While Crystal Ball, as an album, does not compare to
Prince's best work (such as Sign O' The Times, Purple
Rain or even Diamonds and Pearls), it's not meant
to. Rather, this set is a trip through his tape vault, which
has long been known to be full of unreleased material.
What emerges is a portrait of The Artist as a grown man, alternately
angry at those around him and at peace with himself -- and at
his best, down and dirty funky.
The first disc of bootlegged material opens with "Crystal
Ball," a 10-minute apocalyptic vision replete with bells
and train whistles, as if it to suggest a journey into a new
world. It's a fitting metaphor, as the 10 songs here feel as
if the door has been opened into The Artist's ultra-active but
relatively closed world at Paisley Park studios, where fans
are forever hearing of private parties and late-night jam sessions.
One can picture small crowds getting down to the groove of
"Dream Factory," the contemporary R&B of "Love
Sign" or the reggae lilt of "Ripopgodazippa."
Similarly, it's easy to envision a sleepless Artist working
out tracks that ultimately found no home on his other records
(the bitter "So Dark," a throwaway like "Movie
Star" or the explicit "Tell Me How U Want 2 B Done").
Disc Two continues the trip with testimonies of love ("Crucial,"
"Honest Man") along with guitar blasts in songs such
as "Da Bang," which contrasts noir verses with church-shouting
choruses, and "Calhoun Square." Among the best cuts
here is the dark "What's My Name." "Take my name,
I don't need it ... Take my fame, I can't use it," The
Artist sings in a likely reference to his contractual battles
with Warner Bros. Records. The song's instrumental chorus then
explodes in a fury of bass popping, organ, wailing sirens and
nasty turntable scratching as if to prove that despite the terms
of legal agreements, it is The Artist who is in control where
things matter most -- that is, in the music.
Crystal Ball fully blossoms on its third disc, which
The Artist opens with the righteous assertion on "Days
of Wild" that "I can tear shit up, y'all, that's my
style!" "18 & Over" (with its refrain, "I
wants to bone ya") serves as an explicit how-to on both
sexual positions and deep down, late night funk-making. Among
the other standouts here are the live guitar showcase "The
Ride" and a remix of "P Control," the latter
of which boasts phatter beats and mad scratching to topple the
original version of the song from The Gold Experience.
Meanwhile, "Get Loose" clocks major bpm's to suggest
that The Artist was on the techno tip a long time ago, but just
wasn't interested in exploring it. "Take that, you sorry
motherfuckers," is his confident retort to doubters who
claim he's lost touch with times.
While the three bootleg discs offer plenty for fans to pour
over, many have been most excited about the Truth, touted
as The Artist's first all-acoustic album (although that's somewhat
of a misnomer, as several songs feature electric bass and synthesizer).
On the downside, The Truth contains some cuts ("Circle
of Amour," "Animal Kingdom," "Fascination")
that could have come from a Windham Hill new-age sampler. Other
tracks ("Dionne," "The Other Side of the Pillow")
playfully sound like movie themes from post-war romantic comedies.
At its best, however, The Truth returns to The Artist's
oft-explored theme of salvation. Whereas in the past, he mixed
spirituality and sexuality, on songs such as "The Truth,"
"Don't Play Me" and "Third Eye," The Artist
now melds the notion of salvation with truth in artistry and
control over one's own creativity.
As for Kamasutra, the word in Artist fan circles is
that the album was only added to the set as a bonus to mail-order
purchasers after it was decided that The Truth and Crystal
Ball would be included for retail stores. Kamasutra's
11 delicate instrumental tracks are less the work of an orchestra
than a new-age ensemble, and as such they are a must only for
hard-core Prince devotees. [Tues., Feb.
17, 1998, 9 a.m. PST]
