A Party For Prince Weekend In Venice

I'm physically sore and completely hoarse today from dancing so hard at our Prince party here in Venice all day and all night yesterday. And it's totally worth it. My Minneapolis friends and I out here have been having a very hard time of it after the world lost Prince last week, and it's been tortuous to see all the outpouring of love for him back home and not be able to be there with everyone. Like actually super painful, in a way that we had no way of anticipating.

So we decided to dance. We decided to sing. We decided to party so hard that our friends back home could hear us ... and we did. My awesome friend Shane is real serious about Prince. He drove out his vast vinyl collection from Minnesota because it was too massive to ship. He generously offered to host a listening/dance party for all of us transplants that are seriously grieving, and the friends who sympathize with us, and it would be an all day bbq affair. A real Housequake.

I could already hear the tunes blaring from blocks away when I arrived early to help set up (and watch the Wild lose the last game of the Season - but not after an awesome Prince tribute on the ice!), I almost cried - again - because there was Shane up on a ladder, hanging massive sheets of purple and paisley fabric as our mourning bunting, to set the tone of the day. He meant business.

I got out the kids' sidewalk chalk and did my best to draw Prince's symbol to invite the guests in, and then we thought it would be nice if everyone signed their names on the driveway, so we could have a big physical memorial of our own. Some might think this is all over the top for a rock star, but then they don't know how Minneapolis feels about our Prince.

So we show them. We wear purple. We wear paisley. We cry. We share stories. We DANCE.

The kids all got into it, not exactly clear on why the grownups were all so sad about this fun guy with the fun music, but they were happy to wear purple and jump all day (and night) in the trampoline along to the hours and hours of classic Prince hits.

People showed up in mostly Prince, purple, paisley, or Minneapolis clothing.

I had my First Avenue sweatshirt on, of course, and underneath the shirt they gave me at Paisley Park when I did my college senior project there. It's a simple, boxy, pre-ladies cut shirt, but I'll never get rid of it now, and wore it with great pride yesterday.

Folks brought purple potato salad, purple cupcakes, and purple drank. One friend had stopped and had custom purple tear stickers made, so we all walked around like purple gangsters all night.

I really appreciated the school spirit for Prince that everyone displayed, with even the most casual fan in attendance decked out in purple and offering their sincere comfort to their clearly upset friends.

We told stories, of all the shows we'd seen, and all the Prince sightings we'd had back home. We taught the cleaner song words to the kids and seriously danced our faces off.

One song would end, and an even better one would begin, making it impossible to get off the dance floor that was the entire yard. I didn't actually take too many photos of things when they were in full swing, because I was far too busy getting DOWN.

Minneapolis came together in Venice, and we really needed that. We needed the solace of people that understand, and share the same super insane crushing sense of loss. No, most of us didn't know him personally, but that doesn't matter. We grew up with him in the very fabric of our days in Minneapolis, and for me, he was a big influence on my world views and possibilities. There was never, and will never be, another entertainer like Prince. Period.

People came and went as the day went on, but most everyone just stayed and danced. It was next to impossible to walk away from yet another masterpiece being spun, and so we just kept at it. I think there were times when I was actually asleep on my feet, but just needed to listen and move.

It was a Sunday night, long after the Purple Rain credits ran on the t.v. inside, and the kids were all spent and long asleep, but still we danced. Monday was looming pretty large, and still the cries for "One more song!" continued, but ultimately ...

Life is just a party and parties weren't meant to last.

I still really can't believe it's real.



THANK YOU to Jenny and Shane for letting us all party like it was 1999 ... and to everyone who was there and understands. It was cathartic, and so, so needed. Minneapolis, I hope you feel the love from absolutely everywhere, and I hope you know that we're all the way there with you in spirit!!! LOVE.


*Photos by Paddy Wilkins, Paul Gronner, and me.

Prince Rogers Nelson 1958 - 2016

Prince is gone. I just can't believe it. My phone started going off this morning, and I kept ignoring it, trying for a couple more winks after a restless night's sleep. When I looked at all my texts, one after the other read, "Not Prince!" "RIP Prince!" "Thinking of you, so sad about Prince". NO!!!! 

I immediately burst into tears. It hit me hard, like a toddler cries. I didn't think about it, it just erupted out of me. Not Prince! If you know me at all, you know this awful news is truly devastating to me. Prince is my all time favorite. In fact, Prince probably helped some to make me who I am.

You see, growing up in Minneapolis, Prince was IT. Prince was THE coolest. Prince was also kind of forbidden. Because Prince was "Dirty". Prince was shocking. Prince pushed every envelope. I was in junior high, and we would listen to Prince and be both thrilled and scandalized at the same time - in a good way. Singing out loud with my cassette Walkman, not realizing that Mom could hear the words I was belting out. This was not music my Mom wanted me to be listening too, and I loved it all the more for it, as all good rebel kids do. Every good D.J. knows that Prince will get everyone on the dance floor, and keep them there. His music is timeless.

The music. There is no one better. Prince could play everything, expertly. We would just watch him in awe, and in Minneapolis, we got to watch him a lot. My little friends and I snuck in when they were filming Purple Rain at First Avenue, 'cause we were not about to miss out on that! Life changing. I had a friend in junior high named Molly Larson, only Molly called herself "Princess" - with a star to dot the i. Molly had a tough life and Prince was about the only thing that made her happy. She would doodle his name all over her notebooks, and we would break down the songs' lyrics, right down to the moans. Molly really believed that Prince was going to be her Prince Charming, and swoop in and take her away on his awesome purple motorcycle with the glyph symbol on it. But that never happened. Molly dropped out of school, and I didn't know what happened to her until there was an article in the paper about Molly becoming a teenage prostitute, and being beaten to death on the side of a road. I was so sad for her, and remember being so sad that she never met Prince. His presence was felt even larger. (Prince and I never personally met, but I'll live on a look he once gave me until the day I die.)

I saw so many Prince shows over the years, one better than the next. When I went to college at Augsburg, it was the best because our campus was right in the city, and Prince was everywhere. Prince's drummer at the time, Michael Bland, also went to Augsburg, and would walk around in his big robes and Pope style hats, and we'd feel somehow closer to the Man. We'd have Prince sightings on his motorcycle blazing through Seven Corners, and it was magic. Prince would announce an arena show the day of, saying just show up with a can of food for entrance, and there would be a sold out show and the city's food shelves re-stocked that same night. When I was at Augsburg, there was no film major yet, so I asked if I could do my Senior Project as an Independent Study, and make a documentary on Paisley Park. The studio's manager at the time, Red White, gave me full access, letting me tour and film all over the studios in Chanhassen. Prince wasn't there that I saw that day, but the magic was felt everywhere. I have no idea where the old VHS tape of that film is, but I gotta find it.

I remember sitting on my friend's deck at her house across the lake from Prince's house late one night, when we heard the most astonishingly gorgeous electric guitar solo carry out across the water. Prince, jamming with the windows open in the Summertime ... I'll never forget it.

We saw Prince in the rain out here in L.A. at the Hollywood Bowl, one of the best shows I've ever seen in all my days. I saw him at Staples for the Musicology tour, when he gave that cd out with every concert ticket sale. That counted as record sales too, because Prince was also a business genius (we all remember The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. Smart.) 21 Forum Shows! Dance offs at Glam Slam! All those late night sessions at Paisley Park when Prince would jam with visiting artists, and you would just have your mind blown. And nothing will ever beat that Superbowl Halftime show. Nothing.

Prince gave us SO much wonderful music, so much artistry, so much to think about. He did whatever he wanted artistically, he dressed however he wanted, but he also gave more than anyone even knows, because he never bragged about it. He's probably responsible for setting me on the path to having a major thing for multi-talented, multi-cultural, multi-instrumentalist, multi-genre men ... for better or for worse. I remember hearing about Prince showing up at someone's door to talk about Jehovah's Witness stuff. Can you imagine?! That is the one time I'd let them in and listen. Or would have. NO! NOT PRINCE!!!

Last Summer, I was home visiting, and heard Prince was having a party at Paisley Park for the National Association of Black Journalists, of which I am not one. But I am determined. I was GOING. My brother and I took off to Chanhassen, where I proceeded to talk my way in, and single-handedly integrate this event with my brother. Prince didn't play, but when he took the stage right in front of me to speak, I can't explain the feeling that came over me. It was actual electricity, like a charge ran through me as I looked at him in his golden lounging pajamas, talking all smooth. The smoothest. The most mysterious. The most talented ... Prince. The one word name pretty much says it all.

If you're not from Minneapolis, you can't really understand how much Prince means to us. He became one of the world's biggest stars, but he was OURS. He never left. He stayed in Minneapolis, and made us all cooler by proxy. He loved Minnesota. He supported its sports teams, he supported its artists. We used to make our Mom take us to Rudolph's Barbecue to eat as kids, just so we could look at Prince's booth, and hope that he would come in while we were there. Every performer that would come to play in Minneapolis would tend to cover Prince, or at least mention him. First Avenue is like a church to us all, ever since Purple Rain, and Prince's star outside on its wall is becoming a massive memorial as we speak. The city is in deep mourning, with people gathering at Electric Fetus (where Prince went all the time, as recently as this last Saturday for Record Store Day) to cry and buy music. I've had so many texts, from friends who all feel the same way. Gutted. In fact, one of the first texts I got this morning was from my Mom, feeling for me, but also sad herself. Prince finally won her over. I feel so far away from home, and my people, and know this loss is just as massive and crushing for the entire city as it is for me. I bet the entire city will be bathed in purple tonight, and that Prince's music is all you'll be hearing back there for some time to come. At least we'll always have that ... and now maybe Molly will finally get to meet Prince.

I'm just so, so sad. Wow. A world without Prince. Thank you for your lifetime of music, Prince, and for making this Minneapolis girl so happy for so long. Nothing Compares 2 U.