Thursday, September 7, 2017

Writing Thoughts and Escaping From Reality

So, once again, I’m tempted to write in another fandom. I wrote my first Jeeves/Wooster fic, “Hard Boiled Eggs” and I’ve been on a reading binge for at least a week. A large part of the latter is that my elderly mother is doing badly and I need to hide from that and from the state of the world in general. So I plunge into the world of Archive of Our Own 3 for hours on end.



But is all of my time to be taken up writing fanfic? I’m not young anymore. I should be turning my thoughts to a memoir,  and essays. I have many ideas. I’ve written about mental illness. Right now I’m writing a piece about going insane. I’m quite good at it. I’m considering writing about handling a gun (45) while I was in Memphis and how I really wanted to buy it. Even though I’m pro-gun control and a New Yorker to boot. I should finish a long piece I’ve been writing about my father’s death. Or the time I had orgasms for 18 straight hours. Or the time a SWAT team showed up on my doorstep and took me to the psych ward. (Turns out it was a false alarm–someone called in to 911 deliberately. I never found out who it was.) I managed to write about being deported from England, in “A Basket Full of Cats”.

I should finish the enormous historical fantasy novel I’ve worked on in spurts since 2009. I should promote the anthology of my plays that a small press published over a year ago. I should try to perform more than twice a year.

Part of me just wants to write about the unexpected consequences of when Bertie convinces Jeeves to be Fred Astaire to Bertie’s Ginger Rogers.

If I was younger I wouldn’t be quite so conflicted. Oh, wait, I’m always so conflicted.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

A Basket Full of Cats: How I Got Deported From England

A Basket Full Of Cats

How I Got Deported From London

2: AM, Heathrow Airport, London, 1980.

I disembarked the United Airlines flight from New York. After a disastrous visit home to my family, I’d traveled over 24 hours to get back to my London flat. I waited in line, and handed over my passport to the official. She was in a crisp skirted uniform, fresh despite the late hour. The terminal was brightly lit. It hurt my eyes. I was on one side of a turnstile, the immigration official on the other. There weren’t many other people at this hour, it shouldn’t take long. (Security was much looser in those days.)

“You’re not allowed into the country. You’ve been ordered out.”

“Come on, it’s two in the morning, I want to go home.”

“You’re not officially in England yet.” She pointed to my side of the turnstile. “We could send you back to New York right now. ”

My passport was stamped with the official order that I was being thrown out of England. I had appealed. During the appeal, I’d been told I could come and go as I pleased. So, I went home for Christmas for the first time in several years. Which had been a catastrophic mistake in many ways.
“I’ve appealed the order, I have the papers.” I produced the letter from the Home Office. “Please, can I go back to my flat? I’ve been traveling for hours.”

“No.”

I waited under the harsh airport lights. When the officer came back, she told me I was to report back to Heathrow the following day at 10 AM. And took my passport.

Exhausted, my head spinning, I returned to my flat. And discovered my flatmate, Dennis, in my bed. With a woman.

I fell out on the couch.

Dammit, caught. My father was expecting me to return to America for good, but I had decided to disappear again.

You see, my father was a college president. I grew up on the campus. He and my mother fully expected me to attend that college. I didn’t see independence as moving across the street. In fact, I didn’t want to go to college at all. Thank God, the head of the college drama department remarked, “have you considered going to drama school in London?”

Yes! Not just leaving home, but leaving the country! I was an Anglophile. I worshiped British comedy. Monty Python, Peter Cook and Spike Milligan were my comic idols. In fact tall, handsome Peter Cook was the only man I would consider to father of my child.

But as it turned out, at 16 I was too young to audition for all of the big schools. A tiny school, the Deleon School of the Drama, accepted me. It was a terrible school, run by two crazy old ladies. I dropped out after one term. Now what? I didn’t want to go back to America and my parents, but I only had a student visa.

So, I disappeared. First, I moved out of my current bed-sitter in Kew Gardens to another in a different part of town. Then again to the then crime-ridden, dangerous neighborhood of Islington. I found a two-story flat at the top of a building that was about to collapse. The stair railing fell out of the wall within weeks of my moving in. I reported my landlady for fraud and overcharging rent on a dilapidated apartment.

I lived there until I got caught several years later. During that time my flatmate, Dennis, moved in. He was a pothead with sallow skin that had never seen the sun, buck teeth and a frizzy yellow Afro. He sold pot and hash to the American expat community. Dennis was a member of the “wake and bake” school, gently blowing pot smoke into his friends’ faces to get them up. He was also friends with a Danish couple who sold the most potent hashish I have ever smoked. Once after smoking, I stood in one place for six hours and had no idea I’d done so.

Once he found out I was still a virgin, he waged a campaign to be my first. It was simply wrong in the eyes of the universe that I still hadn’t fucked anyone. But his insistence on washing his sore-covered dick in the sink while I took a bath made it easy to say “no”. As part of my “liberation”, he took photos of me on the toilet, in bed, in the bath. Being an unattractive 250-lb woman I hadn’t had many offers, but somehow I was able to turn him down. I had no idea why he had sores all over his dick. In hindsight, he probably gave genital herpes to most of the female American expats in London.

As for myself, I scraped by with crappy jobs like typing academic papers, and amused myself with petty crime. My favorite thing was to break into people’s houses while they were away. Because very little crime happened in the better neighborhoods, London house doors were usually closed with flimsy locks or with a thin hook and eye clasp. Throwing myself hard against the door usually burst it open. Or I went around the back, put my jacket around my hand, and broke a window. Once in, I went exploring, looking in closets, opening and closing drawers. That’s as specific as I’m going to get, because I don’t know what the statute of limitations is in England.

My dream was to have a comedy career, like Monty Python or something. What it was, I didn’t know. I met up with another druggie, a comedy writer, and we cobbled together an act. A godawful act. Many times I was told to “gerroff!” by the audience. One night in an East London pub, I spent the entire night talking to a pub owner who’d had half his face nearly burned off. He agreed to have me appear that weekend. But when I turned up, the pub was closed. Nobody there. I was determined to keep going, but the immigration office found me and ordered me out of the country again.

I went back to drama school to get a student visa. This time, I was old enough but the schools I auditioned for all turned me down because of my weight. As the latter from Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts put it, “your severe overweight makes it clear you are not serious about a career as an actress”. The prestigious Drama Studio accepted me, on condition I lose twenty pounds a term. The first months went well. 

But as occasionally happened to me, I became psychotic, hallucinating and not knowing if I knew people from real life or TV. In those days, the English didn’t know from psychiatrists or medications and didn’t tolerate my showing up late, disheveled and disoriented for classes. I dropped out. My student visa was revoked and I was ordered out of the country again. I appealed, and was told I could go back to America and return while my appeal was appending. I hadn’t seen my family since I first left America, so I decided to go home for Christmas.

So I went back home, my appeal pending. I was delighted to show my family back in America I had lost some weight. I lied fluently about being in school, telling funny stories about first-year student plays. They didn’t notice I was psychotic; but then, they had never noticed anything before, no matter how floridly stoned I was.

But then my father called me into his office.

“What do you have to say about this?”

He handed me a letter on blue air-mail stationery from my landlady.

Dear Mr. DeCarlo
I am writing to tell you that your daughter Elisa left her school some months ago. Since then, she has been occupying my flat, working some kinds of odd jobs. Her flatmate is a drug dealer.
Sincerely,
Melisande Woodbury-Jones.

It was revenge, pure and simple.

My father’s eyes were cold blue steel. “You are coming home.”

Oh god, coming home. I couldn’t do it. Returning in disgrace, staying with my parents. After I’d dropped out of the first drama school, I wrote to my father about wanting to start a comedy career. He told me to stop these fantasies and get my ass back to America. To me, America meant New York, New York meant my parents, so I couldn’t go back to America. It didn’t occur to me that I might go to California, or Vermont, or even Indiana.

I agreed to come home, but I had no intention of doing so. I’d disappeared before. It could be done again, once I got back.

But the morning after I’d returned from America, the morning after the immigration officers took my passport, I went into a small windowless room where two officials held out an entire dossier on me. At age 20, I had already amassed quite a bit of data. Ads in local papers for my comedy act. Medical papers. Drama school applications, orders to leave the country, including the latest one.

“Your flatmate Dennis Redford is selling drugs, and we know that you are selling drugs as well.”

“I’m not selling drugs, I’m taking drugs!” Probably not the best thing to blurt out.

“You are being flown back to New York a week from today. If you’re not on that plane, we’ll know it.”

The two officers escorted me to the United Airlines ticket desk and watched as I bought a ticket for the following Tuesday.

“Dennis, I’m selling everything, I’m being deported!” I announced when I walked back into my flat. I wasn’t sorry to be leaving Dennis.

I started packing when I remembered my cats. Oh my god, my cats! Peaches and Demented. Demented’s original name was Zoe, but she was prone to seizures from over-excitement, so we began calling her demented little Zoe, and somehow it was shortened to Demented. She was a beautiful tortoiseshell and I loved her more than anything. My other cat, Peaches, was a true English marmalade cat. I knew Dad would say absolutely not if I told him I was bringing home two cats. Screw him, I wasn’t leaving my cats.

With most of my belongings either shipped or left behind, I returned to Heathrow airport, my cats in a wicker basket fastened with leather straps. They were to go in the special baggage. I got good and drunk on the flight home. My father and younger brother met me at JFK. When we went to the baggage claim, I confessed to my father that I had brought my cats back to America. 

To my horror, they weren’t in the special baggage claim! I burst into tears! Peaches and Demented were somewhere lost back at Heathrow Airport! My cats were gone! Or they were in the baggage hold, dead from cold and lack of oxygen. My father kept saying we had to go home, it was too goddamned late, why did I care about the goddamned cats? I refused to budge until the baggage hold was completely empty.

My cats! My beautiful English cats! Alive!

I had to return to my childhood bedroom. Movie posters peeling off the walls, ugly ceramic figures I’d bought when I was a child. My books.

But I had my basket of cats. My reminders of London, and independence.

this originally appeared on medium.com

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Movie Review: "Victor Frankenstein" What Is Dead Should Stay Dead And Not Remade

I've been away for a long time.  Wasting my time on tumblr and twitter, being generally paralyzed by the state of the world, the usual.  But I've found myself wanting to write about films.  Currently I am screening the films of Daniel Radcliffe.  I was knocked out by Swiss Army Man, about which more in a future entry.  I've never seen more than a few minutes of Harry Potter.  So I don't come encumbered with any baggage when I watch his films.

So, I’ve been watching Victor Frankenstein, and I have to say, it stinks. Both James MacAvoy and Daniel Radcliffe do their damndest to bring the story to life. But not only have we seen this before, we have to wait for a hellishly long time for the monster.  Which then explodes in a series of blinding flashes and complete nonsense.  At the end the movie sets itself up for a sequel. Since it flopped, I doubt one is forthcoming.

Watching on my computer screen is a blessing.  I can stop the movie, do some chores, and come back. I can’t imagine sitting through this on the big screen.

Good evening, I'll be your tortured freak for the evening

The beginning is by far the best part of the movie, when Igor (Daniel Radcliffe) is the abused nameless hunchback/gifted doctor in the circus who is freed by Victor Frankenstein (James McAvoy).  Amazingly enough, the “hump” is a gigantic 18-year-old abscess.  Um, okay.  The first intensely homoerotic sequence is Victor smashing the hunchback against a pillar to straighten his body.  Victor names him Igor.  Igor is amazed at standing up.  He is told to take a shower and dress and do something about his hair. Amazingly enough, he knows how to shower, shave, and cut his hair.

Why look, it’s Daniel Radcliffe.

Within hours, his gait has straightened, learned to dress himself in spiffy Victorian fashion, and stride jauntily around the streets of London. Throughout the picture, Radcliffe manages to suggest his former self at moments. But for the most part he becomes a proper English gentleman able to dance, fall in love and have sex with Lady Sybil from Downton Abbey. She has no real identity because we come for the monster, stay for the hot and heavy bromance.  I love a good potential ship as much as the next fan, but I wanted to slap James McAvoy.  My god, man, you probably didn’t need to go to craft services because you were too busy chewing scenery.
Aaaaacting!

Victor and Igor create a chimpanzee and bring it to life, but it turns out to be a crazed killer in a sequence that doesn’t get anybody killed but does break a lot of glass. Hunted by an extremely dull police inspector, they hide out in a castle and bring the monster to life in the last 10 minutes.  Right before the whole big bang finale, we hear Igor saying, “you know the story” which serves to make the ending of the movie even more tedious.

It involves lots of shouting in the rain.  The monster is–well–a monster.  Tries to kill everyone, there are explosions, screams, minor characters falling to their death blah blah blah.  I’ve watched the ending twice and I still can’t figure out what’s going on. Explosions, majestic faux-classical chorus, people screaming. That’s okay, I’ll wait it out.  By the way, there’s huge pieces of metal, guns, electricity–how come it doesn’t occur to anyone to stab the bloody thing in the HEAD?

The movie flopped, in part because of its bloated budget. If the filmmakers hadn’t be so in love with their Sherlock knock-off, they might have cut 30 minutes and cut the redundant dialogue about life/death God/man. Why bother when we know the ending?

It’s not all bad. I opened my mail, paused it and made some phone calls, looked it up on imdb.com and got to look at Daniel Radcliffe. He is sexy and adorable. I’ve only seen him as adult actor. So I have Harry Potter reference points. Probably good, because then I might be thinking of the Boy Who Lived instead of the Monster Who Died.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Random Hollywood: Kitty McHugh

Kitty McHugh was the sister of Warner Brothers character actor Frank McHugh.  They performed together in vaudeville.  Married to cantankerous actor Ned Glass, McHugh took her own life by swallowing sleeping pills.


This is a series of random pictures of actors and actresses, for no particular reason. If you want to add information, feel free.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Phyllis Diller Chili!

Comedian Phyllis Diller, a major star in the 1960s and 1970s, decided to start her own food company.  The first (and only) product the company produced was "Phyllis Diller Chili" in 1987.  It came in chicken, beef and vegetarian varieties.

Phyllis and her daughters at the inaugural launch of Phyllis Diller Chili



It doesn't seem to have lasted that long, although there are photographs of the cans quietly rusting away.

Chicken Chili with Beans...it's a wonder it didn't fly off the shelves!
"It Took Diller To Remove The Filler"

What can I say? Other than GLACK.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Prince: Under The Cherry Moon Part One

It's Prince-O-Rama!

I'm going to jump ahead in time, to this interview that Prince gave to MTV shortly before the release of his second film, "Under The Cherry Moon".

reprinted in ROCK & SOUL * APRIL 1986
THE PRINCE INTERVIEW
Mr. Purple Discusses His Movies, His Music, His Musicians
And More, More, More.
By Michael Shore



Prince's next feature film, Under the Cherry Moon -- and the much-anticipated followup to his smash debut, Purple Rain -- should be out in theaters in three or four months. It's even more eagerly awaited because it's also Prince's feature-film directing debut.
Originally, the film was to be directed by Mary Lambert, a premier music-video director who has overseen Madonna's "Borderline" and "Material Girl," Sheila E.'s "The Glamorous Life," and the Go-Go's "Yes Or No." But in mid-September, about a month or so into the movie's two-month shooting schedule, Lambert abruptly walked off the set and handed the directing reins to His Royal Badness.
Lambert issued a statement which read, in part, "I'm leaving under totally amicable circumstances. It's just become quite apparent that Prince has such a strong vision of what this movie should be, a vision that extends to so many areas of the film, that it makes no sense for me to stand between him and the film anymore. So I'm going off to work on my own feature and letting him finish his."
Lambert's was not the first departure from the set of Under the Cherry Moon. Just days into filming, veteran British actor Terrance Stamp walked off the set, allegedly due to "scheduling conflicts," which may or may not be public relations' diplomacy. In any case, Stamp was replaced in short order by Steven Berkoff, who played the heavies in both Beverly Hills Cop and Rambo. He'll be seen as the father of Prince's love interest in the film.
Under the Cherry Moon is a love story, set in the 1940s and shot in black and white. Word from the set has it that the plot is more or less spelled out in the lyrics to "Condition of the Heart" on Around the World in a Day, which appears to be about a musician falling in love with a woman too rich and worldly for his own lifestyle.
In Under the Cherry Moon, Prince's love interest is a rich girl named Mary Sharon who, according to one cast member, "wears miniskirts and pigtails." Prince plays Christopher, a piano player in a casino-style lounge in a place similar to the French Riviera, where the film was shot. One unconfirmed story was that Prince wanted to shoot some scenes in Monte Carlo but Prince Rainier wouldn't grant permission. Guess he felt one prince on the premises was enough.
While the plot may come from a Prince song, don't expect much Prince music in Under the Cherry Moon. Another unidentified crew member says the Revolution was on the set only to shoot the video for "America," that there's no band music in the film at all, and that the only Prince music in the film is His Royal Badness at the acoustic piano. So there may or may not be soundtrack album. Another crew member confirmed, though, that there is one actual "song," and it's called something like "Snowing in July." You'll recall that when Prince announced he would stop touring late in the Purple Rain tour, one of his cryptic reasons was, "Sometimes it snows in July."





The rest of the cast includes little-known British actress Kristen Scott-Thomas as Mary Sharon; Jerome Benton, Morris Day's former valet in the Time and now a member of the Family, as Prince's "partner"; veteran British actress Francesca Annis as an older woman with whom Prince's character reportedly has an affair; and Victor Spinetti, whose career as a supporting player in rock movies goes all the way back to the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night and Help!
So what'll the movie be like? Your guess is as good as ours or anyone else's at this point. But consider another hot report from one crew member. In order to complete the film on time after he took over from Lambert, Prince shot the remaining scenes in one take.
Maybe that's a good sign. After all, His Royal Badness did all right making records by himself for a long time, and surprised a lot of supposed experts with the success of Purple Rain. Somehow, it's hard to believe Prince is finished surprising us.
Late in 1985, Prince broke his self-imposed silence and spoke to the public for the first time in almost four years. First came an interview for Rolling Stone magazine. Later came an interview for MTV. Prince's agreement to be interviewed took MTV so suddenly that the staff at the cable network were unable to arrange to conduct the interview in person. Consequently, the Music News staff resorted to simply providing a list of questions to be read to Prince by his manager and answered by Prince on videotape. MTV elected to broadcast only parts of the interview. The full interview was then offered to other broadcasters.
The videotaped interview was conducted in France, where Prince was shooting his forthcoming motion picture, Under the Cherry Moon. He first took a break to film the video for America, the third single from the Around the World in a Day LP, before 2,000 kids at the Theatre de la Verdure (translation: Greenery Theatre), which is a huge tent on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice. Once the video shoot was completed, Prince & the Revolution treated the audience to a 90-minute concert. Afterwards, Prince sat with a few of the young people in attendance and answered the questions prepared by the MTV Music News staff. It marked the first time in his career that Prince had said more than two sentences on TV. Unfortunately, in many cases, he didn't answer the questions posed, as you'll see. Although Prince is very good at many things, his inexperience with interviews shows greatly.

The first and most obvious question is, why have you decided to drop your media guard with the recent Rolling Stone interview and this one for MTV? And why were you so secretive prior to this?
 
Well, as you can see, I've made a lot of friends here, but I was homesick and I missed America. I guess I just wanted to talk to somebody.

Prince in his MTV interview
A lot of observers have remarked on your apparent need for control, and only with your two most recent albums, you gave credit to your band for composing, arranging and performing. It seems to us, from what we know of your personal background, that the need for control arose from your childhood and early teen years when you had a total lack of control over your life and were shuttled from home to home. Is this the case? If not, how does the need for control and/or your current, more open stance relate to your music?
 
I was horrible. To be perfectly honest, I was surrounded by my friends, but nevertheless, we had a difference of opinion in a lot of situations -- musically speaking, that is. A lot had to do with me not being quite sure exactly which direction I wanted to go in. Later on toward the Controversy period, I got a better grip on that. That's when we started to see more and more people participating in recording activities. Boom.
Someone in Minneapolis recently told us that several months ago they were in a studio there when David Rifkin, your sound engineer, walked in. They asked him what he thought of the new Prince album, Around The World In A Day. He said, "It's great, but wait 'til you hear the new album." Apparently, he meant you're already working on a new LP, and that this one would be a strong return to your funk roots. Is this true? Can you elaborate? What will it be called? When will it be due out, and what's the music like?
 
Don't you like surprises? Guess not. Ah, it is true I record very fast. It goes even quicker now that the girls help me -- the girls, meaning Wendy and Lisa. I don't really think I left my funk roots anywhere along the line. Around The World In A Day is a funky album. Live it's even funkier.
Why did you make the announcement that there'd be no singles or videos from that LP, and then start issuing singles and making videos anyway? 
 
Because I wanted this album to be listened to, judged, critiqued as a whole. It's hard to take a trip and go around the block, and stop when the trip is 400 miles. Dig?
Speaking of singles and videos, your latest is "America." This is one of the most political songs you've ever done. Could you tell us what the song is supposed to say to people? For example, is it straightforwardly patriotic or more complicated than that?
 
Straightforwardly patriotic.
We understand you directed the "America" video, and that you also directed "Raspberry Beret." How do you approach directing a video? Do you consult others in order to keep a certain perspective when directing yourself? 
 
Yes, definitely. When directing myself, I consult Steve (Fargnoli), my manager. On directing other Paisley Park artists, I consult the artists first and foremost. One of the things I try to do with the things I direct -- namely for our acts -- is go for the different, the out-of-the-norm, the avant purple, so to speak. And the thing that's unique about the situation I'm in now with these people is that they all know who they are, and they agree with me when we say the one thing we produce is the alternative. If someone wants to go along for that ride, then cool.
Would you ever like to direct your own movie?
 
Yes, (very enthusiastically) yes, yes.
Speaking of movies, tell us as much as you can about Under The Cherry Moon. 
 
Ooooh.
What's the plot, what kind of characters, what kind of music, how many songs, what can we expect?
 
It's a French film. It's a black-and-white French film, and ah, she's in it (girlish giggles can be heard). And her name's Emanuelle.
A lot of people were offended by what they saw as sexism in Purple Rain.
 
Now, wait, wait. I didn't write Purple Rain. Someone else did. And it was a story, a fictional story, and should be perceived that way. Violence is something that happens in everyday life, and we were only telling a story. I wish it was looked at that way, because I don't think anything we did was unnecessary. Sometimes, for the sake of humor, we may've gone overboard. And if that was the case, then I'm sorry, but it was not the intention.
When and how did you first get the idea for Purple Rain? Did you really spend a year or so taking notes in a purple notebook, like some people have said?
 
Yes.
Did you ever think Purple Rain, the movie and the album, would be as big as they were?
 
See this cuff link? Give a brother a break. I don't know.
Speaking of brothers, some have criticized you for selling out to the white rock audience with Purple Rain, and leaving your black listeners behind. How do you respond to that?
 
Oh, come on, come on! Okay, let's be frank. Can we be frank? If we can't do nothing else, we might as well be frank. Seriously, I was brought up in a black-and-white world and, yes, black and white, night and day, rich and poor. I listened to all kinds of music when I was young, and when I was younger, I always said that one day I would play all kinds of music and not be judged for the color of my skin but the quality of my work, and hopefully I will continue. There are a lot of people out there that understand this, 'cause they support me and my habits, and I support them and theirs.
How do you feel about Jesse Johnson leaving the Time? Have you heard his album, and if so, what do you think of it?
 
Jesse and Morris and Jerome and Jimmy and Terry had the makings of one of the greatest R&B bands in history. I could be a little pretentious in saying that, but it's truly the way I feel. There's no one that could wreck a house like they could. I was a bit troubled by their demise, but like I said before, it's important that one's happy first and foremost. And, as far as Jesse's record goes, chocolate. You know.
It was obvious from the Purple Rain tour that, with the extended jams on some of these songs, you were paying tribute to James Brown. Would you agree? Who, besides James Brown, were your major musical inspirations and influences? Obviously you were thinking of Hendrix, Clinton and Sly Stone.
 
James Brown played a big influence in my style. When I was about 10 years old, my stepdad put me on stage with him, and I danced a little bit until the bodyguard took me off. The reason I liked James Brown so much is that, on my way out, I saw some of the finest dancing girls I ever seen in my life. And I think, in that respect, he influenced me by his control over his group. Another big influence was Joni Mitchell. She taught me a lot about color and sound, and to her, I'm very grateful.
In your Rolling Stone interview, you said you were surprised by so many people comparing you to Hendrix because you've always been more into Santana than Hendrix as a guitarist.
 
A lot has to do with the color of my skin, and that's not where it's at. It really isn't. Hendrix is very good. Fact. There will never be another one like him, and it would be a pity to try. I strive for originality in my work, and hopefully, it'll be perceived that way.
Your father is a musician too. Have you ever, or would you ever, try to get your father's music released on an album?
 
I did. He co-wrote "Computer Blue," "The Ladder" and several tunes on the new album. He's full of ideas. It'd be wonderful to put out an album on him, but he's a little bit crazier than I am.
You gave Andre Cymone the song, "Dance Electric," for his new album, and we know that you two had some kind of falling out a few years back. When and how did you patch things up?
 
I saw him in a discotheque one night and grabbed him by his shirt and said, [at this point, Prince reenacts the scene down to the last facial gesture], "Come on, I got this hit. You know I got this hit, don't you? "Dance Electric"? Yeah, it's great. You need it, you need it. no... Hey, come here, don't you play, hey, no, no, no you're not crazy, I'm crazy. I'm the one that's crazy, K? What chu gonna do? You gonna come by? For real? You ain't mad or nothing? So what? Yeah tomorrow. Noon. Cool."
We hear rumors that the Revolution may record an album of its own.
 
I don't know. It'd be too strange. They're very talented people, but they're (motions with his hands like a spastic hula girl), and together we're (motions with his hands, making them neatly parallel). I'd rather stay here (parallel), than (spastic).
Can you tell us about Paisley Park?
 
Paisley Park is an alternative. I'm not saying it's greater or better. It's just something else. It's multicolored, and it's very fun.
Can you comment on the incident that occurred after the American Music Awards in January 1985?
 
We had talked to the people that were doing USA for Africa, and they said it was cool that I gave them a song for the album. It was the best thing for both of us, I think. I'm strongest in a situation where I'm surrounded by people I know. So it's better that I did the music with my friends than going down and participating there. I probably would have just clammed up with so many great people in a room. I'm an admirer of all of the people who participated in that particular outing, and I don't want there to be any hard feelings. As far as the incident concerning the photographer goes, it's on the flip side of "Pop Life." The main thing it says is that we're against hungry children, and our record stands tall. There is just as much hunger back here at home, and we'll do everything we can, but y'all got to understand that a flower that has water will grow and the man misunderstood will go.
Have you changed your mind about touring since you announced the Purple Rain tour would be your last?
 
No. I don't plan on touring for a while. There are so many other things to do.
Now that Purple Rain has made you such a huge superstar, do you worry about the possibility of a backlash against you?
 
One thing I'd like to say is that I don't live in a prison. I am not afraid of anything. I haven't built any walls around myself, and I am just like anyone else. I need love and water, and I'm not afraid of a backlash because, like I say, there are people who will support my habits as I have supported theirs. I don't really consider myself a superstar. I live in a small town, and I always will. I can walk around and be me. That's all I want to be, that's all I ever tried to be. I didn't know what was gonna happen. I'm just trying to do my best and if somebody dug it then (kiss, kiss to the camera).
What are your religious beliefs?
 
I believe in God. There is only one God. And I believe in an afterworld. Hopefully we'll all see it. I have been accused of a lot of things contrary to this, and I just want people to know that I'm very sincere in my beliefs. I pray every night, and I don't ask for much. I just say, "Thank you" all the time.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Happy Birthday, Prince Rogers Nelson!

 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCE!


You would have been 58 years old today.

You will always live in our hearts.