This morning I dialed up my Prince playlist and listened as I walked my dogs through--wait for it--the cemetery. I wasn't being all symbolic although it was apropos somehow to be wandering through a thicket of tombstones while hearing Prince in my ear talk about the afterlife.
I was surprised yesterday by how emotional I felt when I heard the news of Prince's death. I've always said he was my favorite guilty pleasure, although now I'm wondering why I felt obliged to attach the "guilty" disclaimer. (My other favorite guilty pleasure = AC/DC and yeah. I should probably keep the "guilty" part in place for that one.)
Who knows why we love the music we love? I could say Prince's music had a good beat and was easy to listen to. I could also say that I admired his way with lyrics. I often used "Raspberry Beret" when I taught creative writing because that song does so much kickass work in such a few short lines.
I was working part time in a five-and-dime
My boss was Mr. McGee
He gold me several times that he didn't like my kind
'Cause I was a bit too leisurely.
Seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing
But different than the day before
That's when I saw her, ooh, I saw her
She walked in through the out door, out door
Think about all the work those two stanzas do. We have "setting"--a five-and-dime. We have "characters"--a grumpy employer, an underachieving clerk, and a girl who defies. Dude. She walk IN though the OUT door.
Great stuff, right?
But for all our fancy schmalzy analysis of why we like what we like--and the intellectual justifications for it all--humans connect with music in their gut. And something about Prince and his mind-blowing, body-moving, foot-stomping funk punk vibe invited me into His Purple-ness's world.
Let's go crazy today, okay?