Prince indulged his own genius album after album. MJ served the market, and he didn’t think his own greatness was enough to do that (unlike Prince, who almost felt like we were wrong for not buying into his awkward forays into rap).
That’s why I can throw Thriller on at any barbecue and be sure it’ll get the party cracking. It’s also why I can talk about Prince albums for hours with strangers and get different spins from each person in the conversation. I still talk to people about what they think “Thieves In The Temple” is about. I can go on for hours discussing the juxtaposition of sexual and messianic tones — all over a once-in-a-lifetime combination of hard rock, pop, soul and gospel — on Purple Rain.
And I’m almost positive much of that stuff came together by happenstance. I’m not foolish enough to think it was all orchestrated as such. Some was, certainly. But this was just him. This was his world. This was how he saw it. The sound was how he chose to share it. And it was just so damn much to take in that, almost 30 years later, we’re still figuring a lot of it out.
It would be impossible to do that with such an eye toward perfection. The rough edges would be lost, when the edges are what make it all so incredible. That, in stark contrast to Michael Jackson, is Prince’s perfection.
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I’m a good dude that’s into that nasty shyt, and I can never get enough of a world where that’s the norm. All depends on what you’re into. It’s about what they made and how they relate to your sensibilities.
To me? Perfection can be pretty boring. Prince’s world is anything but. And that’s why I continue to get lost in it, even if it never makes my neck jerk like “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin
shyt, Prince don't even have an official Coli smiley
