Here is the Black Beat Article. Excuse any typos.

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ENCOUNTERING THE ARTIST

Parties With Us from 1999 Into the 2-G

by Rudi M.



After two decades of playing-out every one of his CD releases (both the hits
and misses), wearing out vinyl copies of his classic B-sides ("She's Always
In My Hair," "17 Days," etc.), scrambling to hear a friend's most rare
bootlegs ("Movie Star," "Crucial," "Chicken Grease," etc.) and securing
tickets to every tour/show that came through New York (from the 1999 to
NewPowerSoul tours), the mere thought that this writer is about to sit face-
to-face with the slightly intimidating, yet diminutive presence that is The
Artist is somewhat surreal. The feeling must, in some way, be likened to
that of Dorothy and her motley crew as they stepped into the Wiz's crib. You
just never know what to expect--or exactly what to say. Am I wearing the
right color? And there's the issue of what to call him.



In a moment like this, waiting in the lobby of midtown's opulent Palace
Hotel, even the old school, blue-blood grandeur of its interior brings to
mind the multi-talented music legend. Everything, from its gold-trimmed
walls and marble-coated staircases, to the exquisitely chosen old world art,
seem "fit for a king"--or "some kinda royalty." So it's befitting that the
man often regarded as music's regal presence, the one we still wanna call
"Prince," is holding court up in one of their exclusive suites. Fellow royal,
alleged Queen of Mean Leona Helmsley (the hotel's once headline-grabbing
proprietor) should be proud of the establishment's continued focus on detail.
But did she have guest like funk's onetime "His Royal Badness" in mind while
pondering prospective clientele?



Sparing the uncomfortable scenario of walking into a room, with the
superstar watching and dissecting every move, his stunningly gorgeous
companion Mayte actually does the initial greeting, instantly engaging me in
a conversation about the upcoming unveiling of the new show by her dance
troupe, for which her onetime husband is supplying some of the music. While
he seems to be nowhere in sight, the Puerto Rican beauty's approachable,
comforting demeanor actually creates an easeful vibe to offset my inherent
nervousness. As our chatter continues, peripheral vision confirms another
presence in the room, casually making its way towards us. Dressed in a
loose-fitting, over-sized black shirt, black slacks and trademark heels, the
most influential artist/musician/icon to emerge from popular music in the
last two decades walks over and politely introduces himself, while extending
his hand. There goes two myths out the door: the one about being
untouchable, the other having to do with being slightly removed.



As it seems all three of us are quite relaxed, with Mayte snuggling at his
side (doodling on a pad), we dive head-first into all the talk surrounding
Rave Unto The Joy Fantastic, regarded by many as his return to form. After
reminding him of his years upon years of teasing admirers with tidbits, and
even phrases, having to do with forthcoming projects, the conversation begins
with my bafflement over his use of the term "rave." After admitting to him
that the club scene's recent use of the term inferred a possible
dance-oriented release, he chuckles to himself before jumping up off the sofa
like someone who's lost his keys. Seconds later, just as a representative
walks into the room, he asks if there's a dictionary available. The young
lady returns less than a minute later with Webster's most recent edition, at
which point looks up the word "rave." "To talk irrationally in or as if
in delirium," he reads from the over-sized text; "to talk with extreme
enthusiasm." With that, he looks up and speculates, "I guess you could say I
was irrationally delirious about being happy." Following his admission that
the funk and rock-fused title track dates back to 1988 (circa Lovesexy?), he
continues, "Everybody seems to be running and scared [these days]. We're
scared of one another. We're afraid of plane crashes. We're thinking about
this whole Y2K deal, but it may not even be 1999. Time's not moving--we are.
It's about throwing the concept of time away. It's about God."



After opting to sell his Crystal and NewPowerSoul releases over the internet
(and limited retail, through his own NPG Records), following the folding of
EMI Records (which released his successful Emancipation set), Rave Un2 The
Joy Fantastic signals not only his return to the major label game,
specifically the Clive Davis-run Arista Records, but the virtual comeback of
"Prince." "This album combines everything that you would want from The
Artist;" confirms Arista president Davis, "you want it to be cutting edge,
you want it to be vanguard, you want it to be ahead of the other musicians of
today. And yet, speaking from my point of view, you also want it to be
melodic, accessible and songs that people could sing. It is the best in
contemporary music that you can expect from The Artist; it's funky, it's
edgy, it rocks, but you can also dance and sing to it." Who could argue the
opinion of a man who has orchestrated the recent successes of artists like
Whitney Houston, Carlos Santana and Deborah Cox? It's obvious, after hearing
Rave..., why Davis believes this could possibly be The Artist's most
accessible, versatile project in a few years, which justifies him offering
the kind of deal the music industry is not quite ready to offer the
majority of his peers. Appeasing 's issues relating to control of all
his master recordings, the pact allows him ownership of his material, while
benefiting from the distribution and promotion of a major label. "agreement
is the key word here," relays, while eyeing Mayte's scribblings. "It's
about ownership and playing the game. Will it revolutionize the deals
artists get from record labels? "No!," he stresses. "It's not in the record
companies' best interest to make deals like this. But when artists cease to
see them, they'll create their own way of reaching people."



Though Rave...certainly doesn't sound like a gamble, by any means. With
Prince serving as the producer, the exhilarated sounds mostly hark back to
the song styles, sensibilities and musicianship of his classic recordings.
"This time the approach went back to the old way of doing things,"
construes of the return of his former incarnation. "I was thinking in terms
of Prince. When someone would bring me a piece of equipment, I would consult
with Prince. I chose to use them again, because they worked so well for me
before. I had put all of that old equipment away [like the Linn drum],
because everybody else started using it so much." Consequently, the steamy,
JB-fashioned rhythm that drives "Prettyman" (featuring former JB saxophonist
Maceo Parker) will please fans of funk-drenched Prince gems like
"Housequake," "Tambourine" (from Around They World In a Day),
"La,La,La,He,He,He" and "Irresistible Bitch." "Oh, you know your stuff, huh?"
he amusingly acknowledges at the mention of those favored selections. "Well,
it ("Prettyman") was made out of that mind-set. I actually made that one for
Morris [Day]." Likewise, the same carefree, melodic pop/rock flair that made
"I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man," "Little Red Corvette" and "Take
Me With U" cross-the-board highway him-alongs drive guitar-propelled numbers
like "So Far, So Pleased" (featuring No Doubt's Gwen Stefani) and "Wherever U
Go, Whatever U Do." "I wanted to get to the days of 'Let's Go Crazy,'" he
further explains of His Purple Badness' reappearance, "and Prince was a great
help in getting me in that mind-set."



Ironically, that bit of nostalgia doesn't extend into reunions, which kills
the rumors circulated about a possible reassembling of his Purple Rain-era
band, The Revolution. "Why would you want something old?" he rhetorically
asks. "Time doesn't linger like that. People don't even look the same.
Maybe Marc [Brown] does, and he's a Jehovah's Witness now. Right now, I have
the most incredible band that has ever walked the face of the earth. Maceo
Parker plays saxophone for us, Larry Graham plays bass, I have the greatest
horn section since Tower Of Power--and um, there is, of course, me."



Despite his lyrical issues with a great deal of the hip-hop on radio these
days, he readily admits enjoying some of it, yet obviously wasn't above using
some of its influences on Rave... While Chuck D jumps into the mix on
"Undisputed," nowhere on the new disc is it more evident than on the bumpin',
knee-deep funk of "Hot With U," which finds the ever-progressive one trading
"battle of the sexes"-type licks with Ruff Ryder's feisty first lady, Eve.
"I just loved her flow on 'You Got Me,'" concedes. "actually, I was
just going to do the rap myself." After consulting with his lawyer/friend
Londell McMillan, who also represents Eve, it was a done deal. "Why just do
it for a remix?" he wonders aloud. Oh, and there's that issue of remixes.
"I've allowed it in the past," he offers. "Actually, I've agreed to have
Clive [Davis] and them do some remixes for fun." Not exactly known for
allowing anyone to fumble with his music, the man who often writes, records,
performs and produces his own music, actually doesn't seem to mind the fact
that "The Greatest Romance ever Sold" hit the stores, complete with remixes
done by the Neptunes (featuring Q-Tip) and Jason Nevins, whose remix of Run
DMC's "It's Like That" made it a worldwide dance hit in the '90s.



By this point, he's giving up slightly more than an hour of his time, and
seems as if he could continue for another. With his level of musical
virtuosity, who wouldn't wonder what his impression is of the music scene
today, and who he's listening to. "Most people I work with," he nonchalantly
obliges, "We want to just jam. I'm really getting into how people view
creation. Like Sheryl [Crow] and I just jammed for hours at Paisley Park.
D'Angelo stand out so much today because he can really play. I mean, that
brother can play; I've watched him. And Lenny [Kravitz] too. He's bad.
When Lauryn [Hill] and Mary [J. Blige] hold the microphone, it's like the
real thing."



Sensing that the striking pair have been amply generous with their time, the
mote pad and pen are tucked away, signaling some closure to this amiable
afternoon chat, but not before asking the man whose still-youthful looks
seemed to have frozen in time what his secret is. "Believe in God," he
plaintively states, "make your own decisions, and get away from this concept
of time. It's a trick." Expecting him to cap that off by calling me
"Grasshopper," given the Confucius-like nature of his advice, we shake hands
and part like familiar friends.