(Featured Image: Prince practices social distancing sans the Revolution during the “When Doves Cry” music video shoot, 1984; photo by Larry Williams.)
As we all continue to figure out how the hell we’re supposed to get through this quarantine with some level of normalcy, please feel free to spend a little over an hour with me and Jason Breininger (not in the same room, thankfully) as we go in-depth on “When Doves Cry” for his Press Rewind podcast:
Listening back, it strikes me how much these lyrics are about touching and other forms of physical intimacy, and how wildly different those concepts sound today than they did 36 years (or two weeks) ago. May we all look forward to a day when “the sweat of your body covers me” conjures images of more than just COVID-19-spreading droplets. In the meantime, stay safe (and stay home).
(Featured Image: Prince and band prepare to fight on the 1999 inner sleeve; L to R: Brown Mark, Bobby Z, Prince, Lisa Coleman, Dr. Fink, Dez Dickerson. Photo by Allen Beaulieu, © Warner Bros.)
By mid-July of 1982, Prince had completed work on the album that would become 1999, with just one significant exception: “1999,” the song, was nowhere to be seen. According to a recent tweet by former associate Jeremiah Freed (better known by his nom de podcast Dr. Funkenberry), Prince had originally planned for “Turn It Up” to be the album’s lead single. It’s speculation on my part, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also intended to be the title track, given how exhortations to “turn it up” recur throughout the songs recorded for the album: including “All the Critics Love U in New York,” “Lust U Always,” and the early versions of “Feel U Up” and “Irresistible Bitch.” As Josh and Christy Norman of the Mountains and the Sea podcast recently observed, the phrase can even be made out spray-painted behind Prince and the band in a late 1981 photo taken for the “Let’s Work” 12” sleeve.
But whatever its intended title, when Prince played a rough mix of the album for his manager Bob Cavallo, the reception was cooler than anticipated. “‘This is a great album, but we don’t have a first single,’” Cavallo recalled telling Prince in an interview with music journalist Alan Light. “‘We have singles that’ll be hits, but we don’t have a thematic, important thing that can be embraced by everybody, different countries, et cetera.’” In response, Prince “cursed me, and he went away–but he didn’t force me to put it out. Two weeks later, he came back and he played ‘1999,’ and that became the title of the album” (Light 43).
Continue reading “1999”
(Featured Image: Outtake from the 1999 photo sessions, by Allen Beaulieu; © the Prince Estate.)
Note: Incredibly, it’s been just over three years since I first wrote about “Moonbeam Levels” for dance / music / sex / romance. That post focused on the song’s status as the first posthumously-released track from Prince’s Vault, and was colored by the then-recent passings of both Prince and David Bowie, who I still consider to be an unsung source of inspiration for the song. You can still read that version if you want; but here is what I now consider to be the official d / m / s / r take on “Moonbeam Levels.”
In early July 1982, after spending the latter half of the spring back home in Minnesota, Prince returned to Sunset Sound in Los Angeles. His goal, almost certainly, was to put the finishing touches on the album that would become 1999. But in typical fashion, he overshot that goal: instead, launching himself into the stratosphere with the appropriately extraterrestrial outtake “Moonbeam Levels.”
In some ways, “Moonbeam Levels” feels very much of a piece with the other songs Prince was recording in mid-1982. Like many of the tracks that would end up on 1999, it opens with a prominent Linn LM-1 beat: in this case, the mechanical pulse of a bass drum, punctuated by a hiss of synthesized exhaust. To this futuristic foundation, Prince adds Blade Runner synth pads and lyrics evoking space travel: his narrator fantasizes about “a nice condo overlookin’ the rings of Saturn” and asks for the titular “moonbeam levels,” a poetic turn of phrase that conjures up images of interplanetary transmissions and cosmic rays. Meanwhile, the ever-present threat of annihilation looms: Prince imagines a never-written novel with the capsule summary, “Boy loses girl in a rainstorm, nuclear World War III,” his pet themes of personal and global apocalypse summed up in a single, devastating line. The whole package feels custom-built for precisely the kind of science-fiction pop-funk epic Prince had spent the past six months assembling piece by piece.
Continue reading “Moonbeam Levels (The New Master)”
(Featured Image: U.K. picture sleeve for “Little Red Corvette,” 1983; © Warner Bros.)
Last month, I wrote a little more than 3,500 words about Prince’s first Top 10 single, “Little Red Corvette.” Lest you think that’s all I have to say about the song, here’s a little under an hour and a half of me on Jason Breininger’s Press Rewind podcast continuing to sing its praises:
That, at least for the time being, is the last I have to say about “Little Red Corvette”–though, as I note in the podcast, I could have gone on even longer than I did. Back here on the blog, I’ll be wrapping up the Time’s second album in the next couple of weeks. And, if you’ve been missing my beautiful voice, good news: not only am I scheduled to make another guest appearance on Press Rewind in the near future, but I am also a measly eight dollars away from my Patreon goal to relaunch the d / m / s / r podcast. The next person who supports the Patreon could easily be the person to push us over the edge! If you want to be that person, just click the link below: