Chicapah
As the wild & wide-open 70s segued into the jaded 80s a petite Don Juan who went by the single moniker of Prince was just one of several eccentric characters playing peek-a-boo out on the periphery of the music scene. All I knew of him was that he was a notoriously nasty little critter rumored to be on a crusade to irreversibly corrupt the younger generation with his suggestive, lascivious lyrics but personally I had yet to hear a single note of his music. All that changed as the MTV invasion suddenly brought Prince out of the realm of unknown entities and into the living rooms of the masses almost overnight. Along with Michael Jackson he became one of the first black artists to garner heavy rotation in that game-changing phenomenon yet the contrast between him and his relatively conservative counterpart couldn’t have been more striking. Whereas the slick King of Pop presented himself as a clean-cut, inoffensive entertainer blessed with a highly-photogenic visage Prince looked like a rebellious, diminutive David possessing a cocky self-assuredness so overwhelming that it left no doubt he could bring down any imposing Goliath he faced with no more than a rubber band and a smooth pebble.
While the MTV viral infection dovetailed and/or ended the careers of many talented but unassuming recording artists as it relentlessly spread throughout the industry, it also efficiently showcased like nothing before the visual aspects of flamboyant prodigies like Prince and allowed the public to witness their eye-popping charisma first hand from the comfort of their recliners. When the flashy video for “Little Red Corvette” started appearing once every hour or so on peoples’ cable-fed TV screens in early ‘83 they could plainly see that this pint-sized fellow Prince was a spectacular performer that couldn’t be ignored and, due primarily to that exposure, his album “1999” became the breakthrough LP in his career he and Warner Brothers Records had been longing for. It rose to #9 on the charts, sold over 3 million units and made him an instant icon. Folks no longer seemed as worried about his bad boy image once they got a good gander at how this handsome kid could dance, sing and play like the dickens when the curtain came up. A star was born.
Grounded in the I’ll-do-it-all-by-myself-thank-you-very-much studio method pioneered by the likes of Stevie Wonder and Todd Rundgren, thereby giving his sound an inimitable aura of originality, the double-disc’s title cut sets the pace boldly and decisively. Prince was offering a fresh alternative to what everyone was used to hearing in the crowded marketplace by composing, producing, arranging and playing most every instrument within earshot (he did share vocal duties on some cuts). The tune “1999” is a mix of modernized R&B and edgy rock that appealed to a broad strata of society and lyrically, with the cold war still in taut nuke standoff mode, the odds of humanity making it to the end of the millennium intact were long so his stance of “Everybody’s got a bomb/we could all die any day/but before I’ll let that happen/I’ll dance my life away” made a lot of rational sense. The aforementioned “Little Red Corvette” follows and it’s a great example of how he was using synth effects in novel ways and how he was learning to sometimes use imagery to convey his sex-obsessed mindset in more of a PG-rated package. (It’s harder for parents to justify their upset over lines like “I’m gonna try to tame/your little red love machine” when he’s making a veiled reference to a Chevy.) Climbing to #6 on the singles chart, it was the perfect song for both the dance crowd and the New Wave proponents to latch onto without compromising their stodgy standards. Next is the quirky “Delirious.” No one else in the biz was interested in employing a basic oom-pah rhythm (then or now) but Prince obviously couldn’t have cared less. This was his sandbox and he’d do as he pleased. It definitely shows he wasn’t afraid of manufacturing a pop ditty or two.
Speaking of primal, kick/snare/kick/snare Polka beats, “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” sports one, as well. On this song he melds a touch of doo-wop with some punk rock irreverence as he incorporates synthesizer-generated noises to act as dynamic percussive insertions. (By the way, when he sings “Let’s pretend we’re married/go all night,” most of us who’ve experienced the long-term ways of wedlock must stifle a chuckle over his naïveté.) “D.M.S.R.” is solidly set in the neo funk movement he was in the vanguard of at the time and the repeated mantra of “dance/music/sex/romance” clearly expressed the widespread WTF attitude held by many growing up in that confused decade. I must mention his James Brown-ish yelps and screams. They’re delicious. “Automatic” owns a palpable but altered New Wave feel that would inspire artists like Thomas Dolby and others a few miles down the road. Word-wise it’s more theme music for sex addicts (“I’ll go down on U all night long/that’s automatic, too”) and, with a running time of 9:24, fear of monotony wasn’t a concern for Prince. In his favor he does get a bit experimental towards the end. “Something in the Water (does not compute)” is much more eclectic in nature and really not like anything else on the disc. He even tacks on a semi-symphonic coda to keep things from becoming predictable. A strange marching cadence leads you into “Free,” a Todd Rundgren-styled ballad that fails to enthrall.
“Lady Cab Driver” is a funky deal with Prince delivering a hot bass track plunking and popping over real drums. It comes off as a precursor to what he’d more fully embellish in his side project with Morris Day, “The Time.” Overall it’s a vehicle that allows him to rant verbally his snarky complaints about hip culture and chic trends. (“Lady don’t ask questions/I promise I’ll tell U no lies/trouble winds-a-blowin’/I’m growing cold/get me outa here/I feel like I’m gonna die.”) “All the Critics Love U in New York” consists mostly of conjuring up electro-funk atmospheres, manipulating his Linn drum machine and going on bold excursions into the then-uncharted, somewhat virgin territories of sequencing technology. Honestly, it’s not much more than a loosely-constructed instrumental with unintelligible spoken lines tossed in at random. “International Lover” is the most traditional R&B number on the album, musically speaking, but let’s just say that Prince’s breathy vocal (Got tic-tac, bro?) will never be mistaken for Otis Redding’s. By now his blatant references to his sexual prowess and the insatiable appetite of his libido are downright embarrassing. You’ll likely want to hose off in the driveway after sitting through this album closer.
There is no argument that “1999” was a pivotal album that made a huge splash in the music business when it was released on October 27, 1982. It deserves to be revered as a landmark recording. But I can find no trace of jazz to report so it’s difficult to recommend to serious purveyors of that genre. Did Prince (along with Mr. Jackson) change R&B/soul/pop music forevermore? No doubt. Yet I find nothing on this record that had any notable effect on the evolution of jazz in general so its position is more in the ilk of a curiosity piece in the jazz world than as a significant catalyst. Truth is, I like Prince very much. (When my wife and I caught him live in the mid-00’s he put on one of the most energetic concerts I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a bunch over the years.) All I’m saying is that if you opt to invest in a copy of “1999” it’s best that you keep your jazz expectations on the low side. You’ll be glad you did.