Prince

  “What lyrics?” his assistant said. “He’s not supposed to be singing. He’s got strep throat.”

  On the road, Prince also called engineer Chuck Zwicky at Paisley Park. He wanted Zwicky to enter the vault and mix a few songs. “I think I did 130 songs that had never appeared anywhere.”

  Prince was trying to bring his fans a show with the vitality and excitement they had come to expect from him. But everywhere he went, it seemed, Michael Jackson, coincidentally or not, was on his heels. In October, Prince arrived in Manhattan to play two nights at Madison Square Garden. A day after the first show, October 2, Michael Jackson played the New Jersey Meadowlands Arena, the first of three nights and enough to inspire The New York Times to call it a potential “trans-Hudson battle of the bands.”

  The media had promoted the two as pop’s biggest stars. They described a rivalry similar to the one between the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, casting Jackson as the innocent and Prince as the bad boy. As usual, Prince ignored it. He and Jackson were friendly backstage and had discussed working together. But their two tours would—if all went as planned—continue to keep meeting up with each other on the road. After Madison Square Garden, Prince was to play the Washington area. Jackson would arrive there within days for three shows. Jackson would then play Detroit from October 24 to 26. Prince would play Long Island on the twenty-fourth, then reach his key market Detroit on October 30, to play two nights. Then, in November, Prince would play Los Angeles on the fifth, seventh, and eighth. But Jackson would arrive on the thirteenth, and play the next two days, and then November 20, 21, and 22.

  But Prince didn’t worry. Their shows were similar in that both presented choreographed dance routines, programmed lights, extravagant costumes, special effects, flags adorned with peace symbols, even simulated gunplay—but as performers, they were completely different. Jackson was clean-cut and humble, asking his audiences for permission to step to another part of the stage. Prince took control from the moment he stepped into view and didn’t let up. Jackson and his professional dancers did the same routine every night. Prince changed things up, adlibbing, changing his set list, rearranging his hits. Jackson played traditional G-rated pop and ballads while Prince ran through rock, jazz, swing music, soul, bygone Blues, even raw hip-hop. Jackson kept two spotlights on him, and stopped songs so he could freeze during a dance move—stooping over like a robot, getting on his tiptoes—and hear fans applaud. Prince started call and response routines, chiding fans if they did not sing loud enough. Jackson’s lyrics emphasized terror, loneliness, and love; Prince interchanged medleys of ballads with funk numbers.

  Prince kept dividing the Lovesexy show into two parts. The first featured risque hits. As the band did short versions, he played sassy Camille, and interacted with Sheila, Cat, and keyboardist Boni Boyer. In his mind, this part presented a message about sexual temptation. But at his keyboard, Matt Fink shook his head. “I was always unhappy with doing the medleys.” People wanted full songs.

  During “Anna Stesia,” while the band noodled on instruments, Prince sat and preached to the crowd, sometimes for ten minutes. “It was overkill. I thought it was a big waste of time, and the audience didn’t get it.” During the second part, Prince had the band play entire songs but still tried to push a message about salvation, asking crowds if they believed in God, saying God was in everyone.

  Prince knew it was an odd show but he felt the first part was what they expected and the second was where it was at.

  Backstage, Prince had Purple Rain’s director Albert Magnoli ready to shoot a documentary. He had replaced Fargnoli as his closest confidante. Where co-manager Fargnoli once followed his instructions to the letter, he now disagreed with a few questionable ideas. For instance, he didn’t believe in Graffiti Bridge. “Fargnoli was saying, ‘You shouldn’t do this, that was a mistake,’” Warner’s Marylou Badeaux remembered; and Prince was shouting, “You don’t believe in me anymore!” Then Magnoli entered the picture, she added, whispering in his ear, playing to his insecurities. “Everybody knew Prince was influenced by whomever had his ear and Magnoli told him what he wanted to hear.” Without warning, Prince tried to fire Fargnoli. Bob Cavallo, who usually ran the firm in LA, joined Prince on the road to smooth things over. Prince stayed with the firm, for now, and arrived back home, where Lovesexy had faded after less than three months on the charts. American concerts didn’t instantly sell out.

  Wednesday, September 14, at the Met Center in Minneapolis, Prince wore his white suit with the black polka dots and “Minneapolis” on his left sleeve, and entered the white Thunderbird. He drove it onto the 5,600-square-foot, three-tiered theater-in-the-round stage, circled it, then got out. Despite his antics in Paris, Warner flew various radio programmers and contest winners to town. A crowd of Warner employees—planning a third Lovesexy single, “I Wish U Heaven”—also arrived by jet; along with reporters from Time, Newsweek, The New York Times, the Philadelphia Inquirer, and TV’s Entertainment Tonight. Prince ran through excerpts of past hits, but his sellout crowd of 13,500 seemed bored with them.

  Later that night, he attended a party in Paisley Park’s parking lot. They would have invited the six hundred guests inside but actors in Muppet costumes rented the soundstage for a show rehearsal, so employees set eight spinning searchlights outside, filled tents with Lovesexy posters, and covered the asphalt with synthetic flower petals.

  He saw his mother Mattie in the crowd. At 2:20, he mounted a stage and smiled. “Now we’re going to wake up the farmers across the street.” Soon, he poked fun at Madonna, including a few bars of “Material Girl” in one jam. His mother cried, “This is his best concert ever. That’s because it’s free; improvisational.” At 3:45, he wrapped things up. He had to be back at the Met Center in seven hours to let Jean-Baptiste Mondino film a video for “I Wish U Heaven.”

  Prince had turned the once-pithy number into a ten-minute suite. The first portion stressed a dance beat. The middle included new lyrics that evoked “Housequake” and Brian DePalma’s Scarface (“Say hello to my little friend …”). The finale found his “Jamie Starr” voice from old Time albums claiming his beats were “so fine.” Its B-side held a raunchy Camille song—“Scarlet Pussy.”

  September 20, Warner released “I Wish U Heaven” with a cover that showed his soft-lit face—not facing the viewer, paler than usual—and a strange tiny hand in the backdrop. It managed to reach No. 18 on the R&B Chart but tour costs weighed heavily on his mind. Shows in Chicago, Detroit, and New York City sold out quickly but Jon Bream predicted he’d play Western states “if only because his business advisers hope to recoup its $2 million production expenses.”

  Sensing Lovesexy had run its course, Prince worked to make Graffiti Bridge a reality. In California, he showed his managers a twenty-page document detailing his idea for the movie. He then passed it to Cavallo. Cavallo saw elements of Purple Rain, which he enjoyed, then cheerfully said, “This is a good idea. Let’s get you with some hip young screenwriters and make this happen.”

  Prince fixed him with a look of confusion. “We don’t need any screenplay. This is all we need.”

  Cavallo said this was a treatment. It needed to be developed.

  No it didn’t.

  Cavallo rose and shook his hand. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Prince left the office, but this discussion was far from over.

  23

  A SPACE TO FILL

  BY DECEMBER 5, PRINCE SAW LOVESEXY FINALLY REACH THE 500,000 sales mark. Instead of leaping right into another album, Prince planned to take 1989 off. Warner didn’t expect, or want another album until Christmas. “All parties had decided that it didn’t make sense for Prince to put out a Prince record for some time,” said A&R executive Michael Ostin. Warner now believed he was “confused and a little frustrated” about his career since Purple Rain, and actually causing lower sales with oversaturation. “As brilliant as he is,” Ostin added, “the audience has a hard time keeping up with him.” B
ut another opportunity came his way by month’s end.

  Director Tim Burton was filming Batman, a big budget darker interpretation of DC Comics’ Caped Crusader. And one of his stars, Jack Nicholson, was a Prince fan. Burton was, too, playing Prince tapes in his car while driving to the studio. While creating his rough cut, Burton temporarily set “1999” and “Baby I’m a Star” over two party scenes. Eventually, Nicholson urged him to hire Prince. In December, Prince was elated to hear both wanted him to remake the songs for the film. Neil Hefti’s “Batman” TV theme was among the first things he learned to play on the piano. At Warner, executives didn’t mind. Batman would let him record a new album without it being a Prince record. “Being attached to something with this kind of buzz; that could only be a positive right now,” said Michael Ostin. Batman could potentially boost U.S. interest in him. Gary LeMel, president of Warner Bros. Music, was even more enthusiastic. With the Joker in purple spraying purple poison gas in a museum, and his gang driving purple cars, LeMel said, “Prince’s involvement was fated.”

  But Prince and his managers butted heads again. He wanted to back out of Japanese dates, they believed, to work on Graffiti Bridge. But the shows were already booked and customers had bought tickets, Fargnoli explained. “He could have been sued [for up] to $10 to $20 million. If you don’t show up, you pay for it.” Fargnoli felt it was another example of Prince wanting to “satisfy his creative urge” but not making “intelligent business decisions.”

  For Prince this was the last straw. Until now, he and his managers had enjoyed a lucrative relationship. Immediately after Warner steered them his way, Cavallo and Ruffalo sent employees to help Prince with day-to-day chores so he could concentrate on recording his music. They promoted one of these helpers—Steve Fargnoli—to a full partner and helped with Dirty Mind (persuading Warner to release his home demos), 1999 (convincing the label to release a risky double-album from a relative unknown), and Purple Rain (helping him secure financing from Warner chair Mo Ostin). His managers also helped him talk Warner into releasing Around the World in a Day despite minimal promotion; helped scout locations and handled preproduction chores for Under the Cherry Moon; pitched Warner on his triple-album version of Crystal Ball. And they said nothing when reporters arrived in Paris during the Lovesexy Tour and he suddenly decided to cancel interviews with band members.

  Now, Prince wanted to create Graffiti Bridge and offer it the same thin support. He allegedly planned to cancel shows in February that were already booked. And, while his creative choices—and offstage antics—surely contributed to lower album sales and less interest from music fans, Prince seemed to think the blame belonged to the firm.

  In early January 1989, he shocked people by firing his Los Angeles— based managers. When Prince also fired his accountant and business manager, the media, including the Minneapolis Star Tribune, started calling it a housecleaning. Even more surprising, he tapped film director Albert Magnoli as his new manager. At Billboard, black music editor Nelson George said, “It’s amazing that he would make that move. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  Prince also ended his eleven-year relationship with attorney Lee Phillips. He hired Ziffren, Brittenham, Branca to represent him instead. People around him believed that, after the Lovesexy Tour lost money, he unfairly blamed his managers, attorney, and business manager. Rather than admit he’d been imprudent, hadn’t paid enough attention to “the financial aspects of the business,” be it “record-making, touring, or running a studio—it was easier to blame everybody,” said Alan Leeds.

  In mid-January, Prince took the Concorde to London for a private screening of Batman footage at Pinewood Studios. The Gotham City set awed him. He watched Burton film a batcave scene with Batman (Michael Keaton) and female reporter Vicki Vale (Kim Basinger). After meeting both, and getting on well with Basinger, he viewed thirty to forty minutes of Burton’s rushes. Leaving the screening room, he told an associate, “I can hear music. I hear the music in these scenes.”

  Burton wanted one or two songs, but, in characteristic fashion, Prince canceled a vacation in Paris and returned to Minneapolis for a week of recording. Then, after a two-week tour of Japan in early February, he returned for more frenzied, around-the-clock sessions.

  New manager Albert Magnoli remembered his “instantaneous affinity” for Batman. Warner was also, an insider claimed, paying over $1 million in fees and advances for the album. A month after seeing Batman footage, Prince played Burton eight songs, most synched to footage. Burton was overwhelmed. “He was way ahead of me,” he said. “Vicki Waiting” was first. Once called “Anna Waiting,” after a pal, it was moody and intense. He played “Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic” and his instrumental “The Batman Theme.” He also played “200 Balloons,” another flat beat and guitar work in the “Shockadelica” mold; and the dense and indecipherable “Electric Chair.” Burton rejected the theme, “Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic,” and “200 Balloons,” but accepted the others.

  Producer Jon Peters rethought a number of the film’s elements, including the score. Originally, Prince was to compose “for the dark characters only,” Peters said. Now Peters wanted more glossy Prince music. On the set, Prince watched Burton try to make the film he envisioned when he accepted the assignment. “There was so much pressure on Tim,” Prince recalled, “that for the whole picture I just said, ‘Yes, Mr. Burton, what would you like?’” Yet, he quickly responded to producers’ calls for more music with “Trust” and “Partyman,” lightweight ditties that nevertheless struck Warner executives as some of his best stuff in years.

  Then, undeterred by rejection, he returned to “200 Balloons,” replacing most components with sampled film dialogue, new beats, a variety of riffs, and a new title (“Batdance”). In the end, Tim Burton included six of nine tracks in his film: “Partyman,” “Trust,” “The Future,” “Scandalous,” “Vicki Waiting,” and “Electric Chair.” But he swapped instrumentals for the last two and rejected “Batdance,” “Lemon Crush,” and “The Arms of Orion,” with Sheena Easton.

  That summer, he put other projects on hold. He was working on Batman and, Eric Leeds remembered, “had to hurry up and finish—he was in overdrive getting that done.” At the time, he didn’t plan to promote the Batman soundtrack, his new publicist Jill Willis explained, “but then it was somewhat abruptly decided that it would be publicized—and the project could be ‘worked.’” Once Warner mastered the record, Prince started work on the “Batdance” video. With Magnoli, he dreamed up a corny plot: He’d appear as himself and a dual personality called Gemini that resembled a cross between Batman and the Joker. They hired fifteen dancers and choreographer Barry Lather. But Warner didn’t want any movie footage in this clip, preferring to reserve it for the true soundtrack, Danny Elfman’s score, which would arrive in August.

  USA Today‘s Edna Gundersen titled a supportive article “Batdance to fly on MTV.” June 20, MTV gave it a big video premiere. Then Warner released the nine-song Batman: Motion Picture Soundtrack on June 23 to effusive praise. Rolling Stone and other critics called it some of Prince’s most commercial work in years. Even better, Batman returned him to the U.S. charts. “Batdance” reached No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100. And while Batman fans debated whether “Partyman” was the film’s most unforgettable or jarringly inapt moment, the album sold a million copies in seven days, making it one of the fastest sellers in history.

  Publicly, Prince’s image was as sterling as it had ever been. Rolling Stone opined that at decade’s end, five years after Purple Rain, its influence, and his own, were incontestable. He was one of only two artists (Bruce Springsteen was the other) to place four albums in their 100 Greatest Albums of the Eighties list. “And perhaps more than any other artist, Prince called the tune for pop in the Eighties, imprinting his Minneapolis sound on an entire generation of musicians, both black and white.”

  That autumn, according to Alex Hahn, Kim Basinger came to see him. They talked of collaborating on Graffiti Bridge, and
she helped with a treatment that had a few people laughing behind Prince’s back. “It was about a guy who goes on a search for God,” one reader said. “God turned out to be a blond who seemed a lot like Kim Basinger.” Still, he remained proud of it. He had Basinger’s moaning on an eighteen-minute mix of his Batman ballad “Scandalous,” and continued to try to involve her in his professional activities.

  During a visit to the office of Warner executive Lenny Waronker, he was visibly stunned to see that Basinger accompanied Prince. “She’s sitting in front of me,” Waronker recalled. “She has her legs crossed.” Prince passed Waronker the cassette. After five or six minutes of seductive moaning, Prince tapped his shoulder. “That’s good enough.” Warner executives agreed. November 28, they released a four-minute-and-twelve-second edit as a single called “The Scandalous Sex Suite.”

  At one point, he wanted to release photos of Kim Basinger to the press. By this point, new publicist Jill Willis saw, “Prince had both good and bad ideas.” He’d become frustrated with her “or anyone who didn’t agree with his suggestions or ideas,” she explained. Even so, she resisted any idea she thought lacked sense and refused to deliver messages she felt “were crazy or irresponsible or damaging to his reputation or his relationships.” When Willis didn’t immediately rush to send the Basinger shots to media outlets—instead, she contacted her representatives to get their opinion—Willis recalled that Prince ranted and raved about her disobeying his instructions.

  But Basinger supposedly got bored with sitting in the studio. She flew back to Hollywood. “She’s a sore subject around here,” said Craig Rice, Paisley’s facility director. Prince redesigned Graffiti Bridge without her.