It's not easy being a fan of Prince/the Artist these days.



When he's not announcing his plans to divorce and remarry, or spouting bizarre, even mean-spirited beliefs on his love4oneanother Web site, he's filing lawsuits against fan-generated Web sites and fanzines that have supported him over the past few years, when the rest of the world has ridiculed him.



Thankfully, someone is providing a weekly reminder of why we all fell so hard for the guy in the first place. Every Wednesday night for the past two months at the Front in northeast Minneapolis, DJ Dirty Duke (nee Mark Wilde) has been devoting the entire night to the music of Prince and TAFKAP. (And yes, the Artist has made a handful of appearances, slinking in and sitting in a booth to listen.)



Last Wednesday, Wilde -- decked out in a very '70s motif, commandeering a turntable/CD player that rested atop a table festooned with Christmas lights and a glowing Artist symbol -- cast out an inventive mix that included remixes and straight-ahead spins of such jams as ``My Name Is Prince,'' ``Sleep Around,'' ``Controversy,'' ``Face Down,'' ``Boys & Girls,'' ``Head,'' ``Sexy MF,'' ``When You Love Somebody'' and ``Joint to Joint.''



Last week's crowd numbered about 100, most of them head-nodders, not dancers: The Front's relatively tiny sound system doesn't exactly inspire folks to get their groove on in the same way the boomers at the Quest, Saloon, First Avenue or even Ground Zero do. Instead, with its candles and armchairs, it feels more like a living-room meeting place for people who love the Artist, but who normally listen alone or at parties. And while the DJ plays plenty of hits, he sprinkles his mix with enough obscura to keep even the most studious Princeophile guessing what will come next.



At a time when the Artist's popularity is at an all-time low, when even his most devoted fans have abandoned him or grown weary of making the late-night treks out to Paisley Park for soda pop, chips and the slim possibility of a concert, the Front offers a chance to rediscover the man's music, which so often is shrouded by the man's mystery.



It is a reminder of why, as a drunk guy said to me while leaning against the bar, ``he's the greatest musician of all time.'' Don't believe him? Then head over to northeast Minneapolis on Wednesday nights for the latest verification.