[The Soup Nazi]

 

From fellow Mpls comrades-in-arms:

I never spoke with Prince. He always struck me as a private guy. Maybe he was shy around strangers. We never had much actual interaction – a couple nods in passing, but no real words were exchanged.

The Twin Cities of the 1980s was a very special time for all of us local musicians. There were the North Minneapolis R&B artists, the South Minneapolis guitar rock bands, and in the center of it all was First Avenue/7th Street Entry.

I’ve seen Prince perform sold out shows with The Revolution at First Ave, he and a rhythm section jamming as a guitar/bass/drums three piece in the Entry for 30 people, and was selfishly frustrated when he took over “the main room” for 25 days of filming Purple Rain.

I had the pleasure of spending seven days recording the basic tracks for my first solo album at Paisley Park in December 1988. It was the most professional studio I had ever seen at that point in my life. On the seventh day, I moved from the B room to Studio A, which was Prince’s primary room. I remember seeing Sheila E’s percussion in one of the isolation booths. The large control room was decorated with several of Prince’s scarves. It certainly felt like Prince’s home.

Prince was an artist through and through – always pushing himself to new levels, often creating controversy through his actions and words, and ultimately creating a lifetime of wonderful memories for the world with his incredible volumes of published (and unheard) works.

I heard the news while driving from Tomah WI to Minneapolis. I immediately flipped on The Current 89.3 FM to make sure what I was hearing was true. Sure enough, there was a live report from outside Paisley Park confirming the sad news of Prince’s passing.

I’m two blocks from First Avenue as I write these words. Friday and Saturday nights, I will walk that same stage we all know from the movie. The exterior walls of First Avenue are covered with stars to honor the musicians who made an impact on music fans in Minnesota.

Make no mistake: Prince was the brightest star in these Northern skies. My deepest condolences to his family, friends, and fellow musicians. Prince’s music will give consolation and comfort to the collective grief. Godspeed.

—Bob Mould

Bob Mould with the Suicide Commandos - "When U Were Mine" (First Avenue, Minneapolis, MN, April 22, 2016)

You hear it so often: "It's such a shock." And for once, I truly am [in shock]. It's hard to even believe. I guess it's just a reminder of how fragile we all are and how quick life is. A lot of people have been calling wondering how I feel, like somehow this is going to spill over and I'm going to drop over. Tommy [Stinson] sent me a text that was like, "Holy shit, can you believe Rog is gone?

I immediately went back to the first times we saw him and all the times we sort of grew up around him. He went to school five, six blocks away from where I was born. So we walked the same streets. But I didn't know about him until he was already the man. It was probably just right before the Replacements, right as we were getting together. I think it was his first hit, "I Wanna Be Your Lover," which ironically, was never a hit here at home. I remember reading about it, that there was a guy from Minneapolis who had a huge hit. But it wasn't played here. I must have been about 19 at the time, and I bought the record and I loved it. It was like everything that we weren't doing. You know, melodies, and slick and simple and perfect. We were full of the punk stuff at the time. It sort of put us in perspective, like, "OK, we'll go as far as we can with our limited talent, but this is the real deal. This guy is the real shit." He would be playing First Avenue when we would be playing the Seventh Street Entry, the little 100-capacity club that connected, and he was in the big room with 900 people. It was night and day. We had our little thing, but occasionally, when we were playing, and he would come in the room for three seconds, walk out and the entire room would empty, following him. I hope he did it on purpose. I think maybe he did. Hey, he was a star. There was no doubt about it.

My first recollection of seeing him was a dress rehearsal for one of his early tours. I was next to another musician, a couple other guys that were up-and-comers and that thought they were hot shit, and we were watching Prince. The guy turned to me and said, "I'm fucking embarrassed to be alive." And that's how I felt. He was so good. It was like, "What are we doing? This guy is, like, on a different planet than we are." It was showmanship, it was rock & roll, it was fun, it was great. I think it helped everyone around. It made us all think that Minneapolis wasn't the dour town that we tried to pretend it was. He was like a ray of light in a very cautious place. He was a star. He made no bones about it. He was glitz to a place that wasn't used to it. I remember a little scuffle broke out in front of the stage one night and Prince said, "Stop fighting, you'll mess up your clothes."

The first time I met him was at a urinal at a nightclub in St. Paul. There he was, and I said, "Hey, what's up?" And he answered, "Life." One word: "life." And I can't say that we went on to be pals. But we did record a lot at Paisley Park, and he became comfortable enough to grace us with his presence, not bejeweled and not dressed up. He'd be wearing maybe his jammies and sweat pants or maybe a pear of jeans and sneakers. He could sort of just hang out. He may have been a little more normal than he would've liked people to know. That's the treasure that we got, to be able to sit in the big atrium where you're taking a break and Prince shuffles by in his slippers and makes some popcorn in the microwave. My sister's a disc jockey, and he would pass by and say, "Tell your sister hi for me." People like to paint him as a reclusive this or that; I think he was genuinely truly, truly shy. But one thing says a lot about him: I was there making a solo record a few years later, and I got a message that said that my friend had just died. I was truly rattled, and the next time I went back into the studio, he had filled it up with balloons. Now I'm gonna cry.

I've spent more time with Bob Dylan, and I've got to say that I was more in awe of Prince. I can't think of anyone better – an all-around composer, musician, guitarist, star, showman, the whole package, anyone better. If Elvis wrote all of his songs and played guitar, it still wouldn't quite be there. He'd play Jimi Hendrix-style, between his legs and behind his back. And then he'd do the splits. He could put the guitar down, and Jimi would become James Brown. He could hold the crowd like Mick Jagger, but could Mick Jagger play the piano like that? And then, lyrically, there's something like, "When Doves Cry." There's obviously more going on there than meets the booty.

When I got word today, I was trying to write a song. I put it down. I found myself walking up to the store, and I bought myself a handful of colorful clothes. I was just drawn to do something that he would have done.

—Paul Westerberg

The Replacements - "I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man" (St. Andrew's Hall, Detroit, MI, November 12, 1987)

Paul Westerberg talks about the passing of Prince (audio)