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|I Am Skooter|
So here's us, on the raggedy edge.
I was at work yesterday when the news of Prince’s death broke—on my way to a meeting walking away from my desk when someone said it. I’m old—almost 45—at a company where most of my co-workers are in their 20s. One of the ways this manifests itself day to day is in their drastically differing musical backgrounds to mine. Some of them weren’t even born when the Joshua Tree was released and they have no way to understand the cultural impact that album had. When Bowie died, they didn’t even notice.
Not so with Prince. The rest of the day—at leas the parts I spent at my desk—saw this cross-generational company’s staff singing songs that were written before the Joshua Tree. Purple Rain featured prominently, but so did Little Red Corvette and 1999.
Prince was an immensely talented artist whose music left a longer footprint than most. That music was like nothing else because it took everything else, put it in a blender and came out the other other end sounding like something that was uniquely Prince, always interesting, radio ready but not boring sappy pop music.
Purple Rain was everywhere in 1984. The movie may be a mess but the album remains strong and vital and fresh over thirty years later. Put the record on and play side two, which runs rom When Doves Cry to Purple Rain—and I dare you not to play it again, and again. It shares that with a few albums—Springsteen’s Born to Run, The Joshua Tree, Hendrix’s Are You Experienced, anything Mile Davis ever released. That’s pretty rare company, and it’s company that Prince deserves to be in.
He was a restless explorer who didn’t sit still and who pushed at the boundaries. Those people aren’t suppose to die, but they do and he has. The world is a poorer place for it.