takin from okp eldealo:
South China Morning Post: Purple Reign
By David Watkins

Published October 16

The fact that Prince Rogers Nelson - the unspeakably funky, vertically challenged sex dwarf whose sheer ingenuity and girly falsetto gave us some of the most effortlessly brilliant music of the past 20 years - has decided to grace our little archipelago is a coup in itself. Rarely does he venture from obscurity to greet his people.


The merest whiff of an interview with the Purple One - who at the drop of a G-string can be Hendrix, Sly Stone, Little Richard or George Clinton - is a little like being privy to a huge state secret. No one has really established satisfactory communication with this record company-baiting love-nymph who has shrouded himself in mono-syllabic mystery for most of his 25-year career. Such mystique has built a towering rumour mill, whose stories suggest that, when it comes to reality, Prince has little grip.

According to director Kevin Smith, who was commissioned by the reclusive funkster to make a documentary at his Paisley Park, Minneapolis, headquarters: "You cannot say no to Prince; he doesn't understand why things aren't possible." Apparently thrilled with Smith's finished film, Prince then informed the Dogma director that he had no intention of ever releasing it. "He's made 53 music videos that no one is ever going to see," explained one staff member.

He truly seems to inhabit a different world. This is the fellow who, as a child, apparently insisted that friends and family call him "skipper"; who, as an adult, allegedly demanded that girlfriends call him "The Messiah", before secretly filming them having sex with him; a man for whom life "was a sexual hors d'oeuvres tray" according to one former associate; a man who doesn't know how many albums he's made, such is the sheer volume of his seemingly effortless productivity; a man who once asked for a camel, only to be genuinely shocked when staff informed him that it was impossible to get one. Especially in Minneapolis. At 3am.

Or there's his much publicised feud with Warner Bros, during which he changed his name to an unpronounceable squiggle and wrote "Slave" on his cheek to escape his contractual demands. He may have also reinvented himself as a Jehovah's Witness. And tape recorders are apparently banned from all interviews in the belief that reporters, like artists, should filter information and create their own original vision of him.

It turns out that I won't have to worry about that last part. Ahead of tomorrow night's opening concert of the three-week Harbour Fest, Prince wasn't even talking to the Hong Kong press, who have instead been invited to e-mail their questions to the diminutive eccentric. At the best of times, this is bad news for any reporter - but with Prince it's a disaster. After all, this is also the man who invented text messaging years ahead of its time. Nothing Compares 2 U. I Would Die 4 U. 4 crying out loud!

As if to emphasise our worst fears, we're sent an advance set of answers featuring Prince's hippie-dalek twittering in full flow. "Xpect one lifelong party!" he squeaks in response to whether he'll play any of his old stuff. In answer to whether he had veered from the mainstream, he claims the very word "is a term coined by those who wish 2 control us. We r composed of superfunkycalifragisexiorganic material that cannot b contained by terms." Hmmm.

How does he feel about his first visit to Hong Kong? "We r sure Hong Kong has never heard a sound like us b4, and they will never b the same after." Quite. The omens were not looking good for any reporters hoping to get anything remotely sensible, ensuring that the cult of Prince looked set to remain intact for the time being.

It's something the singer seems perfectly happy to let happen. Whereas former contemporaries such as Michael Jackson and Madonna have frequently whined about media intrusion and their own celebrity, releasing songs and statements with which to make their point and gain our sympathy, Prince has faced it all with unrestrained apathy. Never has he felt the urge to justify his stardom, never has he asked the press to leave him alone - indeed, the press has never been able to get close enough in the first place. He instead saved his spleen for his record company, which eventually cut him free of the contract he claimed imprisoned him. "If you don't own the masters, the master owns you," he famously stated once the issue had been settled.

In the 1980s, Prince, Jackson and Madonna formed a holy trinity of world-dominating pop superstardom. Twenty years later and it can be argued that, of the three of them, Prince is the only one who maintains any sort of credibility. Jackson has become a genuine modern-day horror, a shambles ravaged by his own vanity. Madonna, with all her newfound mockney-cockney sensibilities and kiddies books, simply grates.

Prince, meanwhile, is completely unshackled. With no desire to conform to anything, he creates music for himself, and sells it through his own website, NPG-music-club.com. He calls the site "a global music club that caters directly 2 r audience 2 provide a more intimate relationship between artist and art lover." Whatever. Typically, new recordings, such as last summer's N.E.W.S., are releasedwithout fanfare. Yes, he may well be insane if the stories are to be believed, but there is no comparable musician who exerts as much control over their own material as he does.

His recent output may be inconsistent, but his fearlessness in terms of finding new frontiers is admirable. It's his respect of the process of creating - and not the finished product - that has shaped his career, ensuring his longevity as an artist along the way. What he considers as B-side cast-offs have created careers for others, and for that Sinead O'Connor will no doubt be eternally grateful.

The flip side to this is, of course, Tom Jones, whose honking, artery-bursting cover of Kiss was elderly slobber compared to the original's brisk peck on the cheek. Without it we would have been allowed to forget about the old codger years ago. But then that's the longevity of Prince songs for you. And in this current pop climate, where the managers, accountants and stylists make the all decisions, the world has never needed a Prince Rogers Nelson like it needs him now.

He calls the site "a global music club that caters directly 2 r audience 2 provide a more intimate relationship between artist and art lover." Whatever.

"We r composed of superfunkycalifragisexiorganic material that cannot b contained by terms."

HE SAID SEX!!! There's still hope.

This article makes me extremely happy. Am I insane?