The scene was similar down the street at Bunker’s, where Jesse Johnson of the Time...his second of three consecutive shows. An enormous, swaying group of women from San Francisco dominated the front of the stage, obviously giddy at being in a club they knew Prince himself used to frequent. A string of purple Christmas lights lit up Prince’s old booth, and selfies were taken with anyone who was actually anchored here in Minneapolis. When Jesse Johnson emerged, he performed as if he was conducting an intimate rehearsal for a small group of friends, and the entire sold-out Bunker’s crowd surged forward as one united front when he turned the mic stand out into the room and asked us to sing “Purple Rain” while he wailed on his guitar.

The air was warm that night, and it felt like the whole city had come alive. Making my way through downtown, there were lines stretching out the doors of every dance club on Hennepin, and Prince music poured out of overhead speakers and car stereos. But there was something quite normal about it, too; unlike last year’s citywide mourning, when you could literally feel the sadness weighing down on us like fog in the sky, this night felt carefree and vibrant. It was a beautiful spring night in Minneapolis, so why wouldn’t Prince be the soundtrack?