My favorite tidbit is that, despite all the names, his real
name is Prince.
Despite all that, he’s one of the biggest superstar
recording artists of all time releasing probably three of the most famous
albums of the 1980s despite not being penned in by any genre (soul? Funk? New
wave? R&B? rock? ) or by any one audience (white or back), which is
probably why he’s sold as many albums as he has despite being kind of a weirdo.
It’s a weird career that no one can put a label on and I
would only assume that Prince himself would not want it any other way.
My first exposure to Prince came during the first Tim
Burton-directed Batman movie, which was
probably my first foray into absurdist art. First, there’s Burton writing this
very disjointedly awesome movie, with so many one liners that I still don’t
understand. Then, there’s Prince. Thinking back, his songs from the soundtrack
are written into the movie: When The Joker invades the museum, the parade scene
et al. And these are oddly melodic songs about nothing. Or about sex. Sorta
depends on what you read into the lyrics. I wouldn’t say I came out of that
experience a fan, but Prince definitely had my attention.
Fast forward the next decade and Prince became more of a
reclusive oddity that … oddly enough still recorded albums and toured a lot. A
guy that doesn’t have to do either because he’s insanely rich (and he lives in
Minnesota). I would not shock anyone to see such a private dude just to slink
back to his house and disappear for 20 years. 
He doesn’t. He has zero problems recording albums, touring
and even getting the Super Bowl halftime gig where he simulated masturbation
with his guitar.
If you cut all this bullshit out, you have some really great
songs. I listened to these three albums and kept finding a new song that I
remember and really love. I wish I had a simple relationship with Prince. That’s
not what Prince wants.
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