By Paula Yeoman
It’s difficult to put into words how I feel about the death of Prince. It's a bit like some said when they first heard the news that David Bowie was dead -- it doesn’t compute because you had never imagined a time when he wouldn’t be around.
I saw Prince live only two months ago when he played his first-ever New Zealand shows, just him, a mic and his piano. It was one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to. It was a truly magical experience.
I’ve thought about it often. Just how brilliant his voice was. The intensity of Purple Rain. How he moved. How he played that piano like a demon. I see a lot of live music and I’m rarely moved to tears, or joy, as I was that night sitting just rows away from this tiny guy, alone on stage. He was alone but his presence filled the entire theatre and he commanded utter respect from an audience that teetered on the edge of all sorts of weird and wonderful emotions.
Even if I’d known then that that very show was to be among Prince’s last, it couldn’t have been better.
Often when you come away from a show so powerful, you spend the following weeks revisiting old songs and albums. Weirdly, I didn’t. I think I just wanted to be left with the memories of that night. Now sitting here digesting the news, I’m scanning his album covers and starting to comprehend what music has lost. There were so many hits. So many. But, I guess it was never about hits.
Prince was an artist who straddled the mainstream and the avant-garde with absolute ease. He transcended genres. And that night at the ASB Theatre in Auckland, you knew you were witnessing one of music’s greatest forces.
The term genius is over-used. It isn’t in the case of Prince. He is a mad genius. There is no one like him. To lose a visionary so soon after the death of Bowie is beyond a tragedy for music.
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