Category Archives: 1990s

My Type of Hype: A House Party Series Retrospective


I’m a pretty big fan of House Party: the definitive early-’90s African American teen comedy, starring pop-rappers Kid ‘n Play and directed by Reginald Hudlin. A couple springs ago, my sister and I binge-watched the whole series over the course of a few evenings, an experience that somehow did not leave me permanently scarred; so these days, whenever the end of March/beginning of April rolls around, I think about House Party, the sequels it spawned, and the moment in urban youth culture it inimitably captured and preserved. If you, like me, have fond memories of the House Party films, read this post and you just might learn something new–especially about the franchise’s lesser-seen third and fourth installments.

The original House Party, an expanded remake of a student film Hudlin made while attending Harvard University in 1986, structures itself loosely around a single day in the lives of a group of high school seniors. Peter, a.k.a. “Play” (Christopher “Play” Martin), is throwing the titular house party while his parents are out of town. His friend Christopher, or “Kid” (Christopher “Kid” Reid), wants to use the party as an opportunity to showcase his “dope lyrics” as an M.C., but his plans are jeopardized when he runs afoul of the school bullies: hulking “Stab” and “Zilla” and diminutive, squeaky-voiced “Pee Wee,” played respectively by real-life brothers Paul Anthony, Brian “B-Fine,” and Lucien “Bowlegged Lou” George of the R&B group Full Force. Also attending the festivities are Tisha Campbell as the “bougie” upper-class girl, Sidney, who harbors a crush on Kid; A.J. Johnson as her worldly friend from the projects, Sharane; and Martin Lawrence–in only his second feature film role, after Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing  (1989)–as Bilal, the party’s irascible D.J.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

The film isn’t united by a strong narrative thread, so much as a series of episodic setpieces and gags. There are plenty of iconic moments: the early scene when Kid crashes an Alpha Delta Sigma reunion D.J.’ed by none other than George Clinton; the visit to Sharane’s house, where her kid brother makes a pitcher of Kool-Aid using an entire bag of sugar; the rap battle between Kid and Play; and, of course, the part when Kid’s “Pop”–played by veteran comedian Robin Harris, who died just nine days after the film’s release–shows up at the party and proceeds to hilariously roast several of the guests. Without a doubt the most famous scene is the epic team dance battle between Kid, Play, Sidney, and Sharane, which features Kid ‘n Play doing their signature “Funky Charleston” dance to the tune of Full Force’s 1989 hit “Ain’t My Type of Hype.” But my personal favorite moment comes later in the film, when Kid and the Full Force bullies are hauled into jail and Kid has to use his “dope lyrics” to distract the other inmates, who bizarrely already want to rape him despite the fact that they are only in an overnight holding cell.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

House Party isn’t exactly fine cinema, but it has a youthful energy and verve that is undeniable to this day. It’s certainly responsible for whatever lasting cultural relevance Kid ‘n Play might have accrued: while supposedly the lead roles were written for another pop-rap duo, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, they suit Reid and Martin much better–if only because they give Hudlin and the cast license to work in a lot of cracks about Reid’s trademark extreme high-top fade, from the cops who call him “Eraserhead” to Pop’s comparison of his head to a “witch’s broom.”

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

The original House Party cost an estimated $2.5 million to make, and grossed over ten times that amount in the box office; with that kind of return on investment, a sequel was practically inevitable. House Party 2: The Pajama Jam! released in October 1991, only 19 months after the first film, and it’s basically a textbook case of diminishing returns. This time around, Kid and his now-girlfriend Sidney are attending Harris University, a fictional historically black college named after the late Robin Harris, while Play is trying to get his music career off the ground. Kid struggles with adapting to college life and with mounting tensions in his relationship with Sidney, whose politically-minded roommate Zora (Queen Latifah) doesn’t approve of him. Then, Play “borrows” his friend’s scholarship money and gives it to Sheila Landreaux (Iman), a con artist posing as a music promoter. In order to save Kid from being kicked out of school, the pair attempt to raise funds by staging another party: “the mother of house parties, a pajama jammy jam.” But the Full Force brothers–now inexplicably working security detail for the university–are once again in pursuit.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

As you can probably tell by the summary, the second House Party is a lot more plot-driven than the first, but it somehow manages to feel more aimless; the “pajama jam” itself doesn’t even kick off until about two-thirds through the movie. Producers/directors George Jackson and Doug McHenry–fresh off their success producing Mario Van Peebles’ New Jack City (1991)–depart from the freewheeling slice-of-life tone of Hudlin’s original and pile on the camp, while still peppering the film with recycled gags like Daryl “Chill” Mitchell bumping into Bilal’s turntables while he dances and Randy Harris being caught in flagrante and responding with gunfire. There are, however, a few redeeming qualities. Kamron of the short-lived alternative hip-hop group Young Black Teenagers makes his first appearance in the series as Kid’s roommate Jamal, a dreadlocked white boy who earns his new friends’ respect with his love for “big booty,” “dice,” and “bean pies.” And the soundtrack is even better than the first film’s, with an infectious title track by Tony! Toni! Toné! and Kid ‘n Play’s own classic “Ain’t Gonna Hurt Nobody.”

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

Three years after The Pajama Jam, the saga continued with House Party 3: House Party with a Vengeance. This threequel picks up with Kid about to settle down and get married to his new fiancée, Veda (Angela Means), only for drama to arise after Sidney reemerges in his life. Meanwhile, Play is still working his way up in the music business, managing a female rap act with the amazing name “Sex as a Weapon” (played by T-Boz, Left-Eye, and Chilli of TLC). Play books the girls for a concert with ruthless promoter Showboat (Michael Colyar), but promptly becomes the target of Showboat’s wrath after they fire him and renege on their contract to play the show. And Showboat’s enforcers are out for blood for reasons of their own: they’re none other than Stab, Zilla, and Pee Wee, the bullies from the first two films.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

Jackson and McHenry stray even further from realism in House Party 3, particularly with their bizarre decision to integrate the canon of the 1990-91 Kid ‘n Play Saturday morning cartoon series. In the animated show, Kid and Play are accompanied by a talking dog, Hairy (portrayed by accomplished voice actor Danny Mann), who sports a mohawk and drives the duo’s tour bus. Astonishingly, he appears in a similar capacity in House Party 3, playing a major role in the film’s surprisingly action-packed climax. After Full Force crash Kid’s bachelor party, the dynamic duo make their escape in Play’s car with Hairy at the wheel. An action-packed car chase along the California coastline ensues; then, Hairy loses control of the car and drives over an embankment, sending the car plummeting off a cliff and into the water below.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

House Party with a Vengeance is probably best remembered for its cliffhanger ending, which signaled a new, darker turn for the series. In the film’s final scene, Play’s car is located along the Pacific coast. Bilal, Jamal, Veda, and Sidney all rush to the scene, and are hopeful when they see Hairy run toward them. But the car is empty. Kid and Play have disappeared. It’s only after the credits when viewers receive a glimmer of hope: the film fades back in, and a high-top fade rises slowly out of the water.

© New Line Cinema

© New Line Cinema

Despite this dramatic finale, viewers had to wait much longer than usual for the next installment. House Party 4 was trapped in development hell for seven years before it finally emerged in 2001, with the ominous subtitle The Last Party. It’s a strange sequel in pretty much every way. Kid and Play are absent for most of the film; having been missing for seven years, they are officially presumed dead in absentia, and their places have been taken by Jamal and Bilal–whose increased role can likely be attributed to Martin Lawrence’s then-recent resurgence in popularity with commercially successful films like Big Momma’s House (2000). Still mourning the “deaths” of their friends, the new central pair are tasked with throwing them the hypest of wakes. But they also face the psychological challenges of filling Kid and Play’s kickstepping shoes: especially Jamal, who as Sidney’s new boyfriend is being literally groomed to take Kid’s place, including adopting a manicured fade of his own–an homage to the relationship between James Stewart and Kim Novak in Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

crygenically frozen KNP Heads

© New Line Cinema

As in the case of House Party 3The Last Party ends with an action sequence that feels at odds with the series’ original tone. First, Kid and Play make a soap-operatic appearance at their own wake, revealing that they had faked their own deaths to escape the wrath of Showboat and the Full Force bullies. Then, Stab, Zilla, and Pee Wee themselves crash the party–and, in the most controversial scene in the series, hold Sidney hostage, demanding the lives of Kid and Play in exchange for hers. Not seeing any other way out, Kid and Play dramatically step forward to sacrifice themselves. The Full Force brothers lead our heroes to an abandoned warehouse, where they plan to elaborately kill Kid and Play by lowering them into a vat of acid. But just as they’re about to go over the edge, the pair exchange a meaningful glance and break into their trademark dance, using the moves to disorient the bullies and knock them into the vat instead. Their success is short-lived, however: before Stab and Zilla plummet to their deaths, they grab Kid’s and Play’s legs, taking them down with them. At that moment, Bilal, Jamal, Sidney, and Hairy burst in and rush to save the dynamic duo. But it’s too late: the acid has destroyed their bodies from the neck down, leaving only their heads intact. Fortunately, Hairy is not only capable of operating a motor vehicle, but also apparently has expertise in cryogenics. The film ends, again, on a cliffhanger, with the multi-talented canine preparing Kid’s and Play’s heads to be cryogenically frozen until technology has sufficiently advanced for their lives to be restored (see photo above).


© Warner Premiere

This time, though, fans never got the resolution to the House Party saga that they wanted. In the end, the closest thing to a House Party 5 we’ve received in the last decade was the direct-to-video House Party: Tonight’s the Nighta disappointingly white-washed South African coproduction that featured Kid and Play only in a brief post-credits cameo (see photo above)–and, since they were depicted as regular human music executives and not as cyborgs with transplanted heads, made it clear that House Parties 3 and have been officially retconned from the series canon.

Still, wherever the franchise may have gone in its latter days, it’s worth remembering House Party for what, at its best, it was: a fun snapshot of early ’90s hip-hop, Black teen fashion, and awesome, awesome hair. So go ahead, rediscover these cult classic films. It ain’t gonna hurt nobody.

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Filed under 1990s, film reviews, Full Force, George Clinton, Queen Latifah, TLC

Anatomy of THE Groove: “I Gitt Around” by Chuckii Booker

Chuckii Booker is one of those artists whose intricate history is equal to the seeming few who have a strong knowledge of him. He was perhaps better known as the musical director,producer and opening act for Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation tour at only 23-24 years old. His talents as multi talented singer/songwriter/producer/multi instrumentalist got him signed as a solo artist to Atlantic in 1988. Not because of his original talents as primarily a bass player. But because execs accidentally listened to the other side of the demo tape that featured his vocals.

If funk/soul music had followed a totally straight line in the late 80’s/early 90’s,Chuckii Booker would likely have been the intermediary step between Prince and D’Angelo. After a couple Top 10 R&B smashes,Booker became regarded as a producer. In that respect touching on the work of artists ranging from Vanessa Williams,his godfather Barry White and EWF alumni Phillip Bailey. It took me a couple decades to go out and pick up Booker’s two solo CD’s. One of them (and his final one to date) was 1992’s Niice ‘N Wiild. One of the songs that’s really gotten my attention off of it is called “I Git Around”.

After a brief moment of party dialog,the main groove of the song sets in. This is a pounding drum machine that hits a very strong,electrified snare drum sound on the second beat. Along with that are two bass lines. One is a pulsing synth bass,the other is “possibly” a live one playing a “duck face” funky wiggle. Booker brings explosive synth strings,horn lines providing a strong “video game” sound along with the bluesy accents of the chorus. Not to mention a chromatic piano walk down playing in and out throughout the song. Just before the song fades,Booker brings in a tough chicken scratch guitar.

The new jack swing style could (and often was) made extremely generic by many in its commercial heyday. Yet Chuckii Booker used this song (along with many of his others) to point out the sub genres roots in 80’s funk. And even with the mildly new jack friendly rhythm,the instrumental toughness and electronic flamboyance is straight up P-Funk. Everything from the instrumentation to the lyric is pretty much a direct extension of George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” from a decade before it. Makes one wonder how different 90’s uptempo music might’ve been had it followed this ultra funky model.


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Filed under 1990s, chicken scratch guitar, chromatic walkdown, Chuckii Booker, drum machine, drums, Funk Bass, New Jack Swing, P-Funk, piano, synth bass, synth brass

4 Paisley Park’s Consideration: The NPG Era Needs Its Own “4Ever”

In my guest post last week, I made the case for a more definitive compilation of Prince‘s Warner-era material, combining the best qualities of the new set 4Ever (and yes, contrary to some of the Prince fans who have been yelling at me on Facebook, I do think 4Ever has some good qualities) with the best of earlier collections like The Hits/The B-Sides and Ultimate. But I also promised I’d take a slightly different tack this week and pitch another compilation analogous to 4Ever, this one covering the years after his departure from W.B. As I noted last time, such a collection is arguably even more needed than a deeper dive into the already well-covered territory of 1978-1993. The last two-plus decades of Prince’s career were certainly more vexing and uneven than the first decade-and-a-half, but they were very nearly as prolific; and somewhere amidst all that for-hardcore-fans-only chaff is a killer “Best-of” just waiting to be discovered.

So where to start? Well, that’s easy…


Step 1: The Singles

One thing about my previous post that I probably deserved to be yelled at about was the obvious fact I glossed over: that 4Ever is, at its heart, a singles collection. Even less-frequently-compiled tracks like “Gotta Stop (Messin’ About),” “Mountains,” and “Batdance” were released as singles in the ’80s. Now, in some ways, this actually hurts the argument in support of 4Ever: if Prince/NPG/Warner wanted it to be strictly singles only, they should have gone all-in and released all the damn singles from the period in question (B-sides, too!). But a singles-first approach is, frankly, a better idea for the years 1994-2016 anyway: Prince released a ton of singles as an independent artist (some of them even hits!), and shockingly, none of them have ever been collected in a “Greatest Hits”-style compilation. Hell, I probably hear 1994’s “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”–one of his biggest hit singles ever–on the radio more frequently than any other Prince song, and the damn thing is out of print: the only place you can buy it at the moment is digitally on TIDAL, or as some vinyl picture disc of questionable provenance.

So our imaginary NPG-era comp would absolutely have to include “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”–hell, make it disc one, track one. But there were plenty of other singles from the ’90s and 2000s that deserve to be heard by a wider audience. Come had “Letitgo”; The Gold Experience had “I Hate U”; hell, even Chaos and Disorder had “Dinner with Delores.” Granted, Prince struggled commercially during the “Symbol” era, which means many of the songs released as singles during the time aren’t going to be greeted with the same level of nostalgia as, say, “Little Red Corvette”: I’m pretty sure no one in 2017 will be clamoring to hear his 1996 version of “Betcha by Golly Wow!” But some of his post-name change, pre-comeback singles absolutely deserve another chance: like the bluesy title track for 1997’s acoustic album The Truth, which failed to chart but presented a totally different side of “the Artist” to the public; or “The Work, Pt. 1” from 2001’s The Rainbow Children, which very clearly signposted the 21st-century James Brown revivalism of 2004’s much more successful Musicology. Part of the reason why compilations exist (other than to line record executives’ pockets, of course) is to offer fresh context for previously-issued material; and few catalogues are more in need of fresh context than the singles Prince released after his departure from Warner Bros.



Step 2: The Landmarks

But the singles aren’t the only “late”-period releases that could benefit from recontextualization; as I tried to argue in my post last week, even in his most dependable years as a hitmaker, Prince’s singles only ever told part of the story. So why not use this opportunity to put 1994-era live favorite “Days of Wild” next to The Gold Experience tracks where it belongs–or, for that matter, to highlight some of the gems that got buried in the three-disc excess of Emancipation in 1996? Another reason for a compilation to exist is to tell the story of an artist’s development over time–something that 4Ever probably does better than any of Prince’s earlier collections, simply by virtue of it being (mostly) chronological. But we also mostly know the first arc of Prince’s story; an “NPG era” compilation would provide an excellent opportunity to tell a story that a lot less listeners know, one that Prince himself seemed at times to delight in obscuring. Hell, there are whole swathes of Prince fans who have never even heard important late-period highlights like 2014’s self-eulogizing “My Way Home” or 2015’s “June,” either because they’d given up on buying every new Prince album when it comes out or because they couldn’t be bothered to subscribe to TIDAL. A comp like this would be a great opportunity to bring them back in the fold.


Step 3: ???

Look, I’ll be the first to admit: this period of Prince’s music isn’t my wheelhouse, which is one reason why I really want to see it collected–unlike 4Ever, which I bought pretty much as an act of charity to support the estate, a selection of the highlights from 1994-2016 would directly benefit my musical education. I know a few tracks from the period that I would consider hidden gems–“Shy” from The Gold Experience, “The Human Body” from Emancipation,  the aforementioned highlights from Art Official Age and HITnRUN Phase Two–but I would much rather hear other people’s recommendations. So what do you say? Aside from the obvious singles, what songs from the “NPG Era” do you deem worthy of compilation? Let me know in the comments, or just yell at me on Facebook. And if you want to read my writing about Prince from an era that is at least somewhat more in my wheelhouse, check out my song-by-song chronological blog dance / music / sex / romance. I’m hoping to finish 1978 by the end of the year.


Filed under 1990s, 2000s, 2001, 2004, 2014, 2015, NPG Records, Prince, Prince 4ever, Uncategorized

After 4Ever: Why We’re Still Waiting for a Definitive Prince Compilation


Earlier this week, Warner Bros. and NPG Records released the first of what will surely be many posthumous releases by PrincePrince 4Ever, a 40-track compilation of hit singles and a smattering of deep cuts from the most universally well-regarded 15 years of his career. For most longtime fans, this wouldn’t have been big news–except that 4Ever also included the first official release of music from Prince’s legendary “Vault” since his sudden passing in April: a long-bootlegged outtake from the 1999 sessions called “Moonbeam Levels.” I already wrote extensively on “Moonbeam Levels” and its place on 4Ever for my chronological Prince blog, dance / music / sex / romance; you can also read Andre’s take on the release in this post from last month. What I’m interested in talking about today is 4Ever itself: its function in Prince’s discography, and the gap that still remains to be filled by a truly definitive compilation for one of the most significant pop artists of our time.

Prince The Hits-B-Sides

For an artist as prolific and popular as he was, there have been surprisingly few compilations of Prince’s work. The first–and, for my money, still the best–was 1993’s The Hits, released both as two separate single-disc volumes and as a package including a third bonus disc, titled The B-SidesThe Hits/The B-Sides is a somewhat idiosyncratic collection: produced with, at best, reluctant cooperation from the artist (he supplied background notes for many of the tracks, which were incorporated into the official liner notes by his former tour manager and R&B music historian, Alan Leeds), the discs are presented thematically rather than chronologically.

The Hits 1 is the poppier disc: opening with Prince’s most recognizable hit, 1984‘s “When Doves Cry,” followed immediately by “Pop Life” from 1985‘s Around the World in a Daythen backtracking for a run through the more radio-friendly tracks from 1978’s For You all the way to 1992’s Love Symbol Album,” his most recent release at the time. The Hits 2, meanwhile, was composed of raunchier cuts: opening with the respective title tracks from 1981’s Controversy and 1980’s Dirty Mind, followed by a roughly chronological trip through the seedier back alleys of his greatest hits, from “I Wanna Be Your Lover” to “Gett Off”–though the final track is the elegiac “Purple Rain,” presumably because it’s required by law to be the closing track on every Prince compilation.

Though some might quibble with the lack of strict chronology–and I certainly quibble with the use of inferior single edits for most of the songs–The Hits is a solid listen from beginning to end. But the real reason why it remains the O.G. is the aforementioned third disc: a generous sampling of B-sides, non-album singles, and rarities, the majority of which still aren’t available anywhere else on digital formats. For most artists, such a collection would be a mere curio; but any dyed-in-the-wool Prince fan knows that some of his most indispensable music came out on the flip sides of his singles, including bona fide standards like “Erotic City” and “How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore?” The B-Sides isn’t perfect–nobody actually wants to listen to the 7″ mix of “Erotic City”–but it’s all we have, even almost 25 years later.


At the time of its release, The Hits also held the dubious distinction of being something of a swan song for “Prince”: the collection was released shortly after he’d changed his name to the same unpronounceable symbol that had adorned his previous album, marking the beginning of an all-out war with Warner over the ownership of his music. In 2000, however, long after he’d departed to become an independent artist, Prince’s publishing contract with W.B. expired; this, presumably, left the label in need of alternative means to leverage his back catalogue, which they still technically controlled. There isn’t really much to say about the resulting compilation, 2001’s The Very Best of Prince: it’s a bog-standard “greatest hits,” a single-disc collection of Prince’s biggest singles from 1979 to 1991. The only real surprise is the inclusion of 1991’s low-key, proto-neo-soul “Money Don’t Matter 2 Night,” which hadn’t made the cut on the much more expansive Hits set. That being said, it does what it’s supposed to do: this is the single-disc sampler you buy if you like “1999” and for some reason don’t particularly care to dig much deeper. You weirdo.


Warner had other ulterior motives for their next compilation, Ultimate Prince, released in 2006: simply put, for the first time in at least a decade, Prince was finally a hot commercial ticket again, thanks to his twin “comeback albums” Musicology and 3121. A two-disc set, Ultimate feels like an attempt to replace The Hits; the result is a noble effort, but ultimately a failed one. The hook this time around is certainly compelling: everybody knows Prince’s extended cuts trump his single edits 9 times out of 10, so Ultimate uses the extra running length to give us full-length versions of tracks like “Let’s Go Crazy,” “Kiss,” and even the little-heard (and awesome) “dance remix” of “Little Red Corvette.” The trouble is, it’s inconsistent: many of the tracks are still the lame single edits, and the presence of some extended mixes just ensures the absence of the others is felt more keenly. Perhaps worst of all, Ultimate is the only compilation to date to actually suffer from Prince’s involvement: the artist formerly known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince had final approval over the track listing, and deemed some of the selections–including the 12″ mix of “Erotic City”–too ribald for his (and our) delicate ears. If you can’t tell, I’m still not over it.


Which brings us to 4Ever. It’s tempting to look at this latest compilation and see nothing but a cold-blooded cash-in on a beloved, recently-deceased artist–though, it’s worth noting, the set is actually the only one to be produced with Prince’s full cooperation. As a sampler of Prince’s W.B.-era peak, I’d rank it above Ultimate and The Very Best of, but below The Hits, simply because of the lack of a disc like The B-Sides; the track listing, however, is arguably the most balanced yet, with fan favorites like 1981’s “Gotta Stop (Messin’ About)” and 1986’s “Mountains” appearing alongside the usual suspects. There are also some unadvertised benefits for completionists: the version of “Gett Off” included, for example, is the U.K. single edit, which for some reason bleeps out the word “ass,” but includes an additional verse from the extended version; the 7″ mix of “Alphabet St.” is also included, which is great for longtime haters of the album version’s “rap” by dancer Cat Glover (c’est moi). I don’t necessarily recommend 4Ever for hardcore Prince fans–though I bought it, because I wanted to put my money where my mouth is and pay the estate for a high-quality version of “Moonbeam Levels.” As a holiday gift for the Prince-curious in your life, however, it’s hard to criticize.

But the release of 4Ever still serves to underline something that I hope the preceding rundown made plain: simply put, Prince still needs a truly definitive compilation to his name. 4Ever is a good start, particularly as a replacement for Ultimate: it provides an extra layer beneath the surface for potential fans willing to dig deeper than The Very Best‘s single disc, whetting the appetite for his 1980s albums (all of which, with the exception of Batman, are essential purchases on their own). But what Prince really needs is a four-disc box set; he needs his version of the classic 1991 James Brown compilation Star Time. I want to see a fully chronological overview of the Warner years, integrating B-sides and extended mixes and maybe even a few judiciously-selected outtakes like “Moonbeam Levels,” that gives a full picture of his artistic development from 1978 to 1993. This is the kind of treatment Prince deserves, simply for the sake of his legacy: he’s not just a hitmaker for ’80s nostalgists, he’s an important artist for every serious listener of 20th century popular music, and he deserves to be treated as such. And yes, NPG, if you’re reading this, I will buy such a set, even though I already own all of his albums–if nothing else, as a gift to introduce someone else to his music.

But that’s not all. There’s an even more glaring hole in the compilations listed above: simply put, while “Prince” in his original public-facing incarnation might have died in 1993, Prince Rogers Nelson lived on for almost another quarter century, releasing over 20 albums that have never been officially collected in any form. And while not all of that material would be of interest to casual listeners, that if anything just means that his post-Warner material is even more due for a compilation to separate the wheat from the chaff. There are even genuine hits, from “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” in 1994 to “Black Sweat” in 2006, that have never appeared on a “Best-of.” This is all the more staggering now that Prince has passed, and many of us (myself included) have started to take a more judicious look at his much-misunderstood tenure as an independent artist. I hope NPG Records already has plans to remedy this hole in his discography with a follow-up compilation to 4Ever collecting material from 1994 to 2015; but just in case they need some ideas, next week, I’ll take a stab at putting together my own track list, and we can all have an argument discussion about it. I’ll see you then!


Filed under 1980's, 1984, 1990s, Alan Leeds, NPG Records, Prince, Prince 4ever, Warner Bros.

‘Emancipation’@20: An Artist Free To Do What He Wants To


Prince’s 1996 triple CD set Emancipation is turning 20 today. I’ve read here and there that a lot of people consider this to album to be the  Sign O The Times for the 90’s in Prince’s catalog. In a lot of ways that’s true. Personally,these songs all sound as if they were recorded to go together from the outset,whereas Sign O The Times  was culled from three aborted album sessions. Whatever the case may have been, Emancipation was the ultimate flower of Prince’s 90’s sound. In the end,that’s not so much a matter of deciding if that’s a good or bad thing. But more looking at what Prince’s musical priorities were in the 90’s.

As one of my blogging partners Zach Hoskins pointed out on his own blog Dystopian Dance Party,Prince defined “Jheri curl music” in the 1980’s with the Minneapolis sound. By the mid 80’s many newcomers and funk veterans were embracing some variation of Prince’s stripped down electro grooves. As Prince’s music grew  into a more live band sound,it also grew somewhat more experimental. This resulted in a series of albums in the late 80’s that weren’t so commercially successful. With the major success of his 1989 soundtrack for Batman,Prince saw that his musical future may not lay in setting trends.

For his 1991 album Diamonds & Pearls,Prince heavily embraced the hip-hop sound. He had been weary and somewhat mocking of this genre in the late 80’s-almost behaving as if it was musically beneath his abilities.  Yet Diamonds & Pearls was his biggest commercial success in many years.  And he also found that,on album tracks that could be future hits,Prince could still exercise his eclectic musical outlook as he always had. Then came the battle with Warner Bros. By 1993-1994,Prince became very angry and frustrated at the music industry for what he saw as the financial enslavement of artists.

This anger and frustration began to become a key element of his songs. Interestingly enough,contemporary alternative rock and hip-hop became his primary musical focus. It all came down to Prince not using his own name anymore. I personally remember Prince appearing on Oprah Winfrey’s talk show at the time (with then wife Mayte Garcia),and actually discussing how on a psychological level,he felt very distant from “Prince” as a personal identity. That was the framework I had to work with at the time the Emancipation album came out. This was Prince,a man freed from creative shackles.

When I actually heard the album,the most interesting part for me was that Prince’s “liberated” music actually made heavy creative concessions to smooth jazz and still hip-hop. And the frustrated lyrics remained intact. On the other hand,it was a broader mixture overall. It gave up the funk many times. And the 2nd disc of it was basically an elongated love ballad (in separate parts) to Mayte. So to me,Emancipation is one part the sound of freedom and another the sound of musical concessions.  Still a now unpublished Amazon review of mine on the album went into more depth than even that.

Probably the most significant aspect of this album was that it was the very first brand new Prince album I purchased after becoming a huge admirer of his work. There was a lot of publicity about this album when it came out. The people who I talked to in record stores at the time would often says things to the affect of “this is going to be the crowning achievement of Prince’s career” and so on. At the time? I wasn’t aware of the intense level of idolatry of Prince’s musical abilities that might’ve been behind a lot of this.

All I did know is that Prince was leaving behind Warner Bros. and launching his NPG Records.beginning his unshackling from the record company burdens he’d been dealing with for the past several years. I also wasn’t aware that any and all musical expectations were simply not part of the game when understanding Prince. And while I had mine? This,my second actual full listening to this since it came out,has really helped to resolve my views on his era of his creative output.

“Jam Of The Year” opens with a strong jazz/funk/hip-hop number-full of muted trumpet and piano. “Right Back Here In My Arms”,the Ice Cube collaboration of “Mr.Happy”,”Joint 2 Joint”,”Da Da Da” and in particular “Email” all follow that hip-hop style sound. On the other hand “Get Your Groove On”,the JB horn styled “We Gets Up”,the synth bass driven groove of “Sex In The Summer”-with it’s percussion effect from he and then wife Mayte’s baby’s ultrasound and the stomping,bass heavy title track represent the strongest funk element of the album.

The hip-hop oriented “Slave” and “Face Down” as well as the bumping bass/acoustic guitar driven pop/rock ballad “White Mansion” all discuss the consequences of his liberation from his recording contract. “Betcha By Golly Wow”,”I Can’t Make You Love Me”,”One Kiss At A Time”,Soul Sanctuary”,Curious Child”,”Dreamin’ Bout You”,”Let’s Have A Baby”,Savior”,”The Plain”,”Friend,Lover,Sister,Mother/Wife”,”La La Means I Love You”,”One Of Us” and “The Love We Make” are all powerful,often epic soul ballads.

“New World” marks something a return to his original Minneapolis sound with it’s brittle,stripped down synth driven dance/funk groove. The one man band rhythm section of “Courtin’ Time” and my favorite number here “Sleep Around” are both highly kinetic big band jazz oriented pieces-the latter what I’d describe as “horn house” I suppose.

“Style” is the best of the jazz/hip-hop numbers here-with it’s descriptions of different (often humorous,always clever) actions Prince equates with “style being the second cousin to class”. “The Human Body” has a Hi NRG industrial dance sound while “My Computer” is a gurgling synth jazzy/funk/fusion mid tempo piece. The acoustic folk based “The Holy River” and the uptempo guitar driven “D***ed If Eye Do” are both the rockier numbers here.

36 songs over a 3 CD set that clocks in at exactly 3 hours makes this a lot of music. There were and still are many mysteries regarding the origins of what’s on this album. For me? It’s surprisingly ballad heavy. Functioning as something of a love ballad to his then wife. The uptempo songs here also tend to follow the angry hip-hop/funk approach of a lot of his early/mid 90’s work. Not only is it clear the man was still very angry at record companies.

But the lyrics also showcase a burgeoning paranoia. With numerous references to mid 90’s period conspiracy theories such as the anti vaccination and “cows are for calves” anti diary movements. When he turns up the funk however? The groove is often heavy and horn filled. Even with his likable embrace of the jazz/hop hybrid here as well. That gives him and the ever expanding NPG to really stretch their instrumental muscles with phat bass lines,horn charts and rhythms. Certainly some areas of this album are very dated and stereotypical for it’s era. Yet it’s still likely Prince’s strongest overall release of the 1990’s.

A little healthy self criticism reveals that I have no great love for musicians who embrace negative ideas (or even musical styles that happen to be trendy at the moment) simply to maintain their popularity. And do actually think Prince did that to a tiny degree on Emancipation.  But Prince never was a particularly commercial minded artist either. As a musician,his first concern seemed to generally be about how new ideas would fit into his creative ethic. At the end of the day,its an album with many songs that maintain their strong grooves. And others that are simply indelibly linked to its time.

Perhaps one reason for why this and much of Prince’s 90’s output didn’t age as well was the general musical atmosphere of the day. When Prince first emerged as a major star in the 80’s,he was essentially spicing up a 60’s/70’s style funk-rock framework with newer instruments. But with that expansive musical period as his base,there was stronger room for flight. By the early/mid 90’s,Prince was starting to pre program more and more of his rhythms. So that left some of his music of the day having little base at all. Still, Emancipation showcased Prince on a strong path to even bigger and better musical things.



Filed under 1990s,, classic albums, Emancipation, hip-hop funk, Minneapolis, Minneapolis Sound, Music Reviewing, NPG Records, O(+>, Prince, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince

Prince (Protege) Summer: “Chocolate” by The Time (1990)

The Time’s story was covered last month extremely well by my newest blogging partner Zach Hoskins. Today is the birthday of Jerome Benton. He has not only been a member of every lineup of The Time (including the Original7even) but was also part of The Family-the protege band of a protege band. The story of The Time itself is complex and intricate. But in 1989,they were planning a comeback with Prince for an album entitled  Corporate World. That album was never released. But The Time did actually make that comeback a year later with a reworked version of that album entitled Pandemonium.

Pandemonium, along with its newer songs,contained a number of tunes that had actually been recorded long ago. This kind of goes with Prince’s tendency in the year 1990 of dipping into his vault a great deal. One of these songs was recorded in the spring of 1983 for The Time’s Ice Cream Castles. It originally featured Prince playing all the instruments. But for this album,the song was reworked to feature some instrumental participation from the band members. Happily in any case,it was among the funkiest songs on the album as well. It was called “Chocolate”.

The sound of a car screeching to a halt,along with Morris Day’s trademark scream. Then the drum solo comes in-somewhat similar to The Jacksons “State Of Shock” in tone actually. After the first few beats,the 10 note bass line comes in. The main chorus of the song rushes in after that. This consist of fast paced synth brass interlocking  with a similarly paced,deep rhythm guitar. This strips down a bit for the refrains. For sections where Morris Day does some of his comic raps,a thick chicken scratch guitar takes over. Morris and the synth brass all come to their own halt again at the songs conclusion.

“Chocolate” is one of those funk jams where it is clearly out of the school of the synth brass heavy,stripped down funk sound of Prince’s early 80’s jams. Including the musical touches added by people such as guitarist Jesse Johnson,Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis,the reworked song really brings out how much,in a manner similar to “Housequake”,how much of a modern day James Brown funk sound it all is. In this one,the JB approach is even more overt overall. Still its the funky instrumental personality and The Time’s humor that really bring this song to life.




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Filed under 1990s, chicken scratch guitar, drums, Funk Bass, Jam & Lewis, Jerome Benton, Minneapolis, Minneapolis Sound, Morris Day, naked funk, Prince, rhythm guitar, synth brass, The Time

Anatomy of THE Groove: “She Drives Me Wild” by Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson’s passing is still being felt seven years on. With him not being with us anymore,its getting easier to see beyond the idolatry (which both helped and hindered him) to the essence of his musical and performance artistry. This artistry was very much defined by MJ’s performance ability. This included his distinctive variety of rangy vocal hiccup. And it was also defined by his aggressive,brittle mixture of Broadway show dancing and the James Brown moves with which he began on as a child at Motown. By the early 1990’s,Jackson’s persona was becoming  more defined by his personal eccentricities.

Now this brings MJ up to his fourth post Motown solo album Dangerous. Quincy Jones was jettisoned as a producer,for among other reasons that Jackson wanted to update his sound in a different ways than perhaps Quincy did. One of the biggest success in the soul/funk world in the late 80’s/early 90’s was Teddy Riley. He’d helped pioneer the new jack swing variant of danceable funk music. Jackson was recording this fourth album during this time,and enlisted Riley to help out. Teddy Riley would up producing seven songs on the album,including the first six. My personal favorite of which is “She Drives Me Wild”.

Traffic sounds begin the song. Then a car horn effect playing an actual horn chart introduces the refrain. The refrain consists of a shuffling uptempo new jack drum machine,with each second beat seemingly played backwards. Synthesized MIDI effects are used to create digitized sounds of bells,clocks,more car horns,the sound of walking along with other effects one would expect to hear on the urban street in mid day. On the chorus,the growling vocals of Jacksons throughout the song return to his whispery falsetto as the drums and keyboards play it straighter. Its on such a note that the song fades out.

Personally,I tend to see new jack swing as being (which was also the case with some types of disco) as having potential to be somewhat cookie cutter and generic. In the hands of talents such as Teddy Riley and Michael Jackson,that brought out the very best the genre had to offer. These industrial electronics on this song sound much like an early 90’s extension of James Brown’s concept: turning digital MIDI sound effects and synthesizer layers into a drum. Wreckz-N-Effects perform an equally rhythm rap that appears on the instrumental bridge of the song

Henrique Hopkins and myself have had many discussions about how,while a strong album on a musical level,1987’s Bad  album wasn’t particularly innovative for its time. Susan Fast discussed in her excellent 33 1/3 volume on Dangerous that this was an album that actually found MJ very much on the cutting edge musically-along with keeping his strong sense of pop craft and funky dancibility. Listening to it today, its not an album that’s short on exciting and strong songs-especially the uptempo material. But this song really goes to another level for me.

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Filed under 1990s, dancing, Dangerous, drum machines, Industrial funk, James Brown, Michael Jackson, MIDI, New Jack Swing, synthesizers, Teddy Riley, Wreckz-N-Effects

Prince Summer: “Style” (1996)

Prince’s 1996 three CD set Emancipation is going to be celebrating its 20th anniversary shortly. Usually very shy about publicity,Prince was extremely proud of this album. And he seemed to go all out,by his promotional standards,to get the word of this album out to the people. He even appeared with his wife of the time Mayte Garcia in an interview with Oprah Winfrey on her show. Just as I was first getting into his classic catalog,the “new” Prince of the era,in his O(+> persona,was showcasing a more personally revealing identity than his more enigmatic public approach had been a decade earlier.

Emancipation is an interesting conceptualization musically. As usual,Prince is instrumentally exploratory in terms of trying different genres. What’s most striking is that he goes for genres of the era that didn’t always require heavy instrumental acumen- such as house and his hip-hop interests of the era. What he did on this album was “Princify” them with his own musical touches. When I played this for my mother,whose extremely choosy in both the Prince and hip-hop she likes,one song stuck out for her and I that was both of those things. And the song was called “Style”.

A slyly rolling synth bass line begins the song-along with some muted horn lines and some percussive drumming. Then that drum rhythm starts in with a slow hip-hop friendly funk shuffle-along with some jazzy and melodic horn charts including (along with the NGP horns) Madhouse/Family era veteran Eric Leeds. On Prince’s slow,spoken word raps on the refrains,that bass/drum/horn/vocal re-sample combination really gets going before a sung falsetto bridge and Leeds sax solo. After that the song goes into a new synth line (similar to the horn line) before the song outro’s on the original refrain before fading out.

Instrumentally this song has a flavor very similar to a mid 90’s version of James’s Brown’s “The Payback”-with it’s bursts of wah wah guitar and jazzy funk/hip-hop attitude. Lyrically the song is more a conscious poem than a rap per se-with Prince giving many examples of what he feels “style” is. My personal favorite is “style’s not a logo that sticks to the roof of one’s ass/style is like a second cousin to class. In the end someone (maybe Prince in a slowed voice) slurs “I ain’t got no job,but I got style. So both musically and lyrically,this song has a strong level of musical and conceptual longevity to it.




Filed under 1990s, conscious rap, drums, Emancipation, Eric Leeds, Funk, hip-hop funk, hip-hop jazz, horns, O(+>, Prince, synth bass, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, wah wah guitar

Prince (Protégé) Summer: The Graffiti Bridge Era

Graffiti Bridge

When Dystopian Dance Party recorded our Prince spinoff podcast earlier this summer, we talked about how the glory days of the Prince protégé were pretty much over after 1987. As we’ve seen in this series so far, the half-life for Prince’s side projects seemed to have been about three albums, max; after that, either he started to lose interest, or his charges began to bristle under their lack of creative control. There was also the practical matter of Prince’s commercial decline in the latter half of the decade. While 1987’s Sign “O” the Times and 1988‘s Lovesexy were both incredibly strong albums, they fell short of sales expectations; The Black Album, meanwhile, was infamously scrapped at the eleventh hour before release. Prince still recorded for other artists in the late 1980s, but not with the same svengali-like approach he’d taken in the earlier part of the decade; his few attempts at traditional “protégé” albums, such as the aforementioned follow-up records by Sheila E. and Jill Jones, the Time‘s Corporate World, and a solo debut for dancer Cat Glover, remained in the proverbial vault.

By 1990, however, Prince was ready to try his hand once again at the idolmaking game. The hit soundtrack for 1989’s Batman had returned him to a state of financial solvency, and his new film and soundtrack project, Graffiti Bridge, was an attempt to aim for the mainstream–a sequel to Purple Rain, at that! So, just as he had with his feature debut, Prince filled the film with a stable of peripheral talent: including the breakout stars from the previous movie, Morris Day and the Time. In addition, much like early configurations of Purple Rain‘s soundtrack, about half of the accompanying album was devoted to tracks from the film’s guest stars. The problem was that Graffiti Bridge wasn’t Purple Rain, and Prince’s 1990-era side projects were a far cry from their 1984 equivalents.


Graffiti Bridge isn’t all bad, of course–or at least, the album isn’t. As mentioned before, the Time’s tracks are basically a less satisfying appetizer for their own Pandemonium; and the best of Prince’s tracks are, conspicuously, the ones he pilfered from earlier (and better) unreleased projects. But “Round and Round” by then-13-year-old Tevin Campbell was one of Prince’s most successful attempts at writing and producing in a New Jack Swing mode, not to mention one of his most radio-friendly songs in years: the second-biggest single on the album, in fact, placing at Number 12 on the Billboard Hot 100 and Number 3 on the R&B charts. It is, admittedly, something of a stretch to call Tevin Campbell a Prince “protégé”–he was actually discovered by legendary producer Quincy Jones–but Prince did write and produce several songs for his 1993 sophomore album I’m Ready, including the original version of the classic Gold Experience ballad “Shhh.” Another track from these sessions, “The P,” thankfully didn’t make it to wax; bootleg versions are in circulation, however, for any masochists out there with a sick desire to hear Tevin Campbell rap about genitals.

Another decent protégé from the Graffiti Bridge era, if not an especially remarkable one, was Elisa Fiorillo: a former Star Search contestant who can be heard on the Time’s track “Love Machine” (though, confusingly, in the movie her part is lip-synced by Ingrid Chavez). Fiorillo’s own Paisley Park debut, I Am, was released the day before Graffiti Bridge, with production handled mostly by Prince’s longtime engineer David “Z.” Rivkin. Prince contributed several songs, however, as well as production and instrumental duties for the gauzy, sensual single “Oooh This I Need.” After parting ways with Prince, Fiorillo worked through the ’90s primarily as a backing singer, and later joined the New Power Generation full-time in 2009; earlier this year, she appeared alongside numerous other former Prince associates for Sheila E.’s tribute at the BET Awards.

Less auspiciously, Graffiti Bridge also saw the first and last appearance on a Prince project by Robin Power. Having made appearances on Soul Train and in several early hip-hop videos, here she raps–if that’s what you want to call it–on her singularly grating feature “Number One,” which ended up in the film but (mercifully) not on the album. Prince gets a lot of flak for his early NPG rappers T.C. Ellis and (especially) Tony M.; trust me, though, next to Robin Power, they’re basically Biggie and Pac. But we also can’t place all the blame on her: the beat, which aims for Public Enemy‘s Bomb Squad but comes closer to nails on a chalkboard, is all Prince.


GRAFFITI BRIDGE, Ingrid Chavez, 1990, (c) Warner Brothers

In the end, though, probably the most significant Graffiti Bridge protégé was another one who made the film but not the album: none other than the movie’s co-star, Ingrid Chavez. Chavez is a fascinating figure, if only for her important role in the Prince mythos; it was, by all accounts, a spiritually- and sexually-charged encounter with her in late 1987 that led to Prince scrapping The Black Album in favor of the more beatific Lovesexy, where she appears on a few spoken-word interludes. Indeed, Chavez seems to have lived her life in the late ’80s not unlike Aura, the character she played in the Graffiti Bridge film: wandering wherever the wind took her, causing spiritual epiphanies in every man who crossed her path (or, in the case of an earlier encounter with Lenny Kravitz, co-writing “Justify My Love” for Madonna). Though she doesn’t appear on the album, she clearly inspired the Graffiti Bridge project as a whole; the movie often feels like a thinly-veiled allegory for her and Prince’s brief but intense relationship, with an extra layer of Christ metaphors for good measure.

Prince worked with Chavez on her own album, May 19, 1992, from late 1987 until early 1991, with Prince providing musical accompaniments to Chavez’s spoken-word poetry. A conflict with parent label Warner Bros. eventually caused Prince to leave the project; his contributions remained on the record, however, notably the single “Heaven Must Be Near.” Chavez then presumably turned into a white feather and blew away in the wind (nah, just kidding, she collaborated with Ryuichi Sakamoto and former Japan vocalist David Sylvian, then retired quietly from the music business to have a family).

Released 26 years ago this weekend, the Graffiti Bridge album is basically the definition of a a mixed bag: its songs range from great to embarrassing, from catchy and commercial to boundary-pushing and experimental. The same can also be said of Prince’s supporting artists from this period (though, again, the less said about Robin Power, the better). One thing that can’t be denied, however, is that the quality of Prince’s side projects in 1990 had taken a distinct step down from that of their mid-’80s predecessors. Unfortunately, however, we haven’t come close to reaching rock bottom: next Saturday–deep breath–we’re talking about Carmen Electra.

I guess I’ll see you then. In the meantime, keep checking out Andre’s work throughout the week, and come see more of my stuff on Dystopian Dance Party and dance / music / sex / romance.


Filed under 1980's, 1987, 1988, 1990s, Paisley Park, Prince, Uncategorized

‘Come’ At 22: If Prince Had A Chance To See The Future,Would He Try?


Prince’s 1994 release Come is,in actuality,part of a series of records released to fulfill his contract with Warner Bros. 1993 was a very prolific year for Prince in much the same way that 1986 had been. Much of this material saw release throughout the middle of the 90’s. Come  is a dark album,often dealing with uncomfortable topics such as racism and child abuse. Even if some of the compositions had a gloomy atmosphere,Prince actually brought out some strong jazz,industrial and hip-hop hybrids into his funky grooves on this album. Here’s an review I did on this album five years ago:

It would likely be hard pressed to find any part of Prince’s career more enigmatic and provocative as the mid 1990’s. The man was dealing with not only a battle for creative autonomy from Warner Brothers because apparently,he didn’t have as much control over the financial aspects of his music than we actually thought. At the same time there was a personal change occurring within him and these two factors came together in a name change to an unpronounceable symbol that would begin his liberation from the excesses of the recording industry.

This decision earned him a lot of negative attention in the press. And commercially? Well it was almost the musical equivalent of “jumping the shark”. But Prince was on a mission,away from his name and himself and this album,clocked in artwork resembling a gravestone reflected this mission. Musically however,it’s a whole other story. There’s been so much time passed since I fully absorbed this that I forgot what a funky album this actually was.

Likely recorded during his 1993 battle with Warner’s from the production values of it,the title song features a 10 minute JB type horn funk send up with some production nods to the jazz-hip-hop fusion of the day. Really a very musically incredible tune. “Pheromone” and “Papa” are every bit as funky,while both taking on very dark and serious issues such as (what sounds like) cocaine in the former and (definitely) child abuse,very explicitly in the latter,with Prince stating at the end “Don’t beat your kids or they’ll end up like me”. “Space” is rather a melodic 90’s variation on funky-soul,not outside the spectrum of what TLC were doing at this particular time.

“Loose!” is one of the most musically aggressive songs Prince has ever done with it’s mixture of industrial house and speed metal. “Race” again finds Prince in his hip-hop/funk places with another strong number,this time taking on the issue of race in a more direct manner than before,even taking on the whole “our blood is the same” racial universalism concept head on. “Letitgo” explores similar territory only with a tad bit more of a deeper bottom. “Dark” is an excellent contrast,a warm and melodic retro-southern soul ballad with lyrics that couldn’t be more opposite.

“Solo” finds Prince poetically musing in near a cappella cries and growls over a harp like sound while the ending “Orgasm” is…well too descriptive in it’s graphic depiction of voyeurism. But that’s nothing new for Prince is it? I’ve heard this album be accused many times of being derivative, boring and an album released only to fulfill a contract and embark on his own creative pursuits . Honestly I’m not sure how Prince could do that. It’s just not part of his musical oeuvre.

And he doesn’t do it here one bit. It’s no accident that he at last decided to release his shelved 1987 recording Black Album‘ this same year. On the crawl up into middle age at this point,aside from the personal changes he was dealing with Prince was in a position to put his music back in the harder funk direction he began his career with. Not only that but again he was playing up the somewhat darker side of his emotional and carnal fantasies much the same as he had in the late 80’s. And that’s what he did with this album as well.

One interesting fact about this album is that,from the cover/jacket artwork to the lyrical progression these songs tend to have,its almost a eulogy of Prince’s life up to that point. Considering the man is not with us anymore,this album finds him staging his own fictive funereal as his O(+> persona was about to emerge. During the time I was just getting into Prince on album based terms,this was one of his (then) newer albums that really interested me. And considering that the 90’s would be such an on and off decade for Prince,this album stands the test of time in some surprising and unique ways.



Filed under 1990s,, hip-hop funk, hip-hop jazz, Industrial funk, Music Reviewing, O(+>, Prince, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, Uncategorized, Warner Bros.