When Doves Cry

"We just lost the greatest recording artist of all time. "

This piece in The Daily Beast posted on the day Prince died pretty much says it all. I'm amazed by the wave of heartfelt tributes after the news broke. I'm surprised by how deeply moved I was by the passing of a person I did not know. I'm struck by the outpouring of love from so many young people who weren't even born when "Purple Rain" — the movie and the song —first blew me away.

 

What was it about this man that has so many seemingly differing souls feeling the loss? What is it that we share?

Going through the Prince playlist, and listening again to recordings I hadn't heard in ages, it occurs to me that he was transcendent—spanning genres, decades, generations, and racial divides. He wasn't defined by any label and what an amazing guitarist! 

Check out this virtuoso solo performance at the 2004 Hall of Fame Induction ceremony.  Prince is standing on the edge—rocking a red hat—then takes center stage and carries us to another level.

I love it that the world knew the artist, and  

virtually nothing about his off-stage life, as his friend Van Jones reveals in a CNN interview. 

Prince was a presence as an artist, not as a celebrity. We are left with no glaring headlines about crazy antics, lavish spending, crazy friends, embarrassing TV talk-show moments, or hints of his (presumed) economic  wealth.

 And so we are left only with the music —  and I say "Thank you."

I love it that Prince spent his entire life in Minneapolis when he could have gone Hollywood or New York on us.  I love it that he was a quiet presence in the world, whose artistry and talent spoke loudly and echoed through so many phases of my life. I love it that a Prince song I listened to when I was 25 still makes me want to dance like I'm 25.

 

I was a very, very young woman when I discovered the artist know as Prince. Soon, I'll celebrate my eligibility for Social Security. Prince was there through it all.  
Thanks for the ride.