Let's Go Crazy

For Suzanne and Adam, always

ONE

We Are Gathered Here Today

The stage is dark. A chord rings out.

It's an unusual chord—a B flat suspended 2 with a D in the bass. A year from this night, the sound of that chord will be enough to drive audiences into hysteria. But right now, in this club, the crowd of 1,500 or so people listen quietly, because it's the first time they are hearing the song that the chord introduces.

A spotlight comes up, revealing a young woman playing a purple guitar. She is dressed simply, in a white V-neck tank top, patterned miniskirt, and white, metal-studded, purple-trimmed high-top sneakers. Her asymmetrical haircut is very much on trend for 1983, the year this show is taking place. Wendy Melvoin, the girl holding the guitar, is just nineteen years old, and this is not only the first time she is performing this song in public, it is also her first appearance as the new guitarist in Prince's band, the Revolution. So far tonight, they have played nine songs; this one is kicking off the encore.

She plays through a chord progression once, and the rest of the five-piece band falls in behind her. They go through the cycle again, and then again. The fifth time around, you can hear a second guitar coming from somewhere offstage. On the ninth instrumental go-round, Prince strides out, wrapped tightly in a purple trench coat. He plays a few fills, moves his head to the microphone as if he's about to start singing, then pulls back again. Finally, three and a half minutes into the song, he begins his vocal, reciting more than singing the first line—“I never meant to cause you any sorrow . . .” The performance would yield what would soon become his signature recording and one of popular music's greatest landmarks.

When he reaches the chorus, repeating the phrase “purple rain” six times, the crowd does not sing along. They have no idea how familiar those two words will soon become, or what impact they will turn out to have for the twenty-five-year-old man onstage in front of them. But it's almost surreal to listen to this performance now, because while this thirteen-minute version of “Purple Rain” will later be edited, with some subtle overdubs and effects added, this very recording—the maiden voyage of the song—is clearly recognizable as the actual “Purple Rain,” in the final form that will be burned into a generation's brain, from the vocal asides to the blistering, high-speed guitar solo to the final, shimmering piano coda. As the performance winds down, Prince says quietly to the audience, “We love you very, very much.”

In the audience, up in the club's balcony, Albert Magnoli listens to Prince and the Revolution play the song. Magnoli,
a recent graduate of the University of Southern California's film school, has just arrived in Minneapolis to begin work on Prince's next project, a feature film based on the musician's life, which will start shooting in a few months. He thinks that this grand, epic ballad might provide the climactic, anthemic moment for the movie, an element that he hadn't yet found in the batch of new recordings and work tapes Prince had given him. After the set, Magnoli joins the singer backstage and asks about the song.

“You mean ‘Purple Rain'?” Prince says. “It's really not done yet.” Magnoli tells him that he thinks this might be the key song they are missing for the film. Prince, the director recalls, considers that for a minute, and then says, “If that's the song, can
Purple Rain
also be the title of the movie?”

This launch and christening of
Purple Rain
occurred on August 3, 1983, at the First Avenue club in downtown Minneapolis. The show—with tickets priced at $25—was a benefit for the Minnesota Dance Theatre, where Prince has already started his band taking lessons in movement and rehearsing in preparation for the film. The sold-out concert, which raised $23,000 for the company, was his first appearance in his hometown since the tour that followed his breakthrough album,
1999
, ended in April, during the course of which he reached the Top Ten on the album and singles charts for the first time, and made the hard-won leap to becoming an A-list pop star.

The event was significant enough that
Rolling Stone
covered the show in its Random Notes section. Noting that “the mini-skirted Wendy” had replaced guitarist Dez Dickerson,
the item said that Prince and the band “swung into a ten-song [actually eleven] act, including new tracks entitled ‘Computer Blue,' ‘Let's Get Crazy,' [
sic
] ‘I Will Die For U,' [
sic
] ‘Electric ­Intercourse,' and a cover of Joni Mitchell's ‘A Case of You.' Then he encored with an anthemic—and long—new one called ‘Purple Rain.' . . . Prince looked toned up from workouts with Minneapolis choreographer John Command, who's plotting the dance numbers for the film Prince has dreamed up. The new songs, which may appear on Prince's next LP, are to be part of the movie's sound track. . . . Filming is slated to start November 1st.”

The location for this concert was no accident. First ­Avenue, a former bus station that reopened as a discotheque in 1970, was familiar, comfortable territory for Prince. “It was his venue of choice to try material out,” Revolution drummer Bobby Z (Bobby Rivkin; his stage moniker was derived from “Butzie,” a family nickname) has said. Grammy-winning megaproducer James “Jimmy Jam” Harris, whose career began as a member of Prince's protégé band, the Time, noted how the venue was an exception to the de facto segregation of live music: “A lot of clubs wouldn't let us play because we were a black band, and they were one of the first to really give us a shot.” Indeed, First Avenue would practically function as a full-fledged character in the
Purple Rain
movie, and on this night, its hospitable confines served as the perfect place to introduce not only new material but a new configuration of the band.

Looking back, Wendy Melvoin claims that she didn't feel nervous about her first show with the Revolution. “From eat
ing and drinking to singing and playing and choreography, everything had a desperate importance, and nothing took priority over the other,” she says. “Every moment that you were in Prince and the Revolution had to be like your last day on earth. So when we were doing that show, it seemed just as important as making it to rehearsal on time the day before.”

The crucial decision to record the benefit was made in a bit of a scramble. Alan Leeds, who had worked as a longtime employee in the James Brown organization, had recently been brought on board as a tour manager for Prince. After the 1999 dates ended, Prince's managers asked Leeds to stay on as plans for the film developed. “By default, I ended up as the production manager,” he recalls. “Honestly, I was in over my head . . . so I was nervous from a technical standpoint. . . . I had to find a [remote recording] truck, and I finally got a guy named David Hewitt, who had access to trucks, and he found the right truck and we had David Z [engineer David Rivkin, Bobby's brother] in it. So there was a lot of last-minute running around to pull that show off. It was also ridiculously hot and humid.

“The place was just absolutely packed to the rafters,” Leeds continues. “Steve McClellan, who ran First Avenue, was afraid that the fire marshals were going to come and close us down. Half the problem was the last-minute guest lists from Prince and Warner Brothers; we had, like, two hundred people we hadn't anticipated, and no one knew where to put them in a small venue. All of a sudden, my friends in the industry were like, ‘Yo, can you hook me up?'
USA Today
was there. It's like, ‘Oh, shit! I guess we're doing something.' ”

Still, for the members of the Revolution, the fact that the show was being recorded wasn't such a big deal. “I wasn't really aware that Bobby's brother had been brought on board to engineer what was coming into the live truck,” says keyboard player Matt Fink. “When they told me that, I thought, ‘Oh, he's recording this for posterity.' He didn't say to us, ‘Oh, by the way, we're trying to capture this for the sound track.' ”

“We were recording all along, as we always did,” says the band's other keyboard player, Lisa Coleman. “We felt really good about the songs, we really liked the set, and we knew the trucks were there recording, but it was just another show.”

But the show was evidently important enough to Prince that Melvoin remembers him talking to the band before the set, to calm their nerves. “When we were getting ready to go onstage, he said, ‘If you feel nervous, slow your body in half. So if you're playing at 100 bpm, slow your body down to 50 bpm. Cut everything in half while you're playing. Everything—every move, every thought you make, just cut it in half.' It was an incredible piece of advice, because you know how long those jams can go, and if you get too excited and someone's rushing, that's one of the worst mistakes you can make in his band.”

Prince hadn't necessarily planned on using the First ­Avenue recordings on the actual album, but when he listened to the tapes, he found that some of the new songs sounded good, in both performance and audio quality. Incredibly, not only “Purple Rain,” but also two other songs that were debuted that night—“I Would Die 4 U” and “Baby I'm a Star”—wound up being used on the final
Purple Rain
sound track (though
the others were reworked more extensively than the title song was). The show gave a major running head start to a film project that continued to seem like a pipe dream to most of the people involved. To the musicians, it still wasn't clear where the whole thing was headed.

“The reaction to the new material helped,” says Fink, “but we didn't know what was going to happen with the movie. That concert was a lot of fun and went well, but on some of the new songs, the audience was just listening. They didn't react in the strongest sense of the word, because that's what happens with new material at a lot of shows—they want to hear the hits. So even being onstage at the time, I just couldn't tell.”

Almost exactly one year later, on July 27, 1984,
Purple Rain
opened in nine hundred theaters across the United States. It made back its cost of $7 million in its first weekend, and went on to clear nearly $70 million at the box office. The sound track album has sold more than 20 million copies worldwide, and spent twenty-four consecutive weeks at number one on
Billboard
's album chart. It won two Grammys and an Oscar, and included two number one singles (“When Doves Cry” and “Let's Go Crazy”) and another, the title track, that reached number two.

It seems like anytime there's a “best of” list or a countdown,
Purple Rain
is there. In 1993,
Time
magazine ranked it the fifteenth greatest album of all time, and it placed eighteenth on VH1's 100 Greatest Albums of Rock & Roll.
Rolling
Stone
called it the second-best album of the 1980s and then placed it at number 76 on its list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, saying that it is a record “defined by its brilliant eccentricities”; the magazine also included both “Purple Rain” and “When Doves Cry” high on its list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

In 2007,
Vanity Fair
labeled
Purple Rain
the best sound track of all time (ahead of some serious competition: the sound track for
A Hard Day's Night
was number two, followed by those for
The Harder They Come
,
Pulp Fiction
,
The Graduate
, and
Super Fly
). In 2008,
Entertainment Weekly
listed
Purple Rain
at number one on its list of the 100 best albums of the past twenty-five years, and in 2013 came back and pronounced it the second-greatest album of all time, behind only the Beatles'
Revolver
, adding that
Purple Rain
might be the “sexiest album ever.”