I initially thought that I would listen to Prince & the Revolution's Purple Rain, jot down my observations, and then write about the album (like a real record review). However, I have heard this album so many times and have such a deep connection to it, that I decided this probably wasn't necessary. For this post, I will simply write about my personal experience with the album. And really, who needs yet another review of Purple Rain, anyway?
In late spring of 1984--I can't remember the month, but it must have been either late May or early June because I swear I was still in school--I turned on the tiny black & white television in my room to an afternoon music video show. I don't remember what this show was called or what channel it was on, but it was about a half-hour long. It was on this show that I first saw the video for Purple Rain's leadoff single, "When Doves Cry." All these years later, it's hard to remember exactly what I felt upon hearing this song and seeing this video, but I know I was immediately drawn to it. I was only 16 and my experience with music was fairly limited. The stark, bass-less, electro psych funk of Prince was surely a revelation.
And then there was the actual music video, which I rewatched it to jar my memory: Double doors open to reveal a large dark room with doves fluttering in the air and flowers strewn on the floor. Further into the room, we see an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. A nude, bathing Prince is in the tub. He lifts himself up, turns towards the camera, and extends his arm towards the viewer. He seems anguished. Is he pleading? Is he introducing himself to the world in the most Princely manner imaginable?
The video continues with clips from the upcoming Purple Rain film, and I was intrigued by that. Was the movie autobiographical? It certainly looked tense and dramatic.
I was further won over by the concluding shots of Prince & the Revolution "performing" in a completely white studio space. Their elaborate, brightly-colored neo-psychedelic, neo-Victorian clothing was like nothing I'd seen before outside of The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper uniforms. Prince was a captivating front man and the two women--who I would later learn were Wendy and Lisa--were beautiful with a hint of danger. I was sold on the whole vibe the band presented.
In July 1984, I traveled to Minneapolis with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. My Uncle Jim, in his job with the Keweenaw Ojibwa community, frequently made business trips on their behalf to the Twin Cities. I was the lucky beneficiary of the ones that occurred in the summer. Almost every summer, I'd visit my U.P. relatives and my stays were scheduled by them to coincide with the Minneapolis trips.
One of our days in Minneapolis, we all went to the newly opened downtown City Center shopping mall. It was there that I bought my vinyl copy of Purple Rain. If I remember correctly, the record store had a prominent display of the album and maybe even a lifesize cutout of Prince. The Purple Rain buzz was palpable. In a city that had an active music scene, this was its pinnacle moment. This was the moment in which Minneapolis was finally in the national spotlight, perhaps for the first time since Mary Richards triumphantly hurled her hat in the air at Nicolet Mall in the opening credit sequence of The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
When we returned to my aunt and uncle's house from Minneapolis, I had to return home shortly thereafter. And after I returned home, it was off to the Michigan State University campus for a high school summer camp. The upshot of this is that I had no time to spin Purple Rain and it remained sealed, likely propped up next to my dinky Emerson stereo.
Here's the thing about that summer camp: it further intensified my Purple Rain fever. This two-week summer camp was for science and art-inclined kids. I believe the goal was to show how art and science could complement each other. But to be perfectly honest, I don't remember much of anything we were supposed to have learned from an academic standpoint. What I most remember are the nightly dances we had in the McDonel Hall Kiva. This summer camp, in their ultimate coolness, hired a DJ to spin records at these dances. "Let's Go Crazy" is the song I remember the most. I have an image in my head of a group of us kids standing in a circle in the darkened kiva, Prince intoning in his preacher-like voice, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life..." As we listened to Prince's sermon, our anticipation for the song intensified and we were ready to explode as soon as the drum beat kicked in...and explode we did.
The kids I met at this summer camp were the coolest kids I'd ever known. They were kids who had many of the same interests and outlook that I had. I had spent most of my childhood and early teen years believing I was out of step with everyone else, but these kids made me feel much less alone. I discovered there were other kids out there who were similar to me, who accepted me, and were also cool! They were smart, artistic, and stylish--but stylish in their own unique ways. And we all loved Prince and Purple Rain.
Purple Rain, almost the entire album, became the unofficial theme music of my summer camp experience. When I think of summer 1984, Purple Rain is the music I most closely associate with that time. Even when I listen to the album in 2024, it is inextricably linked to my memories of '84. I am reminded of my trip to Minneapolis, the Detroit Tigers' summer-long quest for the World Series championship, and the summer camp that took place from August 5-18 with all that entailed (cool kids, dances, cute girls, and some but not much learning). Purple Rain just might be the most consequential and important music of my life.
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