Tributes are already pouring in for legendary recording artist Prince after his body was found in his Paisley Park estate in Minnesota Thursday morning.
According to reports, the 57- year-old was battling a severe case of the flu. Early Friday morning, his private jet made an emergency landing in Moline, IL. He appeared in a concert the very next day telling the audience that he is alive and well. Then, less than a week later, Prince Rogers Nelson was gone.
It’s hard for me to write about him in the past tense. Knowing that his type of musical artistry is no more only compounds the grief. First Bowie, now Prince. For people who struggled to be the artist that knew they could be, Prince seemed to hold this magical, Pied Piper flute that called all odd and artistic children to him. He told you that you could be yourself in the most authentic way and be rewarded for it.
I grew up with Prince while living on a little island in the West Indies. Purple Rain introduced me to a whole other planet outside my very strict and conservative household. Here was a man who played all the instruments, who could dance and sing. The album pulsated sex in between the electro-funk beats. The autobiographical nature of the album made it known that anyone could escape the confines of their house and culture. It truly reminded me that things will get better.
Better writers than I will be able to tell you everything about the artist formerly and forever known as Prince. They will tell you that he was brilliant and larger than life. I can only say that 2016 has been an awful year for music, and I wish there was a do-over.