0(+> Sign O’ The Times – “Honestly, I don’t really believe in the concept of luck”

emancipation (courtesy of George Boskamp)

When the Recording Academy—of an industry he largely despised—posthumously honored Prince with the Lifetime Achievement Award in early February (a day prior to the Grammys), those who knew him imagined him chilling in music heaven on a fluffy purple cloud, smiling softly as he observed the events unfolding. From a far better place.

How do you address someone in a face-to-face conversation who refuses to be called by his original name, instead choosing an unpronounceable symbol? When asked, his reply was just as revealing of his worldview as it was simply baffling. We eventually got the chance to sit down with him—inside the private office of Prince Rogers Nelson at his sprawling home.

But first, some context.

Minneapolis/Minnesota, mid-November 1996. This was arguably the most challenging period of Prince’s career. He had planned a celebration at Paisley Park—a gathering that included 300 celebrity friends and just a handful of international media representatives—to announce his emancipation from the oppressive constraints of the music business. It was the first time in nearly a decade that “The Artst” had chosen to share his opinions with the press, and it was meant to be his big moment. However, fate had other plans.

Though he was a musical giant, when we met him, Prince appeared more frail and vulnerable than he might have liked to admit. Yet, his showmanship masked these frailties as it always did. In hindsight, he never truly recovered from the events that transpired during that fateful time—it was all simply too overwhelming, even for a man with seemingly superhuman abilities.

It’s hard to fathom the extremes of contrast that week. Somehow, we learned that just a few nights earlier, his then-wife Mayte Garcia had given birth to a son who tragically died from complications at a local hospital—a personal catastrophe of unimaginable proportions. And yet, there he was, determined to celebrate his freedom.

We arrived at 7801 Audubon Road in Chanhassen just as the first helicopters appeared overhead. The Paisley Park complex—nestled in a suburban industrial area just outside Minneapolis and Saint Paul—looked more surreal than we had imagined. Everything felt cinematic, not only because we were there to cover the events for German music television. Götz Bühler, our shows’ host (arguably Germany’s most prolific music journalist when it comes to Funk, Jazz, and Soul), and I met our local camera crew outside in the biting cold before entering the futuristic building. Inside, it was warm and pleasantly aromatic. “Access all areas, tonight only,” seemed to be the unspoken motto. We were even allowed to film inside the recording studios.

Besides the media, all key figures from urban Black America were also in attendance. Stretch limos continuously rolled up the Paisley Park driveway, dropping off glamorous entertainment celebrities. I even remember bumping into D’Angelo in the lobby.

Yet, the night was meant to focus on “the purple one” and his emancipation from Warner Brothers. The shackles he felt tying him to music industry standards had to come off, and tonight was the moment to reveal his master plan to a world that had always struggled to keep pace with him.

After the televised part of the showcase, a press conference was held in a separate room. A few minutes later, the man of the night descended the stairs, dressed in a funky mint-green outfit, and smiled as he thanked everyone for attending. He greeted guests with a handshake, while his team handed out small gift bags filled with merchandise celebrating his emancipation and the latest version of the symbol he chose as his new name.

His album, “Emancipation”, would drop the following morning, and that very night he would perform “friends-only” material on a sound stage within his enormous home. The first set was televised worldwide, and between sets his team organized an exclusive press conference for a select group of journalists. Prince, along with his lawyer Londell L. McMillan, patiently explained the album, the business plan, and the means behind it all. Then he did what he always did best: he hit the stage with a vengeance and absolutely rocked it. However, there was something else in the air that night.

Watch the Emancipation release party – part I

Watch the Emancipation release party – part II

After nearly a week of being repeatedly invited back to the place where a warning light flashed at reception every time the boss returned to the compound, along with a few intimate evening events (hosted by his then-DJ Brother Jules) and a personal Minneapolis music tour arranged by his musical director and keyboardist Morris Hayes, we finally secured a face-to-face interview slot in The Artst’s private office, on the first floor of Paisley Park.

We couldn’t believe our luck. There were, however, strict conditions: no cameras, microphones, or recording devices, and no inquiries about his private life. Just a pen and paper each—he vowed to talk exclusively about music, as his assistant assured us.

The man entered the room with a broad smile. His team had warned us not to stand up from our seats, so he would’t need to feel small. But he insisted on shaking hands, and as honored guests in his private office, we gladly obliged. Once back in our seats, he served us his favorite brand of orange juice, seriously interested in finding out if we enjoyed it as much as he did.

Despite the intensely tragic personal and business challenges he was facing—and in stark contrast to the earlier showcase, where he couldn’t hold back tears during his “Purple Rain” guitar solo—we were amazed at how cool, calm, and composed he appeared.

So we asked what name we should call him by for the interview. After a thoughtful pause, he smiled and said, “I see you’re here because of music, so why not just call me friend?”

We thoroughly enjoyed the orange juice, much to his delight. I remember wishing him good luck with the new ventures upon leaving, to which he replied, “Honestly, I don’t really believe in the concept of luck. Wish me well.” On our way back to the lobby, we caught a glimpse of the original doves from the “When Doves Cry” video, kept in a golden cage in the Paisley Park foyer. Rumor has it they remain there to this day as part of the museum his estate has created.

Our friend was larger than life in every sense: his pathos, funk, gestures, remarkable musicianship, unique style, and the company he kept. Prince, also known as Brother Nelson, The Artist, and O(+>, transcended the ordinary. Even when he seemed to fall out of time here & there, he always made a triumphant return. His live shows constantly were nothing short of electrifying, even after his relevance as a recording artist had faded. All his later tours were a big success, even topping numbers of his mid 1980s Purple Rain times… a fact widely ignored in the music press though.

Yet he left us too soon—on April 21, 2016—due to an accidental Fentanyl overdose (reportedly mistaking it for painkillers, which he needed after a hip replacement a few years earlier). Since then, the music world has revered him as one of the greatest musicians of all time, a man brave enough to challenge perceptions, limitations, and the dominance of big corporations for decades.

His achievements are staggering: mastering 33 instruments, selling over 150 million albums, and navigating the turbulent highs and lows of superstardom. In the end, life proved far larger than even he could contain. He never fully recovered from that agonizing mid-November week of 1996.

Our friend would have turned 67 this June—a lifetime of nearly surreal accomplishments, paired with struggles that made his life an extraordinary challenge. We call him friend because, above all, he was about the music. But that dedication came at a profound cost.

liberty (courtesy of George Boskamp)