Sebastian Kole – The Sebastian Kole EP


Ai più il nome di Sebastian Kole dirà poco. È per questo che ve lo segnaliamo, perché il giovane cantante, autore e musicista che arriva dall’Alabama merita una più profonda ed attenta considerazione. Dopo aver collaborato nella realizzazione di alcuni brani portati poi al successo da personaggi come Jennifer Lopez o Alessia Cara, Kole decide di intraprendere la carriera di cantante riuscendo a convincere quelli della Motown Recording. A dire il vero chiunque lo avrebbe messo sotto contratto: il suo repertorio è attualmente limitato, poche le canzoni incise, ma la qualità è rara. La si percepisce ascoltando questo The Sebastian Kole EP, disco d’esordio presentato al pubblico alcuni mesi fa e che racchiude i singoli che Kole ha pubblicato periodicamente attraverso i social.

La musica che propone e quella che lui stesso definisce SOUP, una perfetta stabilità tra Southern Urban ed il Pop più attuale che, come sappiamo, attinge sempre di più dalle sonorità Contemporary R&B. Qui però non troverete sperimentazione elettronica o intonazioni corrette con l’autotune. Qui c’è una voce ampia ed avvolgente che conquista all’istante. Pochi secondi per accorgersi che in lui c’è qualcosa di diverso, non solo per l’interpretazione, ma anche per quelle armonie soul un po’ datate, nostalgiche, che lui riesce ad enfatizzare con vitalità. Per alcuni passaggi ricorda il John Legend che tutti apprezziamo e che sicuramente Kole ha preso come riferimento, insieme ad altri talenti soul delle decadi passate.

In pochi sceglierebbero una canzone come Home, gioiello cantato a cappella, come apertura di un disco, un brano che potrebbe deprimere anche l’ascoltatore più incline. La sua interpretazione però ottiene un effetto contrario, aprendo una via per un’esperienza concreta e gioiosa. Impossibile rimanere indifferenti a Love’s On The Way con quel suo ritornello a salire, con un crescendo che ti rimane inconsapevolmente nelle orecchie come un tormentone, o ancora di più a Love Doctor, dove il soul si macchia di suoni e cori gospel. Troviamo le sottili corde di una chitarra acustica ad introdurre Carry On mentre per chiudere, Sebastian Kole sceglie i soli tasti bianchi e neri di un pianoforte per accompagnare la sua voce in Pour Me. Solo cinque canzoni, ma tutte perfettamente connesse, sulla linea guida dell’amore e dei sentimenti. Strofe, ritornelli e musica, nessuna sbavatura.

L’opera prima di Sebastian Kole evidenzia la sua abilità come autore e compositore, capace di delineare scenari con il giusto pathos e proseguire con la miglior tradizione soul.  Se il vostro desiderio è quello di esplorare musica che trasmetta emozioni, energia e ritmo, allora ascoltate quello che Sebastian Kole rappresenta e fatevi trasportare senza timore. Troverete quello che cercate.

La recensione è condivisa anche su The Italian Soul


Ieri 23 settembre la notizia del nuovo singolo Remember Home featuring Alessia Cara, che anticipa la pubblicazione del suo nuovo album intitolato Soup


The Pitchfork Review dedica il suo prossimo numero a Prince e a “Dirty Mind”


The Pitchfork Review dedica il suo prossimo numero a Prince e al suo album Dirty Mind che quest’anno compie il 35esimo anniversario (1980-2015)



This article appears in the eighth issue of our print quarterly, The Pitchfork Review, which will be available at stores across America on October 26. Subscribe here.

It’s not entirely your fault if you don’t quite understand why Prince was such a big deal in the 1980s. In the digital era, the Minneapolis auteur has made his catalog relatively inaccessible, recently removing it from mainstream streaming services in protest of their underpayment. The strategy is principled and laudable even as it contrasts with prevailing realities, which means it’s très Prince—done with the belief that his legacy should be regarded his way. But whereas that same kind of stubborn, altruistic conviction often backfires for him now, it once made Prince the most exciting artist in the world.

When Prince signed to Warner Bros. Records in 1977 at age 19, his contract not only called for an unusual degree of creative control—he was to write, produce, and play every instrument on his recordings, à la Stevie Wonder—but also explicitly stated that he be part of the label’s pop roster, not its R&B one. This distinction would shape the entirety of his career to come.

His first album, 1978’s For You, was all falsetto and ambition. His grasp was sure, but the material wasn’t quite there yet. Even so, the song “Soft and Wet” raised a few eyebrows: Stevie may have been a 12-year-old genius, but Prince was a teenage prodigy delivering an ode to pussy. The track’s canny combination of coy lyrics, tricky drumming, and layered harmonies served notice: not only could the kid play and sing, he could hear.

A year later, everything changed. Critic Chris Herrington once called 1979’s Prince the greatest teen-pop album ever made, and it’s difficult to argue the point (though “Bambi”, in which a crazed-sounding Prince tells a woman he wants to sleep with to renounce her lesbianism over a heavy guitar solo, is not quite high-school fare). “I Wanna Be Your Lover” crossed him over to pop and led to an infamous “American Bandstand”appearance in which he fucked with host Dick Clark by refusing to speak, instead holding fingers up to indicate numbers and smirking the whole time. Prince’s persona was that of the Avenging Geek—with the proviso that he would be much more capable in bed, since that was pretty much all he sang about.

Prince circa 1980. Photo by © Deborah Feingold/Corbis.

For years, Prince had played with junior high and high school classmates from Minneapolis’ North Side. The talent pool was deep, and Prince could have picked anyone. The band’s roster was male, female, black, white—a mixture clearly modeled on Sly and the Family Stone. He also cranked his guitar in concert, not just on “Bambi” but on everything. Reviewing one of his first live outings fronting the band he would later dub the Revolution, Manhattan’s Soho Weekly News wrote in 1980: “Judging by [Prince], you’d never know that Prince is anything but a rock dilettante. In concert, it’s clearly his lifeline.”

This had been the case for some time. Not only had the young tyro bicycled to his local record store in North Minneapolis, where the majority of the Twin Cities’ then-minuscule black population lived, to pick up new James Brown 7”s, he had been playing hard-rock covers in bars since he was a teenager. “I’m not saying I’m better than anybody else,” he told Rolling Stone in 1990. “But you’ll be sitting there at the Grammys, and U2 will beat you. And you say to yourself, ‘Wait a minute. I can play that kind of music, too. … But you will not do ‘Housequake’”—a JB-indebted funk bomb from 1987’s Sign O’ the Times.

Prince’s first dozen headlining club shows began at the Roxy in West Hollywood on November 26, 1979, and served as warm-ups for his real coming out as a live performer: opening 42 dates for Rick James’ Fire It Up Tour in February and March of 1980. On that trek, Prince typically stayed on script: seven songs culled from the first two albums. With one major exception the following year, this was not only the last time Prince would be anybody’s opening act but one of the few times he followed a setlist so exactly for an entire tour. That creative restlessness aligned him more readily with the make-it-new sensibility of ‘60s rock than it did with ‘80s pop’s carefully-laid marketing plans.

Prince had allegedly been added to Rick James’ tour to bolster the headliner’s waning draw. “It was a rough period for Rick,” Prince’s guitarist Dez Dickerson told biographer Dave Hill. “We would go over like gangbusters, because the black audience was just dying for something new.” James himself famously loathed the Minnesota imp, telling Rolling Stone, “I can’t believe people are gullible enough to buy Prince’s jive records.” James called Prince “a mentally disturbed young man. He’s out to lunch. You can’t take his music seriously. He sings songs about oral sex and incest.” James would exact his revenge—as Prince’s 1980 opening act Teena Marie told Alan Light—by allegedly stealing Prince’s programmed synthesizers and using them on his own 1981 album Street Songs, and then sending them back to him “with a thank-you card.” (Prince returned the favor when he persuaded James’ date to the American Music Awards, Denise Matthews, to join Vanity 6.)

Prince responded to the pressure and tedium of the James tour by working on what would become his third album, Dirty Mind. In the BBC documentary “Hunting For Prince’s Vault”, keyboardist Matt “Dr.” Fink said that Prince wrote “When You Were Mine” on the balcony of a Florida hotel room, declining to join the rest of the band on a day trip to Walt Disney World.

The cover of the upcoming eighth issue of The Pitchfork Review. Photo by Dan Monick.

Rick James had a lot to say about Prince, most of it bad. In 1983, he told Blues & Soul: “He doesn’t want to be black. My job is to keep reality over this little science fiction creep. And if he doesn’t like what I’m saying, he can kiss my ass. He’s so far out of touch with what’s really happening, it makes me angry.”

Prince was well acquainted with the reality of race in the record business. Crossing over from the commercial exile of R&B—a genre acutely feeling the aftereffects of disco’s backlash—to rock’s mainstream was vital to anyone in his situation, especially as a native of lily-white Minneapolis. Writer Steve Perry quoted Jimmy Jam as saying, “Black musicians [in Minneapolis in the ‘70s] were going, ‘We can’t get a job, we better make a demo tape or something and try to get up out of here.’ … Not that we had more talent [than the white musicians]; nothing like that. We just had more initiative, because there was nothing here for us.”

That situation was writ large at the dawn of the ‘80s—which is to say, Prince knew precisely how fucked he would be if he didn’t stipulate that he be treated as a pop act. This was the dark ages of R&B crossover. Billboard’s year-end 1981 singles list featured only eight black records in the Top 40; in 1979, there had been 16 (and seven black records in the Top 10). The number had halved in two years.

“The record industry provides probably the strangest example of segregation since South African apartheid—a frequent, unspoken separation of blacks and whites that subtly and insidiously damages our industry,” Prince’s publicist Howard Bloom wrote in an August 1981 commentary piece for Billboard. “If a black act’s record is rock & roll and belongs on AOR radio, that’s too bad. The black special markets department drops the record because it’s not appropriate to black radio. And the white AOR and pop departments generally refuse to touch the record because of the color of the artist who made it.” This also worked in reverse, as Bloom pointed out: Devo’s “Whip It” got little play on AOR, Devo’s so-called “natural” constituency, but went gold in part because the record had broken on black radio thanks to black radio legend and Detroit techno forefather The Electrifying Mojo, who was also the first DJ to broadcast Prince’s music to the Motor City.

Although Prince liked to kid new wave, he also saw its openness as a beacon of the future. In 1981 he told an interviewer, “Tradition at black concerts a lot of times was to wear your best clothes, to come looking really dapper. It’s not like that at our concerts. There are a lot of black kids out there, but they’re like open-minded and free, and they want to have a good time.” Guitarist Wendy Melvoin told Spin that when she joined Prince’s band in 1983, “We were still seen as part of the underground. I was proud of that.”

Bloom was ready to put his ideals into action, writing in a memo to Prince’s then-manager Steve Fargnoli, “I’d suggest booking him two dates in each market: a date as a second act on the bill to a major black headliner like Cameo, Parliament, etc., and a date at the local new wave dance club … Neither date will conflict with the other.”

The reason for all this was Dirty Mind, which Jean Williams—Billboard’s founding R&B editor—tut-tutted over: “The front cover has Prince standing donned in an open jacket with a handkerchief around his neck and in a pair of black briefs. Maybe it’s meant to be sexy. The back cover gets better (or worse). Prince is lying down with the same ‘outfit,’ however, this time you get a look at his legs and what is he wearing? A pair of thigh high stockings. The effect is one of a nude man dressed in a pair of thigh high stockings.”

Dirty Mind was not just a rock album by a black artist but one that was sold by Warner Bros. as an album, rather than simply as a hit single’s expansion pack. Dirty Mind only yielded one R&B hit (“Uptown” reached #5) and had no success on the pop singles charts. At that time, the album audience was considered very separate than the singles audience—“serious” listeners versus casual—a difference that Warners’ marketing department was particularly adept at exploiting. However, this was a distinction that was creeping toward irrelevance: Within three years, the “tentpole” album, spinning off endless hit singles à la Michael Jackson’s Thriller, would be the major-label norm. But the idea of a crossover from R&B to new wave was both viable and novel in 1980—just ask Rick James, the self-crowned “King of Punk-Funk.”

Little of James’ music—or Prince’s for that matter—actually resembled new wave’s willful primitivism. “For a lot of black people, the word ‘punk’ had connotations of homosexuality, and there’s always that macho thing with funk,” Dez Dickerson told Dave Hill. Dickerson himself “was put off by people with no intention of knowing how to play. Then, after a while, the spirit and the attitude of it began to appeal to me.”

Prince’s new wave leanings weren’t surprising considering that he was a regular attendee as well as an onstage fixture at First Avenue, the downtown Minneapolis club that regularly showcased new wave and independent artists. (A former employee once recalled Prince being kicked out of the club one afternoon, prior to opening hours, when he was caught in flagrante with a woman in the men’s-room stall.) But even early on, Prince was interested making his own scene rather than joining someone else’s; he’d let himself be marketed as “new wave” while simultaneously disdaining it. To wit: At the end of the first side of the Time’s 1982 LP What Time Is It? (one of many Prince ghost-written and -produced albums from this period) the band sneers, “We don’t like new wave!”

There’s no mistaking “When You Were Mine” for anything but a new wave song—it has organ from the Blondie/Elvis Costello & the Attractions playbook, a stiff beat, and nervous guitar. The song’s urgency was built into its structure. As the late Paul Williams pointed out, the verses keep retracting: The first verse is 12 lines, the second is eight, the third four. Each verse takes us to the chorus faster, as well as to the song’s central dozen-note riff, which is both keynote and denouement. This was increasingly essential to Prince’s shows, in which, as Dave Hill pointed out, “one song would jump straight into the next with little explanation from the stage—another punk technique.”

If Dirty Mind is the album that allowed Prince to cross over as a rock’n’roll star, “When You Were Mine” is the song that allowed Prince to cross over as a rock’n’roll songwriter. At San Francisco club The Stone in March 1981, Greil Marcus reported, “‘That was the history of rock’n’roll in one song!’ a friend shouted before the last notes of ‘When You Were Mine’ were out of the air.” The song became an instant standard; the first cover appeared in less than a year, by English power-poppers Bette Bright and the Illuminations on Korova, Echo and the Bunnymen’s label. It was produced by Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley, the duo behind Dexys Midnight Runners’ “Come on Eileen” and Madness’ “Our House” (and later, uh, Bush’s Sixteen Stone). Other great versions would come from Detroit garage-rocker Mitch Ryder, Cyndi Lauper, and Crooked Fingers, who performed it as a creaking mountain ballad.

Bette Bright’s version changes the lyric slightly: Instead of “I know that you’re going with another guy,” it becomes “I’m going with another guy”; instead of “following him whenever he’s with you,” another pronoun switch. Changing the lyric of “When You Were Mine” has happened a lot when people cover the song, and not just because the song’s narrator was a man. The original song wasn’t merely about a love triangle but an ambiguously bisexual one, the interpretation of which focuses on the line, “When he was there sleeping in between the two of us,” as well as end of the final verse: “Now I spend my time following him whenever he’s with you.” Though “Sister” was the Dirty Mind track where Prince spells it out (“She’s the reason for my bisexuality,” often transcribed as “my, uh, sexuality”) the subtle hints in “When You Were Mine” were apparently enough to keep the song off the air. Positioning the song’s narrator as even a little queer was another touchstone with the notably gay-friendly space of new wave. The lyrics’ ambiguities are clearly deliberate.

Sleeping in between the two of us: This was Prince’s philosophy in a nutshell. “When You Were Mine” set up a career of defying expectations, jostling between sacred and profane, black and white, rock and funk, good or bad—and for the rest of the ‘80s he’d take more chances than anybody in pop. “When I brought it to the record company, it shocked a lot of people,” Prince told Rolling Stone of Dirty Mind. “But they didn’t ask me to go back and change anything, and I’m real grateful. Anyway, I wasn’t being deliberately provocative. I was being deliberately me.” 

Michaelangelo Matos is the author of The Underground Is Massive: How Electronic Dance Music Conquered America. He lives in Brooklyn.

This article appears in the eighth issue of our print quarterly, The Pitchfork Review, which will be available at stores across America on October 26. Subscribe here.

Ecco perchè bisogna andare a vedere un concerto di Prince


Our thoughts on Prince’s recent Birmingham show

by Neil Kulkarni, 21 May 2014

So, there are those great gigs you go to. Those good gigs you go to. Those bad gigs you go to. All seem to exist on the same scale. This was off the scale in every way. This was so good, halfway through your mind was making cast-iron assurances that tomorrow you’d quit your job, quit your life, quit everything just to dedicate the rest of your paltry existence to chasing… this, this night, these feelings, this turning of yourself inside out. This was so good I’ve started seeing my life ever since, at least in those rare moments where the palpitations have stopped, in two distinct stages. There was my life up to this night, and now I’m starting the second phase of my life after this night. My pre-seeing-Prince years are gone now. Nothing I learned in them can help me now. I’m now in my post-seeing-Prince years. They will be productive.

Never seen him before, never thought I’d get the chance. £75 quid a pop was too rich for my blood. Craven and shameless begging on twitter got me on the gitlist. Only found out on the morning. Whole day a dizzying exhausting mix of dealing with reality, barely able to apprehend any importance in the day-to-day shit I was doing, unable to truly comprehend what I would be going to see. I was going to see fkn PRINCE. Not just another singer, not just another gig – this man, and I count myself among innumerable ugly Asian guys in the ’80s in this – wasn’t just a musical bomb in that decade and in my life, he proffered the possibility that being a short-arsed hairy brown person you could also be cut from God’s own image.

On the way out of Cov we find ourselves following a massive limo, doubtless just some gig-goers who decided to make a night of it, but we convince ourselves it’s Mr.Nelson himself, hid in the back with nothing but a few copies of The Watchtower and his make-up artist for company. Something about the limo, blacked out, no decals about ‘available for hire’, had us following, stalker-like, from a safe two-second-rule distance. Eventually, halfway up the A45 it pulls into a Texaco. We debate pulling in as well, surmise rightly that if it was the Purple One stopping off for a snack it’d be his driver who he’d send in for his Ginsters Spicy Slice, so stay on the road, get to the LG, park, walk, judging our fellow fans on whether they’re wearing purple. A crush, and we’re in, and we’re waiting, heart trembling, listening to the smartly-chosen ‘Big Fun’-era Miles Davis that’s getting everyone tenser and tenser, and we still can’t quite believe that we’re here. We’re gonna wake up in a minute. This can’t be real.

Deliberate false-starts. Third time’s the charm. Curtain drop. FUCK ME IT’S REALLY HIM. Looking stunning, looking like the kind of cat Marc Bolan would drop a couplet on. Silk pyjama jumpsuit, lightly-flared, beautiful. IT’S REALLY HIM. THIS IS REAL. AND IT’S REALLY HAPPENING. RIGHT NOW. IN FRONT OF US. From then on the thoughts, the impossibility of ‘thoughts’ – come too thick n fast n creamy to be chronologically delineated and kiss my arse if you think I could take ‘notes’ so let’s break it down thusly.

     • The band: Fuck me what a band. 3rdEyeGirl are blazing, funky like playing pocket billiards with planet-sized-cojones, HEAVY as hell. When Ida Nielsen hits that fuzz pedal on ‘Musicology’ her bass turns into this thing of coruscating electric wonder, NOISE at stadium-sized affect. And Hannah Ford’s drumming throughout is a thing of rolling joy and bliss and drama – there’s times when she’s so funky she sounds like a dub-production is being enacted on what she’s playing as she’s playing it. Astonishing musicians, locked in from the off, no ‘warming up’, just instant white heat and black power. And Donna Grantis is Prince’s perfect foil on guitar, great enough to match him lick for lick but able to step back and provide perfect Jimmy Nolen-style scratchy backing when the man wants to get lurid and loose on the simmering ‘Empty Room’. 3rdEyeGirl are genuinely the heaviest thing I’ve ever seen at the LG, even heavier than AC-DC were a few years back and that’s fucking heavy. The loudness and the glory.

     • HIM: I never got to see James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, Earth Wind & Fire, T.Rex, My Bloody Valentine, Kraftwerk, This Heat, New Order, Joni Mitchell, Miles Davis, Sly & The Family Stone, Merzbow. Doesn’t matter now. I saw HIM. At various points Prince recalls all of them, smart enough to leave enough space to let the funky moments really get inside your bones and make your toes curl, genius enough that when he plays guitar he really does recall Hendrix/Hazel but still puts across nothing but his OWN blend of what he’s listened to. And still a brilliant, bewitching dancer. In a sense, Prince is the last living relic we have that directly touches back to those aulden times in music, crucially though every time he plays a note he propels us into the future. ‘Musicianship’ is something it’s become incredibly difficult to defend or respect or acclaim anymore – so often does it mean the tedium of wanky solos, empty showboating. In Prince the whole concept gets opened up to the full possibilities perhaps only Miles & Jimi ever touched before – every moment of Prince’s guitar playing is a juddering jolt of electric wow that pushes your jaw just that extra inch closer to the floor. And he’s not frowning or sweating, he’s looking like the coolest motherfucker you ever saw in your life, he’s looking like he’s ENJOYING it, like he’s just as turned on by the sheer psychedelic outrageousness of what he’s conjuring from his battle-axe cum magic wand. Two utterly astonishing moments as well where he entirely slips the rock-god leash and transmogrifies into utterly contrary identities- one a gorgeous medley of songs where he’s at the piano, pure Donny Hath/Joni style and you realise his voice is somehow older, but still immortal, his voice this thing that, like his playing, can seemingly DO ANYTHING, flying from the most sultry depths to the most shattering falsetto in the space of a syllable. Another moment where he steps behind what looks like a straight-up DJ set-up (samplers, decks), and pushes buttons and ‘Hot Thing’ and ‘Sign Of The Times’ happen LOUDER than you’ve ever heard ‘em, heaviest harshest electro beats you’ve heard live since Public Enemy. And you dance and you scream and you swear down you’re getting that logo tattooed on your FACE tomorrow – this guy can fucking do ANYTHING. Brum crowds are slow but in a way entirely free of gimmickry or hoodwinkery he stirs them, times it, paces it, builds it, like no-one else on earth. Greatest showman I’ve ever seen in my life.

     • The songs: The setlist is incredible, as you’d imagine from someone with so much to pull from but it’s the variety that’s key, the quixoticness/suprasmartness of his choices, the little surprises, the odd turns & twists & tweaks it takes that make it not quite a greatest-hits package, and then the glorious moments when he unleashes a monster like ‘1999’, ‘Kiss’ or ‘Beautiful Ones’ on your intensely gratified ass. The way he turns ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ into a monstrously bruising Sabbath-style grind of heaviosity, the way ‘U Got The Look’ and ‘Controversy’ come barraging in to the crowd’s total delight and surprise, the way ‘Diamonds & Pearls’ and ‘I Would Die 4 U’ get spun out and yet abruptly killed with brutal chutzpah, sky-high panache. This whole night is a master class in how to fuck with your past with just the right amount of irreverence and reinvention AND just the right amount of respect to not piss on people’s memories. It’s only on the way home that I think “man, no ‘Dorothy Parker’ or ‘Girlfriend'” but by then, like everyone else, I’m a sticky sated mess with his name in my heart and rattling in my brain with the ear-ringing deafening frenzy of a new-convert. Beforehand I was thinking – there’s no-one alive or dead I want to see play for 3 hours. At the end, I want to go see him again. And again. And again. NOW.

Finally, a thought that can’t be added to a list because it’s too important, a thought that occurs at 4 in the morning, cos of course, after this, I can’t sleep, I’m still buzzing, my head full of undeniable inarguable HIM. It strikes me that the most important thing about what I’ve just seen isn’t about skill or technique or songs or showmanship, it’s not about something you can learn or fake. It’s about generosity. Generosity of spirit in your music. At all times Prince does the incredible things he does FOR the people. At no point is this merely flash. If it was, my god WHAT flash. But there’s something about the way Prince puts his music across that’s about love, about love for us, and our love for him – he never scowls, he never moans if the crowd don’t sing back as loud as he wants them to, he never makes us feel like we HAVE to do anything. He starts a party and he keeps that party going and it’s the greatest party you’ve ever been at and you feel blessed and honoured to have been there, bear witness, got DOWN with the man. He just gives us his songs with a total openness of spirit and heart.

That’s the thing, perhaps the only thing, that links all true artistic immortals, that deep intrinsic instinctive unselfishness, and Prince exudes it out of every pore. There’s moments tonight where it’s as if he IS music, in some way a living avatar of music’s true liberating spirit, the openness, the freedom, the suggestiveness, the abstractness, the horniness, the transcendence that has us all hooked our whole lives made flesh. He’s everything. Incredible moment when he thanks us for not using our phones, then gets everyone to turn on and transform the place into a sea of stars. And then, during ‘Purple Rain’, which is the most moving moment of my entire life of gig-going, you realise not just that you feel you’re part of that film’s closing sequence but also that that kind of fantasy is precisely what Prince makes real, right here and now. In a time where it’s become orthodoxy that there’s nothing new under the sun, Prince gives you back a new you, under a new sun, dancing a new dance. He makes your life, in seeing him, feel that big, that worth it. That’s an incredibly rare and precious gift, to be able to make people feel that life is worth pushing on with. Utterly inspirational. Totally mind-blowing. It’s amazing what a person can do with music. The pivotal moment I feel the rest of my life will be spun out from. I don’t care if that’s delusion. It’s the best delusion I’ve ever felt.



Fonte Immagini:


Prince ricomincia da “Purple Rain”, major compresa

La Stampa – 20/04/2014 Milano
Luca Dondoni  @lucadondoni

Sono passati più di vent’anni da quando Prince scrisse la parola «slave» (schiavo) sul suo viso per protestare contro la sua casa discografica, la Warner Bros., che secondo lui lo stava sfruttando con un contratto capestro irrispettoso dei suoi diritti. Ieri Prince, dopo centinaia di tira e molla legali, ha deciso di sotterrare l’ascia di guerra con la sua ex etichetta sedendosi al tavolo delle trattative e rifirmando un nuovo contratto con la stessa major. Non solo, per suggellare tale armistizio ecco sul piatto annunciato un album nuovo di zecca che uscirà breve.

E generoso, ieri, ha postato sul suo sito un inedito intitolato The break down. Il nuovo accordo prevede che la Warner Bros. pubblichi materiale inedito di Roger Nelson (il vero nome del folletto di Minneapolis) oltre a un’edizione deluxe, rimasterizzata in digitale, di quel Purple Rain che, uscito esattamente trent’anni fa, fu seminale per la crescita della superstar americana. «His Purple Majesty», come lo chiamano i fan più impallinati, torna ad avere la proprietà e il controllo dei dischi incisi con la Warner che durante il contenzioso aveva smesso di versare dividendi all’artista.

«Sono abbastanza soddisfatto, sarà un rapporto di lavoro molto proficuo», ha detto Prince, al quale hanno fatto eco le dichiarazioni dell’amministratore delegato della Warner Bros. Cameron Strang: «Lui è uno dei più importanti artisti della musica mondiale, un talento unico. L’accordo è importantissimo per la nostra azienda».

Mentre aspettiamo il nuovo disco non T.A.F.K.A.P (The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, questo è solo uno dei tanti nomi che ha assunto in carriera), Prince non ha voluto lasciare i suoi fan all’asciutto: negli ultimi mesi ha postato su Twitter il brano Da Bourgeouisie e in una delle sue rarissime apparizioni tv all’Arsenio Hall Show ha fatto ascoltare un altro inedito intitolato FunkNRoll, mentre a febbraio ha interpretato se stesso nella sua serie tv preferita, The New Girl, per poi pubblicare un duetto con la protagonista Zooey Deschanel dal titolo FallInLove2Nite.

Ma non è finita: durante un’incursione in un club di New York ha presentato dal vivo alcune canzoni del cd Plectrumelectrum registrato con le ragazze delle 3rd Eye Girl, la sua band di supporto. Il nome del gruppo è anche quello scelto da Prince per il suo profilo twitter per cui se lo cercate sul social network digitate @3RDEYEGIRL e provate a mandargli un messaggio. «Nessuno è capace di suonare come questa band – ha dichiarato Prince alla rivista Rolling Stone – in molti ci proveranno, ma non ci riusciranno».