Damnit. Prince. Not you, too. I’m still not over Bowie or Robin Williams, or even Michael Jackson for that matter. And I still miss Fred Astaire. I have a tendency to hold on to things, like those four vinyl albums in the picture. I used to have 1999 too, but it was warped, and I had to throw it away. In addition to listening to all the Prince I own in every format for the past few days, I was lucky enough to get to see one of the showings of Purple Rain in the theatre on Saturday. It was transformative. People of all colors and orientation gathered simply for a musical genius who embodied creative sexual energy that transcends gender. It still does. I had recently come to appreciate his insanely exquisite guitar riffs, but I don’t think I ever quite appreciated the full genius of his creativity until Saturday. In honoring his talents and gifts and making his own rules, he gave us the opportunity to be better and to break out using whatever creative energy we’ve got. What a gift.
When I first heard the news, I texted my friend Sonia, my U2 mate, because we also bonded over Prince, especially Purple Rain.
“What are we going to do now?” I texted forlornly. Without missing a beat she responded, “Dance like there’s no tomorrow.”
We’ll no doubt be awash in musicians’ tributes and Purpleness for days to come, and that’s all right. Me? I’m going to dance like there’s no tomorrow.