Prince: Musical Genius, Philosopher in Assless Pants

So Prince has been popping up in my life lately, on my radio, in my playlists, over intercoms in stores, just about everywhere I need him to be. A few Jehovah's Witness came by the house last weekend and I almost expected him to pop by with some pamphlets. Prince is The Artist I Most Admire for his musical talent (vocally, song writing, lyric writing, as an instrumentalist, as a showman) but what gives him that extra extra in my mind is his unabashed idiosyncrasy. His courage to make up noises we have never heard and record them and play them for all of us. I know he is not being brave -- he is just doing what he does. Doing what he can't not do.

So in the spirit of Crybreak, here is a video of my favorite Prince song, If I Was Your Girlfriend. The recording off of Sign O' The Times has so many yodeling, grinding, crying sounds that are so literal you wonder if he needs a tourniquet -- but he has a really good I-Want-You-Baby-In-The-Worst-Way cry in this version as well, and hell, I can't resist the furry white coat and black monotard.

Cigarette State

Coming from NY, where I spent quite a few years smoking, then trying not to smoke, then smoking only when I went to bars, then bumming from other people, I have returned to the tobacco state with quite a few years of tobacco free living under my belt. Nothing worse than the self-righteous ramblings of an ex-smoker, I know, but after Bloomberg helped get cigarette smoking banned in restaurants and bars, I come home to find that bars still allow it. Urgh. Okay, fine - cheap beer and a rainy Monday night at dive bar almost require it. Doesn't make it any more tolerable for the born-again breathers. Went to the Blind Tiger last night to check out the open mic night - other wise known as the Good, The Bad, and the Out of Tune - and left with a headache, a persistent sneeze, and clothes that smelled god-awful. In honor of cigarette smokers everywhere -and my beloved North Carolina- I give you, Robbie Fulks: