This was in Yesterday's Pioneer Press. My friend said she sent in as news, but I haven't seen anything on the org yet. Sorry if it has been posted already.

http://www.twincities.com...501961.htm

interesting... seems like a way of saying "i'm sorry" but for what? does anybody know???

that was moving... i actually almost cried!!

the way it was

Yeah. He wrote an open letter to Prince a couple of years ago before the first celebration basically telling him that instead of celebrating he should try to make some better music.

The gist of the letter was that these days Prince has nothing to celebrate besides his past. He was asking him to make music that was important and worthwhile again.

Maybe somebody has the letter archived because it was really interesting.

Prince even responded by having Jim come to the Park for a private talk.

lovemachine said:

Jim Walsh said that it was painful to see Prince floundering the way he was and that he didn't want to see him turn into a lounge act. I am paraphrasing...

Prince invited him to Paisley Park and got mad at him... then Prince denied Jim Walsh access to his show.

Easy answer to his last question.

You can't forget.

Moments like the ones he describes remain with you forever. Jim Walsh has been luckier than most. I'm not sure what his point is this time.

IceNine, actually I thought they had a good conversation.
I think he should go and see the ONA tour.

BTW, he might be the only one who remembers "Alone One Night". What's that?

uhhh...after the very thought-out essay from two years ago this one sucked...its as if he had nothing to write about and was on a deadline..."oh, i know...i'll doddle some thoughts about prince"...


but why?

I think i remember Jim writing he did go to the first Northrup show, but Prince said something about critics/music reporters being fools. Jim kind of laughed it off.
I like his articles on P, even when they dig at him...they're always constructive, from a Prince fan's point of view. His article that was included in the Gold Exp liner notes was right on. The summer of 94 and 95 were amazing.
The timing of his open letters is suspect, but it's Walsh, I let him get away with it.

I was hoping for more from the article, but I think he just wanted to write what he felt at the time. That's what writing is all about...no need to dig deeper if it isn't necessary.

"the Orpheum Theatre marquee will scream "Prince," which is another way of screaming "possibility," --that's i love the music.

BTW, anyone have a file of the first open letter? First one had me in tears, very sweet.

calldapplwondery83 said:

They had a good conversation for a while, but Jim Walsh said that Prince just wanted to have the last word and then ended the interview and denied his press credentials for the show afterward.

I actually have this letter...but do I really feel like typing it out? Not really.

So, the question is now- two years later: does Walsh think Prince has made good music again since the first letter?

I seem to remember a positive review of the Rainbow Children from him.

Very nice letter.

mrchristian said:

Here ya go. Enjoy!

***OLD LETTER***

Open letter to Prince: Best gift you can give is a great new record

JIM WALSH POP MUSIC CRITIC

Dear Prince,

Have I got that right? I hear that's what they're calling you these days, because that's what you've told them to call you. Great news; people who haven't been interested in you in years are suddenly interested again. Prince is back, and all that.

Well, remember me? I'm the guy who, for the past seven years, has called you The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, The Artist, TAFKAP and, once, Taffy. I'm the one who stuck up for you, who wrote all that glowing stuff in this newspaper and in the liner notes to your album ``The Gold Experience'' (I got paid exactly one dollar because I didn't want to go there with you), and now that we're on the cusp of your birthday Wednesday, and a sold-out weeklong party out at Paisley Park called ``Prince: A Celebration,'' I need to ask what, exactly, are we celebrating?

Are we celebrating the fact that you haven't made a great record, one that the entire world cared about, in years? That your live show has turned into a stale, predictable -- if phenomenally well-played, as always -- set of oldies and covers? That several lesser lights have made off with your crown because you've been distracted from the task at hand (making music that describes right now) by music industry-grousing, name changes, cryptic religious questions but no answers and hype over artistry?

Count me out, even though my party invitation seems to have been lost in the mail. I'm probably on your enemies list now, because I was only moved by a few songs off your last few records (``Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic,'' ``New Power Soul'' and ``Crystal Ball''), and I wrote as much.

Then again, maybe you're not mad at me. Maybe it's just that you've moved on, and you're done with me. But I'm not done with you. I care too much, and your music has meant too much to me to stop caring now.

But there are plenty of people who don't care. Almost everyone I know thinks you're cooked. Don't you want to prove them wrong? Forget them, don't you want to surprise yourself? Don't you want to make one more record that nails it, that truly says something and feels innovative? Why don't you get really, truly, weird again -- as weird as the times demand -- and take us on another journey, not a flashback lunch?

Make no mistake, this is a challenge. I am writing to reach you. And it may be presumptuous for a lowly rock critic to attempt to tell one of the great artists of our time to wake up and smell the muse, but I happen to think that great artists are like great chefs: They've got all the skills and ingredients, but they don't know what we're hungry for if we don't tell them. And, given the state of mainstream music at the moment, I am starved.

So here's the deal: For your birthday, I want a gift. I don't want an interview, or a tour of Paisley Park, or the hem of your garment. I want a great record. What you do best. Something real. Something that blows these say-nothing boy bands and bimbos, divas and playas, out of the water once and for all. And in case you haven't noticed, we could use it because these are strange days, indeed. To wit:

Last Friday, I was sitting at the Loring Bar watching a pretty cool jazz outfit, Moveable Feast, and listening to DJ Wicked spin. Three of the four people I was with admitted that they walk around this town in fear of getting shot.

What is that? And why haven't we heard from you on it? Whatever happened to the guy who sang ``America'' and ``Sign o' the Times''? Where have you gone, Prince Rogers Nelson? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

Why don't you call up Paul Westerberg, another Minneapolis genius your age who is going through his own struggle with silence and relevance, a guy who I'd rather hear blow into two pop bottles on a boom box than most of the stuff that passes for ``rock'' these days, and do ``Ebony and Ivory'' for the double-oughts?

Where's your updating of ``Money Don't Matter 2night?,'' for this cash-obsessed nation? Do you have another ``Adore,'' the greatest love song the world doesn't know about, in you? Does another ``Race'' or ``Uptown'' percolate somewhere deep inside -- something that seeks to unite the melting pot even as it feels like it's about to boil over?

You wrote ``We Gets Up'' for Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls. How about one for Malik Sealy, and our heartbroken, wounded Wolves, that captures that specific sense of dread and fan-grief that nobody's been able to express with words? How about a grand epic about this technology grog, and how it both fragments and bonds us? Or what about something small, something we can all relate to, about marriage trouble or the death of a loved one?

We are waiting, have been waiting, for your contribution. Instead, we get more funk, joy in repetition, and something called ``Cybersingle.'' Which is fine. But heavens to Bootsy, we already know you're funky and computer-savvy and cutting-edge and all that. What we need are some songs that express what is in our hearts, minds, souls. Some greatness.

Maybe you're resting, or burned out, or in a fortysomething funk, waiting for the songs to come. I can relate. Been there. But you're the one who said, ``Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life,'' and I feel like I'm going to need machetes to get through the next 10 years, so it'd be nice if you had my back along the way.

And if you're afraid that your best work is behind you -- and who could blame you if you did, after all the great stuff you've given the world? -- remember this: When they were in their early 40s, Elvis and John Coltrane were dead and Elton was coasting, but Bob Dylan made ``Infidels,'' Neil Young made ``Freedom,'' Marvin Gaye made ``Here, My Dear,'' Tom Waits made ``Bone Machine,'' Lou Reed made ``New York,'' John Lennon made ``Double Fantasy,'' Madonna made ``Ray of Light,'' Van Morrison made ``No Guru, No Method, No Teacher'' and Miles Davis made ``Bitches Brew.''
So do me a favor. Don't ignore this. When you perform at Northrop Auditorium next Tuesday, don't do an oldies show, which I already fear you're working up. Show us that you're paying attention. Seize the moment.

Do you have anything left to say? If not, get out of the way. Don't tease us, because it hurts too much. And don't pretend that you care, because if you cared the way Prince used to care, you'd go into your studio and pull an all-weeker, shake yourself up, throw out the formulas that got you (us) here, splash your canvas with all the desperation, ennui and hope of the age, and set the world on fire again.
May U live 2 see the dawn,

Jim