• His name was Prince

    In my childhood street, there was a record store. That’s where I saw Prince for the first time, in the mid-80's. It was a poster or a flag (I can’t be precise), where he showed up naked and androgynous. Every time I passed by that store I was fascinated by that image, but then came Madonna, with all her lace and tutus, winning my attention, and I forgot about Prince.

    Luckily, my father loves music, has great musical taste and at the time had a bar, where he often played music. The bar has a satellite which allowed us to watch MTV. And there was Prince, on his motorcycle, wearing his purple suits and Victorian shirts, sided by Wendy on the guitar (I’d never seen a girl playing guitar before), with all his talent (my father told me he played ten instruments). And “there” was not only at the bar. He was also playing in our house. Prince and the Revolution.

    Over the years, I followed his career with excitement. Even when I got in my grunge phase, listen to Nirvana all day long, “Diamonds and Pearls” album was also playing in our house, in our car, in my brother’s bedroom. To me, “Musicology” was a brilliant work, which was never properly recognized, perhaps because of all the noise of the new century music industry. Not to mention all the music he wrote and composed for other artists, that most people don’t even dream it’s his.

    The truth is it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s unanimous that Prince was “a master architect of funk, rock, R&B and pop”(NY Times). A genius who, like most geniuses, never let himself get stuck in a particular genre, always trying to explore new paths, despite the critics, despite the levels of popularity or what the industry thought he should do. And today we lost a genius.

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