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Ellis & Barnes: Serious Mothers!

Friday, March 24, 2006

Prince Made Us Have Sex

Do you have the new Prince album yet?

Go get it, I'll wait.

Pretty amazing, isn't it?

GodDAMN, he is sexy.

Prince is magic.


It took me years to 'get' Prince. Years. I always dismissed him with a wave, as if swatting away a bee, saying to those who would ask for my opinion of the guy: "Prince? He's a gnat...why do you like him? Where is your head? (with hand signals) R U deaf? He glistens!" And then I'd go back to listening to my 'awesome' music: mostly Heino - the BEST/ WORST funny thing to come out of Germany, or another 'special' nickel garage sale find. It wasn't Prince, anyway.

Well - where was my head? Clearly, I should've been listening to Prince since Day One.

My husband Ted has been listening to Prince since Day One. He has always 'gotten' Prince.
For years, he's been playing me all his favorites and all his non-favorites (with the excitement of Prince himself, playing his genius stuff for a first time listener). A lot of Ted's stories about Younger Ted are scored with an AllPrince-Allthetime soundtrack (with the exception of a particularly heart-wrenching break-up; that is scored with the supple sounds of Chicago's Greatest Hits', and without a single shred of irony. It's pretty adorable, actually). Still, hours of Prince 101 was lost and wasted on me - a Who fan. I had suggested watching 'Quadrophenia' many times (you can lead a Prince fan to The Who, but you can't make him...never mind). Anyway, I just never got it.

Ted loves Prince. He loves Prince so much that he forgives His Royal Badness for "Under the Cherry Moon", for that poo-on-tape "The Rainbow Children" and for giving up playing "Darling Nikki" at his concerts because of some slight re-wiring in his spiritual beliefs. Ted would leave me for Prince, and I would probably send him away with excited good luck, but I'd make him write me about their adventures:
("Dear Jordi - Sorry it's been a while, but Prince had me taste-test all the furniture in his new Ice Cream Living Room, and it took a while since there are over 200,000 flavors. But we're having a blast! Did U get the robe I sent? I'm still the tallest 1 here! Love 2 U!, Ted").

About a year and a half ago, Ted's brother Joe bought us tickets to see Prince at the Staples Centre in L.A. as an engagement gift. We had the very, extremely, most-possible, last, absolute last row...and it was one of the best experiences I've ever had in my life. It was amazing. And Prince was fuck-off gigantic! Not video-screen gigantic, but you could feel his presence.

The Force is with Prince.

Several times it went through my head: "Ted, you have GOT to leave me for that man!" and then: "I have GOT to leave Ted for that man!". Prince was in the round - so he played to every conceivable space available, and he played for something like three hours. Four hours? No one counted minutes or realised how long he'd been seducing us until we got to a clock outside. The many costume changes didn't tip us off that we might be there overnight - we were under The Spell. Prince is the hardest working man, period.

One of the highlights was watching Ted watch Prince. (Alright - I know it sounds like: "Ted's gay and I'm the beard", but that's not the case). I loved watching my fanboy watch his musical hero; the musician equivalent of the real Superman flying around in circles, or the real Spider-Man slinging and swinging from webs. The real Han Solo pilot the Millennium Falcon right before Ted's eyes. He knew every word to every song and he didn't even mind the 'jamming' (I think Ted hates watching people jam almost as much as moving. And he really hates moving). That was just inevitable though. When you get a stable of talent like the ones who backed up Prince, a jam is going to happen. (I'm not a jam fan myself. I have 'escaped' many jams after a tambourine was shoved into my unwilling hands. The secret is to make it look like you're having the time of your life, then pass off the tambourine to another sucker and leave quietly).

So...thanks to Ted and his brother Joe, I got to see Prince in a life changing show and fall in complete passionate love. I've been listening ever since.

Last night, Ted brought home the latest: Prince's '3121', and it's fucking fantastic. You've probably heard or read by now that it's like his 'old stuff' (and since he's done so much stuff, the 'old' here refers to the 'Delirious' Nasty Prince. The one who likes to fuck. Welcome back from the pulpit, Your Highness - now do me). So we're listening.....and all of a sudden the clothes come off and we're in a situation which can only be described as 'urgent'. It happened so quickly that I can't remember whose idea it was, and I didn't know that it was going to happen.

But what I do know, is that I really 'get' Prince now.

-Jord.

5 Comments:

At 8:18 PM, Anonymous Husband Ted said...

And let me make clear that when she says I hate "moving", she means like "relocating", like "changing homes", like rearranging "furniture". I'm quite fond of "moving" in a "walking" sense.

And please stop imagining us doing it to Prince. It's making me uncomfortable.

 
At 8:21 PM, Blogger Kevin said...

You can take away my CDs, but you
can never take away...MY IMAGINATION!

Heh heh...see you THIS WEEKEND at:
http://www.purplereign.net/

They'd better do "Seven".
OMGIASE,
The Abbreviator!

 
At 10:06 AM, Blogger Biz and/or Jordi said...

Not only am I now imagining you having sex...it will be impossible to NOT think of it while in the next bed in Vegas this week.

I wish there was a Chicago cover band in Vegas.

 
At 1:17 PM, Anonymous Shiela E. said...

I apologize for putting anyone through the uncomfortable feeling of thinking about us "studying in my room".

But that's the power of Prince. He's a force of nature and I can't be responsible.

-J.

 
At 8:08 PM, Anonymous stuporfly said...

I understand you 'get' Prince now. But that fateful night, when you heard the robofunk of "Black Sweat" for the first time...

Sorry, I don't think I can finish that thought. Too raunchy, even for Prince.

 

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