K-OODI Magazine May 2016, Issue 5 | Page 81

ON THE FAR SIDE
OF THE GRAFFITI
BRIDGE
story by Kev Moore
illustration by Miki De Goodaboom

A strange phenomenon occurred when Prince
passed away. Suddenly, the internet began to
creak under the weight of videos and live
performances from the diminutive genius. While
he was a live, of course, he jealously guarded
his work, allegedly employing a team of
fearsome female lawyers to track down and
remove all unauthorised material. Sadly, in this
day and age, this action is often viewed as
petty, but, as a musician myself who sees his
work regularly and blatantly stolen, I leap to his
defense. Where Prince's music is concerned,
people have to actually buy it. Imagine that.
You see, Prince cared about music. He thought
it was worth something. He thought the creation
of it was a worthy pursuit. But more than that,
and what sets him apart from all but a very few
of his contemporaries and predecessors, he WAS
music. It was instilled in every fibre of his
being. He was a very definition of the word
'driven.'
From the moment he put down a basketball and
picked up a guitar, he was compelled to do this.
In my opinion, like no other artist before him.
He needed to make music as much as he
needed to breath, it was his oxygen. In a
strange way, it killed him. It took everything he
had to give, and he gave until he could give no
more.
It is perhaps unavoidable to attempt to identify
him with one song. That song, of course, is
'Purple Rain.' It has been repeated to the point
of cliché, but with good reason. It is
synonymous with the film, which in itself was
hugely audacious move on the part of a young
recording artist, but moreover, the song itself...
it is just so regal, a huge ballad of epic
proportions, it has everything, beautiful intro,

emotive vocal, and THAT solo... channeling
Hendrix and all the great rock music that he
grew up listening to in Minneapolis, something
that was vitally important to the eclectic nature
of Prince's styles. It is pure Prince, and therefore
the song defines him.
One often hears of the comparisons between
him and Michael Jackson. Well, for me, there is
no comparison. Prince was light years ahead. He
could do all Jacko could do and more. He didn't
need to rely on Quincy Jones, top session
musos and celebrity songwriter. Prince was all of
those things and more. Shall we also compare
Paisley Park to Neverland. This alone defines
him. Yes, a playful palace, but unlike the
childlike fantasy of Jacko's ranch, it was a
temple to the creation of a musical dream, a
dynasty he single handedly fashioned in the
most unlikely of American cities, enhancing the
careers of artists too numerous to mention. The
quality of some of the songs he bestowed upon
other artists was breathtaking, and he could
seemingly resurrect the careers of the likes of
Larry Graham and Mavis Staples simply by
association.
He recorded works, his mastery of the studio
and his multi-instrumentalism was legendary,
but if I have to define Prince in a single
sentence, it would probably be this:
He was the single greatest live performer of all
time.
Tragically, as with the loss of Bowie, an utterly
unique talent has been ripped from us. No one
will ever fill that void. It is an impossibility.
Remember the man, but more importantly,
celebrate his enduring, immortal legacy.