar for a solo, Prince took it away and held it over Bruce’s head. While playing a few notes Prince pretended it didn’t work before facing it with confusion. Then Prince relaxed his face. He played a hot riff and made an expression that told the audience, “It’s fine now that I’m playing it.”

  After a show, bodyguard Harlan “Hucky” Austin told Housequake.com, Prince would arrive at his hotel. Austin would have made sure no fans were there, so he’d make an inconspicuous entrance. After dinner, he’d watch tapes, seeking ways to improve the show. His bodyguard would then leave to find a club for a surprise appearance. Prince would head there, play a show, and leave at about 4:00 A.M. By the time Prince woke up, the guard would be in the next city, arranging for another hotel, transportation, and safe travel routes. At noon, Prince’s morning flight would arrive at the next city’s airport. The guard would lead him to a limousine for a ride to the next hotel room. Knowing his fans might call various establishments to learn where he was staying while in town, Prince would register with an alias. At this point, Austin continued, Prince might sleep or shop. But within hours, he saw the guard again, and reached the venue for sound check. Usually, he started each Purple Rain show at eight o’clock, finished, and started the cycle again; a demanding, but monotonous schedule he kept five to six days a week.