[thanks to Simon Peacock who also sent this in -Ben]

Montreal Gazette review of the Montreal concert (http://www.montrealgazette.com/ and article at http://montreal.canada.co...71753.html):

Was it Prince? Was it jazz?
T'CHA DUNLEVY
The Gazette

VINCENZO D'ALTO, GAZETTE / Prince behind a piano last night: one song in the first half.

Joke's on us.

Prince came to the jazz fest last night and, for the first 90 minutes, before a sold-out Place des Arts, showed every indication he had taken the invitation wayyy too literally.

"Who was that guy out on this stage 10 minutes ago?" he asked upon returning from the intermission. "Who was that?"

It was Prince, of course. And while the first 10, maybe 20, pushing-it-at-30 minutes, were cute, and at times impressive (the Artist did pull out some hefty, undeniably jazzy chops), the affair was an exercise in confusion for the 2,800 or so fans in attendance.

Had he gone off the deep end? Was this the new Prince? Was it good? Were we having fun? Did you like it? I don't know, did you?

Shrouded in darkness, speaking and singing only on occasion, the man and his band played essentially one song during the lengthy first half - an extended jazz-funk-soul jam in which he intermittently participated.

How 'bout that 20-minute bass solo - with Prince off-stage somewhere, presumably getting a foot rub. If it was a test, we passed it.

"I love you guys," the bassist mouthed as he walked triumphantly off-stage. Even Prince showed appreciation, reciprocating the crowd's applause at one point, then asking, "How late can you stay up tonight?"

Still, the nervous tension wasn't going away. Was this it? Was this the show? If it was, and you were trying to like it, it was great. Why would you want him to come out and do the same old thing? He was giving us a one-of-a-kind show. Right?

Uh, yeah.

"Montreal! Are you ready to rock'n'roll?"

The early-'80s funk beat kicked in and we were into Uptown - a disco-fueled classic from the early days. It was perhaps the biggest collective sigh of relief ever felt at a rock concert.

The party was on and so was Prince. Busting out the moves - the hip shake, the one-leg shuffle, the double pirouette - singing his little heart out and getting down on the good foot.

"Give it to me two times!"

Bam! Bam!

"Now one time!"

Bam!

"Three!"

Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Say, 'I'm willing to do the work," he beckoned, leading into the Internet-available song The Work.

The party had jumped instantly into full swing, Prince had not lost his mind, he was still the one and only Sexy Motherfunker, and he had come to do what he does best, and what he does better than pretty much anyone on the planet.

It's nice to see that, with all his success, the stardom, the post-stardom, - amid the arrogance, the eccentricity, the weirdness and the cool - he hasn't lost his sense of humour.

[pic credit: VINCENZO D'ALTO, GAZETTE]