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The Artist Known As.............
By Todd McKay
THE ARTIST GRACED Blockbuster Desert Sky with his presence
last Saturday, October 25. The Artist, or his representative,
wants to emphasize that there's a multitude of merchandise available
for your buying convenience, like The Artist Necklace. Graham
Central Station opened the show with some funk workouts anchored
by Larry Graham's gigantic bass playing. Graham played bass in
Sly and the Family Stone before striking out on his own, but the
audience was indifferent to his performance, even though he was
doing passable versions of Sly classics like "Everyday People"
and "Thank You (Falletinme Be Mice Elf Agin)."
This is probably just what The Artist had in mind. Because above
all else, The Artist wants you to love him.
Love him you could, because he's a hell of a performer. He danced,
strutted, and sang his way through material from his whole career,
opening up with "Jam of the Year." Admittedly, I went
with the pre-conceived notion the show would be a tepid rehashing
of old material. But he emphasized his newer stuff and lead the
great New Power Generation through their paces. New Power Generation
is an exceedingly tight backup band, but they're rarely allowed
to strut their stuff, since The Artist requires the spotlight
at all times. The Artist played his symbol guitar, electric bass,
and electric piano with equal talent, but often remained instrumentless
the better to thrust his pelvis at the audience, the ground, the
sky, and somewhat incongruously, his piano bench.
The Artist's name has undergone a well-documented evolution,
leading to certain problems of subject verb agreement. When The
Artist was vamping on the electric piano, teasing the audience
with a montage of snippets from "Darling Nikki" and
"Beautiful Ones," I was moved to reply. Back when he
was simply Prince, it would have been simple enough. "Yeah,
Prince!" or "You go, Prince!" But there's something
awkward about screaming "Yeah, Artist!" This is no small
matter, particularly when it comes to scream-for-a-while-with-the-lights-out-until-the-obligatory-encore
time. Whistling and stomping is fine, but name-calling makes it
a little more special. I had to try it.
"The Artist!" I bellowed. People looked at me, some
nervously. It just didn't feel right in a darkened pavilion with
people hoisting lighters, and I think it made the nice looking
couple next to me uncomfortable.
It's too bad in all his narcissism The Artist didn't pick a name
less awkward to yell, though I'm thankful we were all spared people
shouting, "We love you, The Artist Formally Known As Prince!"
The last time I saw The Artist perform was during the Purple
Rain tour. A friend and I made the unfortunate fashion call
that it would be really cool to wear purple bandannas on our heads.
(Hey, it was the mid-eighties, and Mike Reno of Loverboy had distressingly
popularized the use of bandannas.) We were not alone: The most
egregious of our fellow enthusiasts was the woman wearing a purple
vinyl mini-skirt with matching jacket. This time around, though
clearly dressed for the occasion, nobody tried to match The Artist's
shimmering red suit with matching heels. One guy made a bold attempt
to dance kinda funky, his motions coming across as some Pee Wee
Herman Tequila-dance and Madonna-voguing hybrid. It was even more
pathetic than a guy wearing a purple headband. But overall, not
as bad as we imagined it might be. Whatever you call him, don't
call The Artist finished. He proved he's got enough moves to last
at least to the promised 1999.
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