Prince, RIP, Belated
A really long time ago, I went to see Prince in concert. I believe he was playing the Cow Palace in Daly City. It was the eighties. So it would've been a "Purple Rain" tour, I imagine. My dad drove me and a girlfriend there and dropped us off in front. I was wearing a sort of Madonna-meets-Prince ensemble that involved white lace gloves with no fingers. Our seats were on the north side of the arena. I remember having a great time, but here's the thing: I really don't remember Prince. It's not that I didn't love him. I had a jaw dropping reaction to "Kiss" the first time I heard it -- wtf is that? -- and I listened to many of his songs on a Walkman after I went to bed, and I had his posters on my walls. You know what I remember? His opening act: motherfuckin' Sheila E. "The Glamorous Life" was my jam. I remember her pounding a surrounding of drums like fucking insanity, and I was just awestruck, because never in my life had I ever seen any woman do anything like that. Thanks for that and for everything else, Prince. You taught me how to be an original, and make a career out of what others took to be a pervert but wasn't, and a woman who can do whatever the fuck she wants in this life.