Funkyere end stjerner og hjerter: Snabel-a'er

Super-Prince-fan Questlove vurderer samtlige Princes Warner-plader efter sit helt pointsystem, inkl. FANpoint HER (nede i selve omtalerne får hver plade to vurderinger: én for hvordan pladen lød da den udkom og én for hvordan den lyder nu):

"next 2 religion & politics, sharing your opinions on Prince is some risk yo rep ish.
in my FB network my boy Jose wanted a Prince expert to “break it down” to him.
it was like 3 something in the morning and i was bored. so i broke it down.
i gave him the Prince snob rating of Prince albums.
first of all Prince is a cult audience. meaning his audience comes to him not the other way around.
but there are different levels

@-i saw purple rain. like the album
@@- kiss, little red corvette, controversy, delirious, when doves cry, 1999, let’s go crazy, alphabet street IQs (knows the hits)
@@@- will still attend concerts might own the black album and a bootleg
@@@@- “hey ahmir i have The Work does that count”
@@@@@-psycho level of knowledge, will risk oversleeping to see him perform til 7am the next morning.
@@@@@@- level of access (music, former associates, seen the vaults) so skrong even humble bragging will seem illegal.

so before all feathers get ruffled, this was a copy/paste job from a Facebook post done some time ago when i decided to properly guide a newbie into Paisleyville.
all opinions are my own. and are subjective. many will disagree but hey…..that’s pop life.

i decided to stick to the Warner catalog starting with for you, ending with chaos and disorder (well actually i added the truth cause i love it so much)

ratings

@- I’LL INTRODUCE YOU TO A HEADACHE IF YOU DONT GET OUT MY FACE

@@-OH LAWD (SMH)…..

@@@-“COOL…..”

@@@@-YEEEEASSSSSE!!!!!!!!!

@@@@@-AUUUUUUUUWAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Lad være at slås, I ødelægger jeres tøj

Paul Westerberg fra The Replacements - og Minneapolis - om Prince i Rolling Stone:

"My first recollection of seeing him was a dress rehearsal for one of his early tours. I was next to another musician, a couple other guys that were up-and-comers and that thought they were hot shit, and we were watching Prince. The guy turned to me and said, "I'm fucking embarrassed to be alive." And that's how I felt. He was so good. It was like, "What are we doing? This guy is, like, on a different planet than we are." It was showmanship, it was rock & roll, it was fun, it was great. I think it helped everyone around. It made us all think that Minneapolis wasn't the dour town that we tried to pretend it was. He was like a ray of light in a very cautious place. He was a star. He made no bones about it. He was glitz to a place that wasn't used to it. I remember a little scuffle broke out in front of the stage one night and Prince said, "Stop fighting, you'll mess up your clothes."

The first time I met him was at a urinal at a nightclub in St. Paul. There he was, and I said, "Hey, what's up?" And he answered, "Life." One word: "life." And I can't say that we went on to be pals. But we did record a lot at Paisley Park, and he became comfortable enough to grace us with his presence, not bejeweled and not dressed up. He'd be wearing maybe his jammies and sweat pants or maybe a pear of jeans and sneakers. He could sort of just hang out. He may have been a little more normal than he would've liked people to know. That's the treasure that we got, to be able to sit in the big atrium where you're taking a break and Prince shuffles by in his slippers and makes some popcorn in the microwave.

Om Princes poesi - slottet snurrer!

- Katy Waldman om "The Surreal, Dionysian Poetry of Prince's Lyrics" på Slate:

“All art aspires to the condition of music,” wrote Walter Pater, and Prince’s lyrics are as hot and dreamlike and weird as his sound. Saturated in color, wild with bizarre imagery, they overload the senses and short-circuit the brain. Rolling Stone described the Purple One’s aesthetic as “sensual anarchy,” a phrase that helps capture the intoxicating drive of his poetry. (What if not poetry would you call these lines from “Raspberry Beret”: “Now, overcast days never turned me on/ But something about the clouds and her mixed.”) Prince told us to move and dance and fuck our way to utopia, to grind “until the castle started spinning/ or maybe it was just my brain.”

He was our Dionysus, and his lyrics were full of beasts. “You’re just as soft as a lion tamed,” he crooned. “Take me to the place where your horses run free,” he begged. And he saw in color: red corvettes, pink cashmere, purple rain, purple everything. Prince understood T.S. Eliot’s notion of the objective correlative, the concrete object that stands for a chaotic, vibrant mass of emotions. “She wore a raspberry beret,” he sang, and once it was worn he didn’t say much more.

Pop songs aren’t often surrealist paintings, but Prince knew how to create a hallucinatory scene. His lyrics invite you into an altered state of consciousness: “Dream if you can a courtyard.” “I was dreaming when I wrote this.” Consider that courtyard for a second, “an ocean of violets in bloom,” in which “animals strike curious poses.” Even before the doves start shedding human tears, you’re on a rocket ship to the Martian version of Versailles. Or recall the strange, apocalyptic opening of “1999”: “When I woke up this mornin’/ Coulda sworn it was judgment day/ The sky was all purple/ There were people running everywhere.”

Fleeing in terror, or running free like the horses? In a Prince song, despite the freaky, out-of-this-world scenery, God “only [wants] U 2 have some fun.” Or he “only wants to see you/ laughing in the purple rain,” giving in to the moment as liquid color pours down, dissolving the borders between two bodies or two souls. (...)

R.I.P. U Sexy Motherfucker

Yo man
What?
She came
Where?
There!
Oh!
In a word or 2 - it's u I wanna do
No not cha body, yo mind u fool

Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker

We're all alone in a villa on the Rivera
That's in France on the south side
In case u cared
Out of all yo friends I wanna be the closest
That's why I tell u things
So u'll be the mostest
When it comes 2 life, 2 be this man's wife
U got 2 be well educated on the subject of fights
I mean prevention of
In other words - its R.E.A.L meaning of this thing called love
Are u up on this?
If so, then u can get up off hug and a kiss

Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker

Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker

We need 2 talk about things
Tell me what cha do, tell me what cha eat
I might cook 4 u
See it really don't matter cuz it's all about me and u
Ain't no one else around
I'm even with the blindfold, gagged and bound
I don't mind
See this ain't about sex
It's all about love being in charge of this life
And the next...
Why all the cosmic talk?
I just want u smarter than I'll ever be
When we take that walk

Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker
Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker

Horns stand please...

I like it, I like it

U seem perplexed I haven't taken u yet
Can't u see I'm harder than a man can get
I got wet dreams comin' out of my ears
I get hard if the wind blows your cologne near me
But I can take it, cuz I want the whole nine
This ain't about the body, it's about the mind

Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker
Come here baby, yeah
U sexy motherfucker

Tommy Barbarella in the house
Scrub the dishes

Come here Tommy, yeah

Sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy

Levi, Levi, fly

[ooh man, let's give 'em some more good shit]

I like it, I like it

Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass
Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass

Guard your folks and get your daughter
(Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass)
The sexy motherfucker's so fine I could drink her bathwater
A long, leggy 5'8"
(Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass)
Packing an ass as tight as a grape
I want to spit some game but I said to myself
Hmmm...Just conversate (Yeah!)
(Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass)
Cuz I'm usually quite the calm one (Come on!)
You never found me out prowling boy
I'm just havin' fun
(Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass)
But I'm happy 2 change my state of mind for this behind
I bet that if you threw that ass into the air it would turn into sunshine

Sexy motherfucker
That would make shakin' that ass
4 one sexy motherfucker shakin' this place shakin' that ass
Shakin' that ass
Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass
Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass
Sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass

U sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker

U sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker
Sexy motherfucker

Når duer græder

Dig if you will the picture
Of you and I engaged in a kiss
The sweat of your body covers me
Can you my darling
Can you picture this?

Dream if you can a courtyard
An ocean of violets in bloom
Animals strike curious poses
They feel the heat
The heat between me and you

How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world that's so cold? (So cold)
Maybe I'm just too demanding
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold
Maybe you're just like my mother
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry

Touch if you will my stomach
Feel how it trembles inside
You've got the butterflies all tied up
Don't make me chase you
Even doves have pride

How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world so cold? (World so cold)
Maybe I'm just too demanding
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold
Maybe you're just like my mother
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry

Nogle gange skinner solen i september

En sætning forsvandt i min anmeldelse af tredje bind af Jonas Gardells romantrilogi, Tør aldrig tårer bort uden handsker, i fredagens WA Bøger, lige efter citatet fra bogen, som jeg gentager her:

-->

”Frosten ligger over Koppom. Markerne og haverne, værkstederne, småindustrierne og butikkerne, virksomme såvel som nedlagte./ Det er i starten af skønne maj. Hvor vinteren bør være overstået, og det er allersmukkest./ Samtidig i Stockholm, mange hundrede kilometer derfra, ligger deres elskede Rasmus, deres eneste søn, i en hospitalsseng på Afdeling 53 på Södersjukhuset./ Drop og plastikslanger, der forsyner ham med næring og smertestillende medicin, stikker ud af hans krop./ Der er næsten ingenting tilbage af ham. Han er 25 år gammel, og han skal dø./ Det skal ikke være frost i maj.”

  Melodramatisk vejrlig er temmelig tarvelig melodramatik!

Den sidste linje i citatet er selvfølgelig et klodset tyveri fra Prince's smukke "Sometimes It Snows in April" fra de 80'ere, hvor romanen foregår, en ikke mindre følelsesfuld, men mere direkte patetisk skildring af at dø for tidligt, hvis vejr-melodramatik ikke føles tarvelig, fordi Prince ikke tærsker langhalm på den, eller det gør han jo faktisk, men han gør det som Prince for fanden, og så er alting tilladt:

Tracy died soon after a long fought civil war,
just after I'd wiped away his last tear
I guess he's better off than he was before,
A whole lot better off than the fools he left here
I used 2 cry 4 Tracy because he was my only friend
Those kind of cars don't pass u every day
I used 2 cry 4 Tracy because I wanted to see him again,
But sometimes sometimes life ain't always the way...

Sometimes it snows in April
Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad
Sometimes I wish life was never ending,
and all good things, they say, never last

Springtime was always my favorite time of year,
A time 4 lovers holding hands in the rain
Now springtime only reminds me of Tracy's tears
Always cry 4 love, never cry 4 pain
He used 2 stay so strong unafraid to die
Unafraid of the death that left me hypnotized
No, staring at his picture I realized
No one could cry the way my Tracy cried

Sometimes it snows in April
Sometimes I feel so bad
Sometimes, sometimes I wish that life was never ending,
And all good things, they say, never last

I often dream of heaven and I know that Tracy's there
I know that he has found another friend
Maybe he's found the answer 2 all the April snow
Maybe one day I'll see my Tracy again

Sometimes it snows in April
Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad
Sometimes I wish that life was never ending,
But all good things, they say, never last

All good things that say, never last
And love, it isn't love until it's past 

Dansk prinsesangtitel

Nogle gange skinner solen i maj

Kæden ryger pragtfuldt for Prins Jesus

Pludselig spiller iTunes The Jesus & Mary Chains coverversion af Princes "Alphabet Street", som jeg aldrig har hørt før, og det lyder bare så rigtigt helt forkert som alt det, jeg gerne vil have alting til at lyde som, skramlet forførende, offensivt henrevet - med sangens naive ord:

Put the right letters together and make a better day

Sæt de rigtige bogstaver sammen og skab en bedre dag

(i denne blogpost citerer jeg hele sangen og fortæller om dengang jeg IKKE forærede Per Højholt pladen, på hvilken den er hittet, Lovesexy)

2 entertainere på dybt vand - ned i//oppefra- lørdag

1.
Jens B ved Havnebadet oplæsende nyskrevet vand-tematisk tekst (se næste blogpost), mens han smed jakke og bukser og skjorte og til sidst stod tilbage med stort skæg og sin ældste datters MEGET stramme badedragt og med fine, havskildpaddeagtige balletbevægelser læste færdig og PLASK sprang i bassinet.
2.
Prince på Tiøren funkende ud med Bass-Ida og det øvrige, sindssygt seje, billedsmukke band plus legenden Larry Graham og lalleglad, ophevet publikumsflok på et fra "Everyday People" gennem "Alphabet Street" nådesløst knopskydende jam og pludselig afbrudt SPLASK af violet skybrud.

Not quite an anthem by me, LB

Fairly often it snows in march
Fairly often I feel so-so

Alfabetgaden, Hørbylunde

Jeg satte Prince's Lovesexy på som taffelmusik i går aftes og kom i tanke om dengang jeg købte pladen som en gave til Per Højholt på hans 60 års-dag, i 1988 (!), og så alligevel ikke turde overrække ham den (jeg kunne ikke få øje på andre gaver) ved receptionen hos Forfatterforeningen i Strandgade, hvor jeg også glemte at sige tillykke, da jeg hilste på fødselaren, der så i stedet sagde tillykke til mig - med ham! Hvilket også gav langt mere mening.

Men jeg ærgrer mig over, at jeg ikke gennemførte transaktionen: Prince er lige så stor Jimi Hendrix-fan, som Højholt var, og Poeten H's poesi er forpulet lovesexy, som defineret her af Prince og hans rapper Cat i den poetologiske hymne "Alphabet Street":

No!
I'm going down 2 Alphabet Street
I'm gonna crown the first girl that I meet
I'm gonna talk so sexy
She'll want me from my head 2 my feet
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yes she will
Yeah, yeah, yeah (Yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm gonna drive my daddy's Thunderbird (My daddy's thunderbird)
A white rad ride, '66 ('67) so glam it's absurd
I'm gonna put her in the back seat
And drive her 2 ... Tennessee
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Tennessee
Yeah, yeah, yeah, drive her
Excuse me, baby
I don't mean 2 be rude
But I guess tonight I'm just not, I'm just not in the mood
So if U don't mind (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I would like to...watch
Yeah, yeah, yeah...can I?
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah (Can I, can I, can I, can I)
We're going down, down, down, if that's the only way
2 make this cruel, cruel world hear what we've got to say
Put the right letters together and make a better day
Yeah, yeah, yeah, better days
Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's O-O-K
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Maybe it's the only way
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Cat, we need U 2 rap
Cat, we need U 2 rap
Don't give 2 us slow
Cause we know U know
New Power Soul
Gotta gotta gotta go!
Talk 2 me lover/ Come on tell me what U taste/ Didn't your mama tell U/ Life is 2 good 2 waste? (Put your love down)/ Didn't she tell U/ That Lovesexy was the glam of them all?/ If U can hang, U can trip on it/ U surely won't fall (Put your love down)/ No side effects and/ The feeling last 4-ever/ Straight up - it tastes good/ It makes U feel clever (Put your love down)/ U kiss your enemies/ Like U know U should/ Then U jerk your body/ Like a horny pony would/ (Put your love down)/ U jerk your body like a horny pony would/ Now run and tell your mama about that!/ And while U're at it tell your papa about this
Yeah-yeah
Put your love down there when u wanna get shot
No! (Yeah, yeah)
Put your love down there when u wanna get shot
Put your love down there when u wanna get shot
Put your love down there when u wanna get shot
Put your love down there...
Get home, Alphabet Street
No!
L-L-L-L-Lovesexy
Yea, Oh, Alphabet Street
Yea, Oh, Alphabet Street
A B C D E F H I love U

Violet regn er ikke en metafor

Jeg glemte rent at spørge Prince - og hans guitar, om de ikke ville bidrage til Hvedekorn.

Stephen Malkmus fra Pavement fik jeg spurgt, og han svarede også, men jeg kunne simpelthen ikke forstå, hvad han sagde.

Vejrreklame

fordi Prince skal spille på Roskilde

sner det i april