Prince

  Warner executives still felt it was mediocre and lacked a hit single. They agreed to accept it, but only if he included “Shhh!,” a new song he had performed during his February 13 Paisley Park show. He wouldn’t.

  Warner executives again found themselves at an impasse. Rather than lock horns, they relented. “Letitgo”—the only new work—was far from his best, but enough for a single.

  Prince insisted that they credit the album to “Prince: 1958–1993.” They said fine, and asked him to make a video for “Letitgo.” He refused. Instead of complaining, label executives cobbled one together with footage from his older clips.

  By June, a contractual clause—allowing him to shop nonmusic ventures elsewhere—meant he could release a new product. So on the Tuesday he turned thirty-six, small independent Graphix Zone unveiled Interactive. Despite public claims of being restrained, Prince filled the CD-Rom with three full-length videos (“Diamonds and Pearls,” “Gett Off” and “Endorphinmachine”), fifty-two songs (old and new), some 3-D computer animation, a virtual tour of his home studio, and a karaoke setting for “Kiss.” Reviews sang its praise and sales topped sixty thousand copies. That same month, he released even more music away from Warner, crediting the “Love Sign” single solely to Nona Gaye—suggesting only Gaye was behind its actual creation, that he—as Prince or —was uninvolved—and having its label note it was for promotional use only. And more music was on the way, if all went well: an opera, a blues album, an album he’d give “for free, like air,” and—never far from his thoughts—The Gold Album.

  At Paisley Park that summer, Prince, ever inspired, suddenly wanted to work on something new. He paid David Rivkin to move a project to Los Angeles to make room. Instead, David, who used Paisley so much he rented an office, moved out. “They didn’t seem to give a shit if I was leaving or not,” David told reporter Bruce Orwall. “They just said, ‘If you’re not going to use this office, can we use it?’” Despite fewer customers and less incoming revenue, Rivkin saw that Prince was still spending several hundred thousand dollars on new recording equipment. He was ignoring financial problems, Rivkin added. Devouring newspaper and magazine reports hadn’t inspired him to avoid past financial mistakes. “I don’t think he ever did reform his practices,” Rivkin concluded. “It happened so fast in the beginning for him that it’s always been ‘easy come, easy go.’”

  Now, Prince worked on three projects: something for his small Bellmark-backed NPG label, something for Warner, and something for the future. By August 12, Bellmark was shipping his compilation album 1-800-NEW-FUNK.

  Warner meanwhile planned to have Come in stores four days later. The cover said it all. He was in black clothes, by an ominous gate and a crumbling gray house (actually a church in Barcelona). The skies were black. A nearby caption credited Come to “Prince: 1958-1993.” Then, elsewhere, he wrote, in reverse, “This is the dawning of a new spiritual revolution.” It was supposedly his final recording under the name. Warner shipped it on schedule. Fans, for their part, didn’t know what to make of the cover, the “1958-1993,” and the morbid photo. It was, they were to assume, a posthumous work.

  Segments of his audience were willing to buy anything he created; Come managed to reach No. 15 in the United States.

  But reviews were reproachful. Most described a “blatant contract-fulfiller.” One claimed Come held vault outtakes. City Pages’ Steve Perry described the “1958-1993” caption as Prince’s “most public fuck-you” yet, and in poor taste after Warner”spent two years helping convince people he is now .“

  Warner saw a few radio stations embrace “Letitgo,” and Come debut at No. 1 in the United Kingdom. There was still hope, but instead of promoting his creation, Prince focused on pushing 1-800-NEW-FUNK. When he did promote Come, Prince called it “old material” (despite having recorded it during sessions that yielded some of what he now called The Gold Experience). Warner executives shook their heads. Come emerged as Prince’s lowest-selling album to date, struggling to sell even 500,000 copies. Still, even this commercial letdown didn’t stop him from asking Warner when they’d release The Gold Experience.

  At the label, Mo Ostin’s replacement Danny Goldberg had installed a new regime, and Prince decided to tweak the team at Warner by filming a video for his Gold number “Dolphin,” in one take. Over an upbeat melody and guitar solo, Prince sang about independence, and sticking to your guns. But a special effect superimposed the word slave, in reverse, on one cheek. Prince had an independent publicity firm leak the video to reporters.

  By September 3, reporters worldwide had rushed to cover the video—and the word—creating articles he hoped would show Warner there was interest in his work.

  It was time to negotiate for the release of The Gold Experience. And before meetings, he wrote the word slave on his face with mascara. But he wasn’t angry, he told Icon magazine. He just wanted to unnerve people he viewed as adversaries. On one occasion, he entered a room, and took a seat. An executive said, “It makes it real hard to talk to you with that on your face.”

  “Why?”

  Silence ensued.

  Prince knew he was playing the race card. And the term “worked perfectly,” he said. “It changed the dynamic.”

  Close associates however frowned. “You’re the only slave that owns the plantation,” Alan Leeds told him. “It was all silly,” Leeds added of Prince’s crusade against the label.

  He ignored it. At Warner, Bob Merlis quipped, “If he’s a slave, he’s one of the best-paid slaves in the world.”

  Negotiations continued, but Paisley Park’s employees and vendors were just as frustrated. “He talks about himself being a slave to Warners,” said wardrobe director Heidi Presnail. “Hello? Let me knock on your door. We don’t work for free.”

  He and Warner reportedly reached a verbal agreement to get The Gold Experience out a week before Christmas 1994. But Uptown claimed smaller Tommy Boy Records would handle its domestic release, while East/West covered other nations. But they never put it in writing, according to Uptown, and Prince rejected the plan once he learned Warner wouldn’t count Gold as one of four albums he still owed.

  He kept publicly claiming Warner was enslaving him and his music.

  Many in the media ignored Warner’s side, claiming the year-old Gold album held some of his best music in years. Others quoted like-minded artists who praised him. Musician called him one of several industry “revolutionaries” challenging the status quo. Bob Merlis, however, told a reporter, “If he had a string of hits, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  October 13, 1994, the “battle” reached a new low. Prince’s publicists issued a press release denouncing Warner for not releasing The Gold Experience. “Fans may never hear what is being called his finest album to date,” it claimed. And “he now feels that his much publicized $100 million deal may have just been a way to lock him into ‘institutionalized slavery’ with Warners.” Prince had had enough, it continued. He just wanted to submit four albums and leave a stressful situation.

  His New Power Generation retail store in Minneapolis also distributed the message about Gold. Customers received full-color flyers that claimed: “Release Date: Never!” Then, “Do you want to see it liberated from Warner Bros. Records?” If so, vote “Yes” and write Warner.

  NPG Records then spread the word online. It inspired more media backlash. His publicist insisted, “The Gold Experience likely will never be released.”

  But Warner’s Merlis said it wasn’t true. “Yes, we would like to put out the next Prince or symbol-person album. And we will, once he delivers the masters.”

  Another Warner executive remembered Prince “at least three times” backed out of deals he negotiated for its release. Regardless, Prince kept playing Gold songs during shows and sending people to negotiate with Warner.

  He claimed otherwise but it was apparent that his fortunes were dwindling. Sales dipped lower with each new release. Come was another flop. The name change made him a
national joke. He kept attacking Warner for not releasing Gold. Now, he needed it out there as soon as possible. An unnamed source told City Pages, “He needs cash. And the way to get cash is to tour. So he needs to do that soon, and he didn’t want to tour behind Come, which has already disappeared from the charts. He wants to tour behind the Gold record, but he’s got to get it out there first.”

  35

  OLD FRIENDS FOR SALE

  EVENTUALLY, PRINCE SENT HIS ATTORNEY TO NEGOTIATE A DEAL. Despite the provocative “Dolphin,” slave on his cheek, press releases, and the album’s potential to create more poor sales and “market saturation,” Warner was still willing to discuss Gold. By October 25, Warner agreed to give $4 million up front. They would release The Black Album—the album he canceled in late 1987—in November, and have The Gold Experience out by February or March 1995. He’d also record a soundtrack to a future Warner film, Uptown added. But The Black Album wouldn’t count toward fulfilling his contract. The three would count as two toward the four left on his contract. “He’s releasing that only to strike a bargain for the release of the other record.”

  And so, years after it was recorded, Warner announced The Black Album would arrive right before Thanksgiving. City Pages’s Steve Perry felt it was a good move. The well-known work could sell at least 500,000 copies and bring both sides “a step closer to freedom from each other.” Yet, Prince sabotaged even this, saying Warner should only make it available from late November to January 27.

  Advances, publishing royalties, and fees for producing others still earned Prince $10 to $20 million annually. He also had a number of companies under his control. But his campaign against Warner and freewheeling spending habits were beginning to have an impact.

  Paisley seemingly ignored bills, Bruce Orwall reported. The company suddenly halved fees owed to makeup artists or hairstylists. “There’s a lot of little guys out there,” Julie Hartley, production manager, told Orwall. One friend had “to borrow money from his mom to pay his mortgage” due to nonpayment.

  Gary and Suzy Zahradka, the St. Paul couple that made the elaborate canes he carried to French fashion shows and Monte Carlo, waited almost six months for their $4,500 payment, then sued Paisley in November when it still wasn’t received. They settled quickly, but other creditors reported slow payments. Northwest Teleproductions in Edina saw Paisley stop sending payment on a months-old debt in the tens of thousands. Collection calls baffled employees. “Mostly, we just meet with the frustration of employees over there,” said company president Bob Mitchell. High turnover in middle management meant people that commissioned the work were gone.

  In California, recording studio the Record Plant had been grateful that Prince spent $500,000 annually on a crew and that his company always paid on time. But that summer, a $150,000 bill went unpaid for five months. Inevitably, Paisley called for a master tape. Record Plant owners said pay the debt and they would send it. Paisley paid that very day.

  Jim Mulligan of local company Videoworks worked on a project for Prince that spring but waited months for his $1,400. He began a relentless collection campaign: faxing an invoice each morning; calling the accounting department; leaving voice mail; then faxing the invoice twice a day. After six weeks, he called one morning and told the voice mail he wanted his check at the front desk that afternoon. He got it. “I never talked to an actual human being,” he said.

  With the company firing every key executive or the executives resigning, Orwall noted, creditors didn’t know who to badger.

  For ten months, local film producer Rob Borm tried to get Paisley to pay its $400,000 debt. He settled for $315,000, about seventy cents on the dollar. Since his company relied on Paisley for 90 percent of its work, he had Point of View films declare bankruptcy with about $5,900 in assets and $135,000 in debts. With more creditors complaining, Randy Adamsick, president of the Minnesota Film Board, said, “People haven’t gotten paid, it’s absolutely true.”

  The New York Times blamed Prince’s lack of business acumen for his financial disarray. Forbes’s analysis was simpler: He quarreled with Warner, accusing executives of “enslaving” his music when they simply wanted him to honor the terms of the contract. Once Warner closed his office and label, he “retreated to Paisley Park, where he has nearly ruined himself with self-indulgent spending, including $6 million a year to keep the studio running.”

  Forbes noted that in 1994 “he spent about $4 million to rehearse his band and build stages for a concert tour he never made.” Another $2 million went to nine versions of “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World,” all released independently. “It sold only about 700,000 copies.” He filmed about thirty videos a year, with many costing “up to $500,000 apiece, and never released them.” He did this despite the fact that he did not tour overseas or in the States, and earn the usual money, that year.

  His campaign against Warner alienated even hard-core followers. “He’s losing a lot of his fans,” said Nathan Wright, whose local 900 line offered Prince information. “A lot of his fans are tired of it. It’s like a gigantic game that only he seems to know the rules to.”

  Prince confronted production assistant Julie Hartley on a soundstage, and accused her of misrepresenting the cost of his stage prop the “Endorphin Machine.” Then he fired her and ordered all but two members of a film crew out. “Now here’s the shot,” Prince told those remaining. “I want the bed to get up and fly over me to there.”

  Fired employees told the St. Paul Pioneer Press he wasted huge sums on his stage show “Ulysses,” and overblown sets for tours he never took. Meanwhile, his $2 million-plus chain of Glam Slam clubs in Miami, Los Angeles, and Minneapolis struggled to remain open “amidst bitter bust-ups with ex-business partners.”

  By October, even Davison left, The Dallas Morning News reported, “After a dispute over who actually owned Glam Slam.” With Davison gone, Prince’s immediate reaction was to install stepbrother Duane Nelson to head a five-person downsizing committee. Duane’s committee sent pink slips flying. “What they told me is that I was being fired on a cutback and they were eliminating my position,” wardrobe director Heidi Presnail said. Soundstage manager Mark “Red” White, with Prince for a decade, left when things were “a little behind financially.” Paisley was slow to pay vendors, he conceded. “But, God bless him, he paid for a lot of mortgage payments in this town.” They fired chief financial officer Carr.

  Even his Glam Slam West club—opened without Davison in early 1993—wasn’t doing well. On November 19, 1994, the LA Times wrote, “Perhaps it’s a Sign O’ the Times, but the once-radiant Glam Slam has lost its luster.” The Times noted it had “quickly come to resemble Sodom—after the fall.” The walls were “in disrepair,” bathrooms were “unkempt,” and the club operated “with a skeleton crew.” This was fine for “any number of seedy punk or rock clubs,” but not “Glam Slam, the home of performances by Prince, himself, as well as nearly every popular R&B and hip-hop artist.” The attitude around the club, the Times felt, was “more depressing than exhilarating.”

  In seven years, bootleggers had already sold over 250,000 CDs or vinyl copies of The Black Album, and passed more around on cassette. Its ten tracks were already old hat to his core audience. But Warner still released the album with the original artwork on Tuesday, November 22, 1994. “We are accommodating the artist’s wishes,” said Bob Merlis. “He signed an agreement to let us do it. We’ve wanted to put it out for years.”

  But Warner wouldn’t release any singles. They placed a humorous ad promising amnesty, and a new official copy, to the first thousand people who mailed in their bootleg copies. With Prince not filming, they filled a video for “When 2 R in Love” with lyrics flashing across a black screen. The day of its release, label employees in Burbank even wore black clothing, and respectfully shut off office lights for fifteen minutes.

  But in print, Prince’s spokeswoman Karen Lee fueled anti-Warner sentiment among his hard-core following by claiming Prince still didn’t want Th
e Black Album out there. “He’s thoroughly pissed off about it. He had to sign an agreement—I can’t go into why—but contractually, he didn’t have a choice.” Prince felt he wrote that album when he was a different person, she added. He was angry, and didn’t ever want it out. “And here we are back in the record-company politics again, and he doesn’t have a choice.” Merlis said, “All I can tell you is that October 25, he signed an agreement letting us put it out.”

  Yet his representative Karen Lee continued to imply Warner somehow mistreated Prince. “Before they agreed to release The Black Album, he owed four albums, and he still owes four albums.”

  A Warner executive said Prince let them release it, “so clearly he’s able to do business with us.”

  Either way, Prince made it available for only two months. Once again, his work divided critics. One felt The Black Album’s release couldn’t hurt since Come “was one of the biggest duds of his career.” Others appreciated hearing the pre-rap Prince. Time felt, “The Black Album is far too stark and angry to restore him to his previous place on the charts,” and didn’t have “the same quality as his best work.” Still another reviewer wrote, “It’s nice to have the album to complete collections, but its time has clearly passed.” The Black Album also sold poorly.

  November 24, 1994, at the MTV Europe Music Awards ceremony, a presenter had a problem with the . Prince asked for specifics. “He just said there is a problem,” Prince recalled. “The truth is that there is no problem. I made it known very publicly that that was my new name. If people do not use it, they are insulting me. I don’t understand that insult. I don’t play the race card, but it seems to me that, in this case, you can’t get away from it.”

  In late November, publicist Karen Lee quietly cleaned out her desk and left. “It’s time for a change, time to move on.” Levi Seacer, Jr., the former band member running NPG Records, and Lee’s boyfriend, quit at the same time. When severance payments stopped, several people hired attorneys. By year’s end, most negotiated final settlements with Prince’s company (as did the couple that made his canes).