It became most evident when I was around 8 years old. Most parents might be alarmed at the sight of their 8-year-old daughter thrusting around the living room to “When Doves Cry.” And if that didn’t do it, surely the request to paint over her pale pink room in a color Home Depot labeled “Grape,” but which she knew to be Prince Purple, would send red flags shooting up. But somehow my pre-preteen Prince obsession was deemed acceptable, and so there I lived in a purple room with purple sheets, a purple blow-up chair from Limited Too, a purple disco ball, and a silvery alarm clock radio that played mixtapes of Prince’s more PC songs. “When Doves Cry” was great for waking up for school at the ungodly hour of 6:00 a.m.—certainly there is science to prove the impossibility of sleeping through that guitar shredding. “Baby, I’m a Star” was good homework hype music, and “Little Red Corvette,” well, that was for singing at full blast when no one else was home, wearing a violet piece of fabric draped around my torso, until I collapsed in my bed tired from serenading my teddy bears. Most of the lyrical innuendos flew straight over the bobbed-and-banged haircut that framed my head, and any inquiries I had regarding the Purple One were carefully managed by my parents. In those early days, my knowledge was strictly limited to: He likes purple, he plays guitar, he’s short, and he once was a symbol. (The last tidbit was explained to me via the Muppets, of all places, on which Prince appeared as a guest to sing “Starfish and Coffee” and do his best Southern accent.)
As I grew older, more aspects of Prince’s life were illuminated for me and more songs were accessible through this new thing called the Internet. My first car, which I scored from an elderly neighbor across the street, was a 1994 Chevy Beretta in a shade of deep eggplant whose cassette player was permanently synched to my iPod. It was there, rolling down the streets of suburban New Jersey in that rickety purple lemon, that I first heard “Kiss,” “If I Was Your Girlfriend,” “Raspberry Beret,” and “When You Were Mine.” This was also where I mastered the art of entering and exiting cars in miniskirts that would make even Apollonia blush. The first time I heard “Darling Nikki,” however, was in my purple bedroom at 16, courtesy of some handy LimeWire pirating. When I pressed play on the track, I thought I might just die on the spot.
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