Let's get the most important question out the way first: yes, even the guest toilets at Prince's vast studio complex, Paisley Park are purple. Purple, as in Purple Rain and the psychedelic cover of of 70-minute masterpiece 1999; purple like the crushed Edwardian jacket and petite trousers he made so famous that he made so famous that it is now one of the world's most popular fancy-dress outfits.
The toilets are also the same shade of purple as the enormous stripes and “squiggle” logo that Prince painted on the façade of a multi-million dol-lar West Hollywood mansion he rented in 2006, for which he was sued. The owner of the mansion was also upset that Prince had not told him he would be fitting purple monogrammed carpet s in the master bedroom and re-plumbing another bedroom so he cloud install a beauty salon.
From the outside, Paisley Park — the studio and summer residence Prince built in Chanhassen near his hometown, Minneapolis — looks like a business park. The façade is plain. It is vast and it contains four studios, s nightclub, a concert hall, a salon and The Knowledge Room, in which Prince is rumoured to study the Bible for up to six hours a day
Prince, funky spiritualist that he is, was famed for the after-show parties he held here — huge gatherings at which he would jam all night, playing up to 20 instruments, and to which anybody who was on his fan-club mailing list was invited. Four years ago, however, he packed his little purple suitcase, moved to Los Angles, opened a night club in Las Vegas and set off on adventures far from home, including a sell-out run of 21 nights in London in summer 2007. No one knows why he moved. Now, suddenly. he is back — the lotus-shaped furniture has been dusted of, the heavenly cloud scenes on the walls have been retouched and the perfumed candles have been lit. And I have been summoned to meet him.
For many. the biggest surprise might be that Prince Rogers Nelson, 52, is still around at all .The pioneer of funky perv-pop, a Michael Jackson for cool people who in a 30-year career has sold more than 100 million al-bums, has just released a new CD called 20TEN and, when I meet him, is about to tour Europe.
Prince is, undoubtedly, a genius. Ever since he wrote. produced and played all the instruments on his debut album For You, at the age of 21, he has made some of the greatest records of all time. Every wedding or new year’s party at which you find yourself dancing to Raspberry Beret, Let’s Go Crazy or 1999 is proof of that The other thing that proves Prince’s genius is his ability to convince us that he is still a genius, de-spite churning out so-so albums featuring tracks called Sex Me, Sex Me Not, Y Should Eye Do That When Eye Can Do This and S&M Groove.
This year he has made Time magazine’s “most influential” list, featured in the top ten of BBC6 Music’s poll to find the greatest guitarist of all time and received a Lifetime Achievement Award t the BET (Black En-tertainment Television) Awards. At that ceremony, Alicia Keys and Janelle Monáe serenaded him with his own songs.
Obviously, his enduring influence is due to his back catalogue. Despite now replacing explicit songs such as Sexy Mutha with epic, smooth-jazz piano solos or interminable sax numbers, there is still no performer around to match him. His standing is also helped by his wilful oddness. Over the years Prince has vowed never to play live music again, then sold out world tours; told his fans not to buy his record because God instruct-ed him it was evil, then given away a triple CD; and said that
the future of music lay in the internet, which he is now declaring to be dead. He is also a tease. Despite his infamous parties and his love of the fashion-show circuit, we know nothing about him. This is his third inter-view in a decade.
In the 1985 song that gave his studio its name, Prince sings: “Admission is easy, just say U believe.” But it is not that simple to get into Paisley Park. Dates are suggested, then changed. Suddenly, one day at noon, a message arrives: “We’re on, be there tomorrow!” I am 3,000 miles away. I’ll get there.
At the airport, Prince’s English assistant calls to give details of where to meet- the Chanhassen Holiday Inn. “You will be picked up when it is time.” There are strict rules. Tape recorders, mobile phones and cameras are forbidden inside Paisley Park. A notepad is OK, although Prince finds them annoying. He would rather you remember the things that stay in your head, that you soak up “vibes”.
One of Prince’s backing singers, Shelby J, picks me up. We drive along the highway to Chanhassen , population 24,000, famed for its 12 lakes, today sparkling in the sun, and many parks. Prince, who is thought to be worth more than $100 million (£65.6 million), is reported to own 12 properties in the town. But we go past all that, reach a busy main road and, suddenly, in front of us is the imposing Paisley Park.
Shelby leads me in and Prince steps out from a studio to join us in the cavernous hall. “Hello,” he says, in a surprising baritone. Only 5ft 2in, he is compact rather than tiny. He is wearing a turquoise shirt, a white sleeveless wool jacket, flares and wedged linen shoes. It is exactly how you want this eccentric megastar to look, as if he has stepped out of a Disney fairytale. He is slurping a frozen, non-alcoholic Strawberry-something from a plastic cup. He has been a Jehovah’s Witness for a decade, and is teetotal and a vegan.
Three voices chime in next to us: “Hi hi hi!” They belong to his backing singers, Shelby J, Liv Warfield and Elisa Fiorillo. Throughout the after-noon they hover like sirens. His girlfriend and latest protegee, Bria Valente, is not among them.
We walk to Studio A. On the way we pass another studio, where a Bel-gian journalist is listening to the new album. Apart from that, nobody is here. No staff, no bodyguard, no personal assistant. Paisley Park, for all its kitschiness, its sun patterns, its whiff of a 1980s teenage girl’s bed-room, is huge, empty, quiet and a bit eerie.
We perch on lotus-flower chairs and Prince signals softly that he is in the mood to be interviewed. Where am I from, he asks. Berlin. Oh, he says, he likes to visit Berlin to buy furniture and fashion. Soon he’ll be arriving for a concert too, I say. He grins.” Well, who knows ... “Well, say, lots of tickets have been sold. He had better turn up. Abruptly, his eyes fix mine and the relaxed atmosphere dissipates”. How fast did the tickets sell?”
We move on. You’ve done so much, I ask. How do you cope with people’s expectations? “No idea. I don’t know what people think. Its only very rarely that I permit strangers in to my inner circle.”
But how does it feel to always be held up against your earlier self? “ls that so?” He raises a plucked eyebrow. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Other people’s expectations aren’t relevant to me. And the reason they aren’t is straightforward: I’m not part of the music industry any more. My world is based on other criteria. A businessman recently asked me, Why don’t you get someone else to produce one of your albums?’ I said to him, ‘Nice idea, but why would I do that? I don’t need to do that to sell records.’”
What about Andre 3000 of Outkast, I suggest They share a sensibility, some young blood might be inspiring. “Andre?”, he asks, a mused.” Nothing against him, he is a great rapper, but is he a musician?” Suddenly he leaps from his seat and leads me into a chill-out room, where glass doors open on to a garden. An oversized cover of one of his albums. The Rainbow Children, is on one of the walls. Underneath it is a large piano. “When I listen to today’s music,” Prince says, sitting at the piano and starting to play, “all this Eighties-dance-revival stuff ... all so plain, so simple, so obvious. The same old synthesisers, the same old chords.” He starts to improvise. “You need to invent your own harmonies! Wendy and Lisa [two former bandmates] taught me that. There are so few musi-cians who really have a free mind. However, I only work with rhythm groups now.” He swings his hands over the keyboard.” Any chance you can play congas?” He tinkles on, skipping
through different songs.” And do you know Esperanza Spalding? Write down her name. She is a genius!”
Balanced on another lotus flower, I watch as he appears to lose himself in the music. “You see, this is holy to me,” he
shouts”. Music is supposed to free the mind, to lift us to the next level. Trying to get higher and staying there! And when it loses this power, when it gets flat and predictable ...”— he sweeps his left hand down the keyboard— “I instantly lose interest. Without music the world would be such a static, immobile place!”
On cue, his three muses sweep into the room. They carry A4 Folders con-taining sheet music in plastic folders, as if ready for church choir rehears-al. They crowd around the piano and start to sing: an ancient B-side, How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore?; Lean on Me and Que Sera Sera; Nothing Compares 2 U; Diamonds and Pearls. It’s odd to say it, the whole scenario is so surreal, but the atmosphere is transformed. Every so often Prince gives his singers instructions. Everything is dutifully jotted down. He switches from authoritarian to elation in a heartbeat “How can you hear this and not book a European tour immediately?” he shouts at me. “If you have any money on you, throw it now, please!”
Then he turns to me and asks for requests. After Sometimes It Snows In April and When 2 R in Love, I can only come up with the slushy The Arms of Orion from the Batman soundtrack album.” This is not one of mine,” he grins. “The Joker wrote.it! Did you know that the album was supposed to be a duet between Michael Jackson and me? He as Batman, me as Joker?” He only half-remembers the song. “Take note,” he tells Liv. “We definitely need to practise that!”
One of the most confusing of the many confusing things about Prince is that he has a very idiosyncratic relationship with time. Me avoids inquiries about the past, dismissing questions about his upbringing, his
jazz-musician parents, his two divorces and, understandably, the sad death of his week-old son, who was born with a rare genetic skull disorder. He doesn’t even want to talk much about his new album, 20TEN –— which is very good and nods to the electrifying, jazz funk of his 1980s heyday that he has,just dismissed as old hat He is, he says, three albums ahead and on to his next project A CD lying on top of a mixing desk, next to some wafty incense, hints at what is to come: Star (Sweet Dreams), Back in the Day, Waiting.
There are two events that have cemented Prince’s reputation for being not only a genius, but also a bit odd. First becoming a Jehovah’s Witness, under the influence of his bassist and friend Larry Graham.
Prince had lost his child and his parents (it was apparently his mother’s deathbed wish that he become a Jehovah’s Witness) and he was locked in a battle with his record label. Graham has said that the pair pray to-gether for hours, sometimes so long into the night, and it is well reported that Prince has surprised lots of Minnesotans by turning up at their doors, minders in tow, brandishing his copies of Watchtower. (In past inter-views he has boasted of how a simple change of hairdo is a great dis-guise.) When he starts to talk about the things he is passionate about, God and the planet, he sounds a little strange and incoherent
Then there was the episode in which he walked around with “Slave” scrawled across his face (as a protest against his record label). He also, of course, ditched his name in favour of a symbol - for seven years.
These things, however, should not detract from the fact that Prince was a working-class kid from a tough background who reinvented pop music and became a global superstar. He also predicted the future of the music industry. “If the internet really works, the music industry will be done for,” he was already proclaiming in 1995. By 1998 he was selling an album, Crystal Ball, via his website (although it took up to a year for people to get copies) and by 2001 he was operating a down-load shop through his NPG Music Club. Yes, his fans had to cope with erratic websites, in particular a recent subscription service, Lo-tusflow3r.com, which charged fees and was then shut down.
That, however, does not change the fact that Prince was right. Does he enjoy a sense of schadenfreude? “To break through — what does that mean today?” he muses. We have moved to a kitchenette. “Hit singles are of no interest to anyone any more. Everyone publishes their own music today, it is all free to access. Jimi Hendrix wowed all of London before he put out a single. There is no reason for young artists to fall down before the feet of the alleged gatekeepers.”
To prove his point, he trots softly over to a flatscreen television, on which a Bette Davis film is playing, and dicks through to a recording or the David Letterman show. He fast-forwards to an electrifying pe-formance by one of pop’s most acclaimed new stars. Janelle Monáe, and turns up the volume. Monáe is a spitting image of Prince, with her quiffy hairdo, androgynous look and huge soul-pop chops.
“Look at her.” He points at the screen. “Her eyes are wide open!” I’m not sure what his point is, but Prince’s enthusiasm is exciting. I imag-ine him spending afternoons sitting in an empty Paisley Park, composing, rehearsing with his ladies, occasionally designing a new space-age wedge shoe and watching music videos.
Something Prince has stopped doing is spending time on the internet. He has shut down his official websites and removed his music from YouTube and iTunes. When asked why, he looks sanguine. “The inter-net is done for. Over. Do you remember when MTV suddenly wasn’t cool anymore, just old? This is how it is with the internet. I have been involved from the beginning, won a lot of awards for being pioneering — now it is time for something new. I do not need to discuss my opin-ions with the whole world. I do not learn anything if l sit in front of a flat screen — I only learn from real people. A few days ago I had friends over and we sat together, we talked about the planet, the prob-lems and how problems could be solved. This is the way I want to
Communicate with the world.”
But how will he reach his fans?” Look,” he says, in a preacher-ish tone. “In your head, are you already living in the year 2020? I live in the now.” Then, suddenly, he gets up. My time is over. He has a call to make.
Prince does have one plan in his diary, however, which he reveals as he walks me to the door. He is going to redecorate a bit and then open Paisley Park so anyone can visit. Like a museum, like a church?
“Always those trick questions!” he grins. Even the parties will return. “We will gently let the city know that we are back.”
He winks, conspiratorially.