Barry Egan: Doves cry as His Highness in Heels bows out
His Purple reign is over. Doubtless doves will really cry tonight. The Mozart of Minneapolis has sung his last note.
Prince having left the stage forever is a sad moment for anyone who loves eccentric soul music with tunes that milk men could whistle back in the day: '1999', 'Kiss', 'Raspberry Beret', 'Purple Rain' and 'Little Red Corvette'.
There really wasn't anyone like Prince. How could there be? He was more than a maverick, more than an iconoclast. He went on strike from his own record company in 1994, saying the music industry made him a "Slave". He blurred the genders with his image (dressing in his black underpants and a coat like a flasher, on the cover of the 'Dirty Mind' album in 1980) and with his songs ('If I Was Your Girlfriend' from 1987 is about Prince wanting the physical closeness that two women together could have.)
He wrote about HIV-Aids before anyone in the mainstream culture in 1987 on 'Sign of the Times': "a big disease with a little name".
I loved him from the beginning. So flying to Paris in June 2011 to meet him on the fifth floor of the Bristol Hotel on rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore was a privilege.
It didn't matter particularly that he looked like Dot Cotton from 'EastEnders' dressed up as Jimi Hendrix for Halloween. He was still my hero.
There was a staccato rap to his speech. I asked him where did the astral riff from '1999' come from. "Some place."
What do you do when you want to hear music?
He was mad as a bag of squirrels on acid. And I loved him for it. Prince said he had has little or no interest in contemporary music.
"A lot of it sounds phoned in. It is all machines. You can't jam with a machine. You can put your dirty clothes in a machine but you can't jam with it. Carlos Santana, who is a real cosmic guy, told me that, we are analogue creatures. We feel music as human beings. But a lot of the new stuff lacks feel."
I asked him if he watched the movie 'Black Swan'. I thought Darren Aronofsky's dark pyscho-sexual masterpiece would have been Prince's kind of movie. "That must have passed me by. It's not my cup of tea."
What was is your cup of tea?
"English Breakfast Tea. Do they have Irish Breakfast Tea?"
They have Barry's Tea, I pointed out. "Your tea? You have a tea? Would you like a tea?" Prince getting up to make himself a cup of tea in heels. Returning with a tea for himself and a Coke for me, His Highness in Heels never really looked like falling off them onto the ground of his palatial suite in the City of Light.
I hope God has enough sense to vacate the most palatial suite tonight in Heaven and let Prince lay down his weary head.