My slow unavoidable turn into middle age and 100% misanthropy picked up pace last night after the Prince gig. The man himself delivered on all fronts, although his choice of “hits” weren’t exactly my favourites, and a smattering of baffling modern covers seemed a waste of time for a man with more tunes in his pocket than a giant with a cold.
What really wound me up was the sheer amount of out and out knobtouches taking up oxygen at the gig, from drunken idiots shouting during songs, to the fact that the venue saw fit to cordon off half the venue for “VIPs”. And when those VIPs include the likes of Jamie “Shit” Cullum and Holly “Well, shit again” Willoughby, it really does start a French revolutionary boiling in the blood.
And then of course, the joy of all the lazy journalism the day after, where as per bleeding usual, everyone has to have a pop at the man’s size. I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s far and away the most irrelevant thing you can say about him, and also, seeing as I imagine he’s not had a growth spurt in the last 30 years, it’s hardly news. Here are just some of the pithy, original, and by no means tired adjectives trotted out yet again:
Metro, ever at the cutting edge with this sort of thing weighed in with the 1-2 sting of “diminutive” and “pint-sized” whereas This Is London were happy to just stick with plain ol’ “pint-sized”.
Anyway it really is all about the music, so pop over here and get your mitts on Lolita, a new-ish cut from 3121, which frankly blew the roof off the joint, and I don’t say that lightly. It was a slice of imperial style Purple and no fooling. And he practically made sweet love to that guitar on stage. God bless you Mrs. Nelson’s boy, you put the funk back in me. See you in August, you tricky ol’ rascal you.
UPDATE! Saw him opening night at the o2 on August 1st and it was all I dreamed and more. All I can say is: I Feel For You/Controversy medley. C’mon! And not a scenemaker in sight. Phew.