I lived in West Virginia as a kid. Not exactly backwoods, but that atmosphere was but five or ten minutes away by car in all four directions. Yet despite our off-the-grid location, the lasciviousness of Prince crept into our hollow for me in 1983. Like a funk railroad burrowing its way down a mountain into a sleepy, idyllic town. Rolling downhill like the rain flooding our low-level topography. Seeping by cassette and eight track into the marrow of our homes. I was but a spry young lad. One day, a visit to a friend's house three tree-laden blocks away unearthed that which I was too young to know which would eventually become a lifelong epiphany. Yes, friends, in a small guest house/apartment set apart from the stately stone manor of his parents, he slipped into an old Sony tape player the dual cassette of Dirty Mind/Controversy. Like squirreling away pornos in a barn so the parents didn't know. And he turned it up.

I borrowed the tape and wore it out for a year. Let's Work rattled off my bedroom walls. Do Me, Baby had my 11-year-old brain pining for a female touch to experience the same groove oozing out of my black, cylindrical boombox. I knew When You Were Mine was one of the best pop songs ever written. I simply could not believe the perfection. The beautiful simplicity reminded me of the perfect Indian Summer day. Uptown funked my young soul to the ends of that green earth. My mind saturated with the fact that the world was a much larger, much more complicated, much more exciting place. "How you gonna make me kill somebody I don't even know." Yes...EXACTLY. What the fuck is going on in this world? How can this genius jam his sister? Is that even possible?

A year later, I got Purpled.

My first girlfriend. She played a flute. She lived a few hundred yards away. She played her flute at night. The soft notes brought on softer winds to my ears as I'd sit it my shelter twixt pine trees on the hill facing her home. Her concert. I loved her, and didn't know sex. We only hugged.

One day, she showed up with Purple Rain. I need not explain further. We still only hugged.

The memories are ethereal. But replay after replay has affixed them eternally to my being. They are:

- Going to church camp with my first Walkman in 1984. Instead of sleeping in my bunk, listening to my Purple Rain cassette (extra bass button) until I fell asleep. Yes, the object of my affection who, with love, gave me the tape, sleeping only walls away, out of my touch. I had no idea how to explain my feelings the next day.

- 1984 - At the state fair. Walking into a weird tent where a song was playing that I immediately knew was borne of the master. Funkier than anything I was listening to, yet it was unmistakable. It was him. Lost for a couple years before I learned the name of this song that overshadowed the majority of the incredulous music I lived on. I still remember how it made me feel. I didn't know the name of the song. I didn't hear but a couple minutes as I stood on hay in a corner of a dimly lit tent. I had no idea what I was hearing. Yet I knew.

It was Erotic City, yall. In a tent in a fair in West Virginia.

- My parents corralled a seat on a plane for me to visit another friend from our shadowed hamlet who had moved many states away when I was 12. Almost 13. 1985. It was my first flight. The stewardesses watched over me like a hawk as I sat alone, staring out the small window at the passing landscape below. As we started descending, I saw a myriad of lakes. I landed soon thereafter at Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport. A birds-eye view of the land of Prince. I spent a week wondering where he was in my relation.

- "You have to hear this song. We're going now." A friend years later at college. A fellow enthusiast who knew of my musical passion spoke these words at my off-campus apartment. I had spent a year and half buying all the bootlegs at the Discount Den heretofore. Found gems like Heaven, Crucial, Turn It Up and Witness at this collegiate hole in wall. I felt, like Jimi, experienced. Yet I never heard of one particular song. He knew where to find it. This sophomore from Gaithersburg, Maryland, knew he had to take me down the hill to listen. So we ventured. To Greasy Nick's. A hole-in-the-wall sandwich slinger of a restaurant known for hitting up students between classes with Italian sammies slathered liberally with a beyond healthy dose of some special sauce I know now mostly consisted of oregano and olive oil. We eased cooly into a formica seat. He abruptly left and headed for the jukebox. Depositing a coin and punching a couple keys, he swiftly turned and headed back to our seat. After a series of clicks, with a sideways grin on his face, it started. That in-time beat drum. Those swirling keys. We both ducked so as not to be seen. The two nerds in the corner formica. We listened. He looked at me with that sideways, cocky grin. She's Always in My Hair.

We all have such stories. We are lucky. We have grown up with the funk. Bless yourself. Enjoy the memories. It's been a good ride.

Describe how Prince affected your childhood.

[Edited 8/30/10 1:11am]