The Dirty Prince

Dear Prince,

This is the only way I know how to get ahold of you. I don’t have your number. If I did, you would hang up on me and make sure I never called you again. So, because we often read things we shouldn’t while we’re just wasting time online, I thought maybe you might accidentally get all the way through this. I promise, it’s a love letter.

You are a true musical genius. It continues to astound me year after year how you continue to come with unbelievable music that still does not match the popularity of your earlier albums. That’s OK. I’m not one of those fans who just likes “the old Prince.” I love the early Prince, the Purple Rain Prince, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, and your current self. I love it all.

I last saw you live 2 years ago in San Francisco at the DNA Lounge. Jaw-Dropping. That’s what that show was. The venue was so small that the moment you took the stage my mouth literally fell open. I didn’t cheer. I was too awe-struck. I gasped quietly. Then you tore the house down. I could barely see you as everyone in front of me consisted of the tallest humans ever born, but I realized I didn’t need to see. I just closed my eyes and grooved.

I’ve seen you a couple of other times before. I will always come see you, no matter what you’re playing, because to come listen to you perform is to come see a level of talent that is rare in our lifetime.

But there’s something I need to talk to you about.

Several years ago I saw you play in your last big stadium tour. It was fantastic. I don’t ever expect you to play your dirty songs. That’s fine. An artist deserves to move where their heart wants to go, and if I don’t ever hear you play those tunes, so be it. You played hit after hit after hit without even needing to touch those other songs. No problem!

But then you decided to push it. You started playing Darling Nikki. The entire stadium went nuts. Then you stopped and played something else. Then went back to playing Darling Nikki. Everybody went crazy again and the humidity was rising from thousands upon thousands of wet panties in the crowd. Then you stopped again. This went on a few times and then you stopped for good.

Everyone was blue balled, Prince. Everyone. Why do that?

If you look at some of today’s pop artist’s, the big theme in most songs is “Let’s just party and have some fun because one day we’re gonna diiiieeeee oh yea we’re gonna diiiieeeeeeee” (you’re supposed to sing that line in your head right there). That’s all well and good, but what’s really making people turn their shit up in their car is people like Tove Lo, who goes into extreme detail about how much she wants to fuck someone.

No one is really going to stop their car and put it in someone. That isn’t the point of the song. It’s to celebrate their carnal feelings, which feels so good when you’ve just dropped your kids off to school and you’re finally in the car alone, just blasting some music before you get back to your house and start on the dishes, or drive to work.

Your sexualized music was, no, still is, like a steaming hot shower after a very cold day. We are all chilled to the bone with everyday life. Those songs you don’t play anymore is like an infusion of heat through our veins. It’s temporary, but so essential.

Maybe a musical genius like yourself doesn’t understand what it’s like to live a “normal life.” Those songs electrify people. I was just looking online at a Prince forum where people were talking about this. Someone said, “I don’t go to the shows anymore. It’s just older horny people and families with kids.” That 20-something bastard nailed it, that little shit.

I love you no matter what you want to do. But if you ever, on a whim, play Darling Nikki in its entirety, I will melt to the ground and never forget that moment. And it’s perfectly fine if you never do. There are other artists who fulfill that need. It’s just that you were the best at it.

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