It was with much trepidation that we arrived at the Apollo on Friday afternoon. Anne a Norwegian Prince devotee for 16 years and 57 year old me, who had heard Purple Rain and a few other tracks over the years.

Wary because in its former guise as Hammersmith Odeon, the venue had been a real mixed bag of ifs and buts.

I first went there to see The Beatles Christmas Show. The fab four playing their earliest hits through some Vox amps with no PA system……All we heard was 2,500 girls screaming for an hour and a half….still great though.

In the next decade it was The Kinks, a wonderful dynamic song-driven rock fest.

A few years later came Eric Clapton in his Layla prime……..left half way through due to total lack of effort from “slowhand” no stage presence leading to abject boredom.

Last Odeon adventure was Level 42…..a previously hard little rock band with just about the best white bass player in the world. But Mark King and his clan had got too fat and comfortable and were all kitted out in white suits and had turned into a cabaret act. Another early exit for me.


So there we were a thirty year journey leading to PRINCE at the Apollo. The first person I noticed as we arrived with Anne’s club details to see the sound check was a vile beast. I am sure some of you will know him. He is very fat and scruffy and has a mop of curly black hair. Let’s call him “Slug”. Munching a MacDonalds he blathered “Who wants Tickets” …….Slug the king of the touts. We remembered him as the man who orchestrated a con when Madonna played Earls Court last year.

More about him later.

The next person I noticed was a sweet old lady at the front of the queue complete with her Zimmer frame….and behind her two girls of about 15. Prince has quite a fan base doesn’t he?

I was asked to leave my lovely Nokia camera phone in the cloakroom as we were ushered into to the Friday night soundcheck. Within twenty minutes Prince had the four hundred or so club members spell bound…..just like a private house party….wonderful stuff…..highlight being the American girl who climbed out of the stalls to do a rendition of “How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore”. An anonymous soul Diva with the voice of an Angel……as Prince said “You are too good”……too good to win a “Popstars” audition….but plenty good enough to get a recording contract.

The show that night was the hardest funk I have ever seen. Ripples of Blood Sweat and Tears coupled to Average White Band brass……How could Mrs Dulfer have known that Candy would play that sweet! Sexual Saxophony. Who would of thought 2,500 people would applaud a trombonist too!
The drum and bass were the heart of the band they had to hide the percussion behind Perspex sheets…..small venue, big kit I think.

Himself was on fire, as I always say when someone criticises something. Imagine starting with a blank piece of paper…….what an amazing repertoire Prince has generated.

Almost violent rock, beautiful lyrical love songs, shiver down the back lyrics had Anne glowing next to me. He brought out the child in her, and more than that the woman.

Massive power…..The combo generating a pulsating express train of funk.; Filled with keyboards of classical capability and Candy’s raunchy sexed up flourishes.

Just about the best live show I have ever witnessed……or was it James Brown with a 30 piece band in Stockholm in the eighties……come to think of it I think he popped his head round the curtains at the Apollo!!

So there we were. We left with God Is Love on our lips and into the crush at the front of house.

God Is Love….not really, more vicious louts barging people out of the way….queue jumping for the cloakroom. Swearing and actually spitting at a woman who protested.

But then of course there was always another day….Saturday. The day The Slug got his come uppance!

Off for a cup of tea, tell you about Saturday soon.