Committed to the preservation and protection of the musical legacy of Prince Rogers Nelson
“How can you miss someone you never met?” is a question I’ve asked myself thousands of times in the last three years. It’s a question I don’t really know how to answer other than to say, I just do. Your music and your persona entered my life at a pivotal time and have drifted in
I have loved Prince since I was a little girl; I was at the precipice of my “mental awakening” to the world around me, it was this man who entered my world at the very moment my young mind was opening up to the concept of my universe; my surroundings. All humans go through this;
Two years. Two years!? An instant and an eternity… Wasn’t it only yesterday that I viewed the When Doves Cry video for the first time? Although it wasn’t the first time I saw you, it was the first time I SAW you. Pleasing to the eye, to be sure (watching you rise up out of
The different facets of his artistry may be debated. For instance, we can argue the guitar-playing, but only with Hendrix. We can argue the songwriting with maybe a few like a Joni Mitchell. We can argue the piano/keyboard/synthesizer with, say, like a Stevie Wonder. We can argue the showmanship with, say. like a James Brown.
It once pleased the Lord to forge and create a Sculptor, hands second only to His own; an artist whose art was tied fast to his fate, a maker, a fashioner, a worker in stone. In coldness this babe of a strangeness astounding grew seeking a teacher and arms to embrace. All he found was
The last 12 months have been incredibly hard. I have to learn how to live on this planet without you, and it is the single most daunting task that I have ever attempted. I am only just now able to refer to you in the past tense – and it still feels foreign to the
A truism, that art is born of pain. Sadness, grief, loneliness, longing, villains of the heart which have ever mitigated their existence by providing fodder for the creative; seeds of beauty, in all their ugliness, when planted in the fertile soil of the artist’s soul. Ironic that these emotions, so inherently consumptive, are the finest
Ain’t No Denying, Ti’s nothing but the truth. He woulda been proud Of the Honest words I spew He has taught me Love He has taught me Faith He has taught me Sexuality…. in it’s rawest purest state. No one else in this Universe, can hold a candle or measure up No Instrument of deception
What good is a prophet who speaks in a language the people cannot understand? But how blessed are the people in a prophet who sings with the voice of the universe in a language beyond language? Blessed are the people in the prophet who rains love on spirits parched by blindness, who turns shame to
“How can I put this in a way so as not to offend or unnerve?” I’ve been trying these past weeks to corral my thoughts into some semblance of order so that I could write a fitting tribute to the man who changed everything for this small town Indiana girl. I have finally come to
Purple Outcry 