I saw him live, in concert, four times.
The first time I was 8 months pregnant, and I remember dancing in the aisle, with my tummy hanging over the railing.
I remember a young girl proclaiming to me "Your baby is so lucky. It gets to see Prince before it is even born!"
That was the only concert I attended with someone else.
The other times I went alone. Alone, but not alone, because I was there with myself and I rocked being a Prince fan.
I saw him at the Orpheum for a one night only intimate concert. I was in row 15, on the aisle, and I was in heaven.
I saw him in 2011 - front row seats. I never was in the seat, but danced the night away. You can read my blog about it here.
And now he is gone.
And I am afraid a part of me is gone too.
The part that loved him in Purple Rain and would defend his musicality to the nay-sayers around me.
The part that was brave enough to drive downtown, and park, and attend his concerts by myself.
The part of me that paid $225 for a front row seat.
That part of me that was 33, 42, 47, 56 and went to a concert alone, unafraid, and full of joy.
I just booked tickets to go to see Purple Rain in the Rio Theater in a couple of weeks, and then to go, alone, to see Sign of the Times a few days after that.
Because that woman, that part of me, is still in there.
At 60 I want to hold on to her.
And I want to say good-bye, and thank you, to an artist I have never met, but have always greatly admired, and it is important.
My son called me the day Prince died and asked me if I was ok.
He knew that little part of me. The part that needed someone to acknowledge that this is a hard thing for me to wrap my head around.
Not hard like Robin William dying hard, because he and I shared our struggle with depression.
But hard in the I don't want this to mean that a part of me is now dead too, hard.
It can't mean that.
I won't let it.
Thanks for sharing - music and musicians become a part of our lives and our memories in a way that other artists often don't. Their music becomes the soundtrack of our lives, and when they go too soon, we feel like the music has stopped for a moment. His music is his legacy - and our shared love of that music will allow him to live on in some way, I believe.
ReplyDeleteyes, all those songs remind me of many days of my life.
DeleteNever ever let her go...
ReplyDeleteContinue to "dream an ocean of violets in bloom"
this is what it sounds like when doves cry.
DeleteYou will always keep hold of that woman inside of you that knows what she loves and grabs the opportunities to enjoy it.
ReplyDeleteHe was a multi-talented artist and performer and can never be replaced.
There you go, another connection between us - an appreciation of Prince's artistry. As Sarah says, his music truly was a soundtrack to our lives, whether it was his own performance or someone else delivering his lines. As a true artist, he both reflected and challenged the values of the day. His music is still relevant today as it was when he recorded it. I went with a girlfriend to a screening of Purple Rain, we danced, shed a few tears and had a giggle as part of the tribute. Thank goodness my children had been educated years before about who Prince was and they understood why our generations were so dismayed. He was a true talent in many ways and we are feeling the loss too. My girlfriend travelled across the country to see his concert at the Sydney Opera House last February (because he did not come to our city this time) and is glad she did. She has been to at least 1 concert from every Australian tour, lucky thing. You too have been blessed to have gone to so many performances. You are lucky to have those memories to savour.
ReplyDeleteA quote from the master himself:
"U turn on the telly and every other story Is tellin' U somebody died"
...Nobody was ready for that somebody to be him! Still a bit stunned weeks later.
Take care...
Me too. Stunned. I keep watching videos, listening to his music, watching old interviews. I finally bought the People tribute to him.
DeleteNice to know we have yet another thing in common.