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The Prince of clubs
By Patrick Donovan
October 24, 2003

Another thump on the barbed wire-topped gate. "Only a riot could thwart our mission now," I thought, increasingly concerned. But at least they were only Prince fans, not an angry Black Sabbath mob. No, we weren't prisoners of war, we were supposedly the lucky 80 people on the invite list to Prince's "secret" warm-up show at city jazz bar Bennetts Lane. Someone had obviously shared the secret with 1000 other die-hard fans who were queued up around the corner, some of whom were banging on the gate in anger at those they wrongly thought were getting chaperoned in from the courtyard. The bar owner, Michael Tortoni, who was visited by Prince 24 hours earlier requesting a small warm-up show for his eight-piece band, said he had no idea how the word spread like wildfire. The hysteria had almost convinced the band to call off the show.}}}

But it did, and caused the kind of hysteria generated when Mick Jagger performed a surprise gig at the Corner in 1988. Dylan at the Mercury Lounge and the Stones at Sydney's Enmore Theatre were better shows, but they had been publicly announced.

Inside Bennetts Lane's Jazz Lab, jazz fans listening to a group perform Charles Mingus covers were bemused by all the fuss over the rock star. "F--- Prince, he's a poofter," one announced over the microphone, while a barmaid was mocking the regal one's sexed-up persona. By 11pm, some of the invited guests were giving up. "I'm over it. It's a Monday night, for God's sake," said one. Didn't they appreciate the significance? Prince the funk enigma, the master musician, playing in a tiny jazz club?

Just when it appeared the gig would go ahead, the barmaid announced that Prince's "people" had abandoned the door list and that only 50 people would be let in. Those in the courtyard pushed towards the door, but only a handful were allowed in. Alas, Sticky and 60 others were left out in the cold to listen through the wall, while police dispersed the crowd out the front. It was one hour, six jazz numbers, the legendary Maceo Parker on sax, with a finale of Santana's Soul Sacrifice, before Prince was whisked away down La Trobe Street in a black car. Crack band, great guitarist, but no hits, no four-hour show. We didn't miss the gig of the century, but, fittingly, our mates who had queued for six hours got in. Most of those who missed out returned the following two nights to Rod Laver Arena, where there was plenty of room for thousands of fans to enjoy all the hits, and at Tuesday's gig Prince summed up the show in his inimitable style: "Lovers take note - if it's too sexy, I'll turn it down. I'm just here to pleeeaaase."

He and Michael Jackson are the '80s mutant offspring of the James Brown Funk Machine. Decked out in a white pinstriped suit and steep Cubans, the libidinous funkster was in top form, summoning the spirits of Jimi Hendrix, Al Green, Little Richard and Sly Stone as his songs encompassed blues swagger, P-funk, soul, psychedelic rock and celebratory disco. He didn't stray too far from his cornerstone beliefs - spirituality, sensuality and satisfaction - as he played everything from When Doves Cry to Controversy and Purple Rain.