I was writing a very different column for this week. Outside, on our roof I heard the soothing coo-hoo of a dove. We have quite a few around here on the hill where we live, but this bird’s song was different. My husband noticed it too.

“Coo-hoo, coooo-hoo!” It persisted. I finally decided to take a break and check emails. That’s when I saw the news. Composer and musician Prince had died. Was that constant birdsong a coincidence? Perhaps doves do cry.

Prince was a remarkable composer, poet, singer, musician, and fashion statement. He was everything new to me. He was yin and yang, masculine yet feminine, a courteous bad boy in ruffles, a mysterious, androgynous sexual enigma. Prince was a Revolution!

The 1985 music video for his hit “Kiss” blew my mind. Directed by a woman, Rebecca Blake, it was sensual, sexy, and mesmerizing. Prince, wearing a cropped shirt and leather jacket, sings, whispers, and moans the lyrics as he and dancer Monique Manning, in lingerie and a sheer veil, move in synchronicity while band member Wendy Melvoin punctuates their choreography with incredible guitar riffs.

“You don’t have to be rich to be my girl, You don’t have to be cool to rule my world. All I want is your extra time and your kiss!”

He was funk, punk, rock ’n’ roll, Little Richard, and Lord Byron all rolled into tight pants, boots, a ripped vest, and a long, purple lamé coat. Prince was all that without the big ego. He lived a clean life, and he made it all look so cool.

The soundtrack of my youth was scored by The Beatles and Italian crooners like Sinatra and Dino, listened to by the grownups in my family. I was in my mid-20s when I heard my first song by Prince. The incredible range and versatility of his voice and the power-punch of his music became the new soundtrack of my college years.

I was a student at Arizona State University and had several gay friends who introduced me to the disco scene in 1978. I became an ardent camp follower. Every Friday and Saturday night I followed my camp to the gay bars in Phoenix, Ariz., and it was there that I found my Prince. I danced the night away, savoring his lyrics:

“You can live your own life and I’ll live mine, I will never try to keep you down. And even if I only see you some of the time, I’m just happy when you come around. Just as long as we’re together, everything’s alright.”

One evening my friend Rodney and I went out to a club he liked. The designated driver, I zoomed along in my 1975 Pinto Runabout hatchback. But Prince, rocking on my tape deck, transformed my old beater into a “Little Red Corvette.”

The club put on a fun drag show followed by dancing, but I was told by management there would be no dancing in the little canvas shoes I had chosen to wear. The club was packed and my cloth footwear put my tootsies at risk for getting stomped.

Desperate to dance, I asked Rod to wait while I went backstage and talked one of the performers into lending me a pair of shoes for the evening. Fortunately, I wear a women’s 10 wide, and one of the guys had some gold lamé loafers that fit after I stuffed a sock into each one.

     I put them on and Rodney nearly died when he saw them. But I didn’t care. I strutted onto that dance floor and people made room for me and those big gold brogans. I wore “Pink Cashmere,” a “Raspberry Beret,” and rocked those shiny shoes. I was “Delirious” and happy. 

I felt good and thought that I looked good, and everyone around me made me feel good. “Baby I’m a Star” because the music made me feel like one! This wonderful sense of joy was enhanced by Prince as he sang “U Got the Look.”

For that moment, on that night, I was “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World”:

“’Cuz baby, this kind of beauty has got no reason to ever be shy,
’Cuz honey, this kind of beauty is the kind that comes from inside, It’s plain to see
you’re the reason that God made a girl, oh yeah,
oh yes, you are.”

“Let’s Go Crazy!” Rod laughed. That night did we ever “Party Up!” We danced until the joint closed and “Partied Like It Was 1999”! Then suddenly it was 1999 and Rodney, along with several other friends, were gone forever.

I miss them and remember them and those days fondly, along with the music to which they were set. I like to think that they are having a fabulous time at the best dance club ever, wearing purple paisley, “Diamonds and Pearls,” and thinking of me “Somewhere Here on Earth.”

We’ve all heard the music die with suddenness that shocks us with its resulting stillness. Whether Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley, John Lennon, Michael Jackson, or more recently, David Bowie, we are always left stunned by the resonance of that silence.

Now Prince has joined the ranks of the legendary. His genius, I’m certain, will continue to inspire young musicians for generations to come. A bard in his own right, it’s appropriate to say farewell in the words of the great bard William Shakespeare: “Good night, sweet Prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” Because “Nothing Compares to U.” 

Ariel Waterman plans to party ’till she’s, like, 99. Send her a raspberry beret via Arts Editor Joe Payne at [email protected].

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