Raspberry Beret

Saturday night.

I finished my last limo run. Which was a carload of senior high school girls trying to be Janet Jackson's backup singers. One girl asked me in an uppity tone, "So what else have you done besides drive a limo?"

"I signed artists to record contracts."

She laughed and commented on how funny I was. My humor was worth an extra $10 tip. I then understood what Louie Perez, drummer of Los Lobos meant when he said. "I went from being a Grammy-award-winning artist. Fifteen minutes later pushing a cart in Ralph's Market and buying some Pampers."

I was ready to call it quits until limo headquarters buzzed me and said I had two new customers ready for pick up. I usually only got an address and showed up at the booked time. These customers were out of the ordinary. Dispatch told me it was a couple of VIPs from the kingdom of Purple. Not sure what that meant I headed back out onto the Chanhassen fast lane.

I pulled up to a purple-painted house with a large, purple windmill in the backyard. A light came on and two people exited the front door. I stood ready as I usually did at the rear limo door. I gulped when I recognized who my customers were. I had never met Prince up close before and his real height was not hidden by his platform shoes. I was 5 feet 7 inches tall, and his head touched the bottom of my chin. He smiled and thanked me for opening the limo door. I loved his purple suit. It was a cross between Disney and porn fantasy. His sexy date, Carmen Electra, the glamour model looked good in anything. One of her boobs was bigger than Prince's head. She followed Prince into the back seat. I closed the door and jumped in the driver's seat. The perfume inside the limo. Thicker than the pink cotton candy at the Minnesota State Fair on a hot summer night.

"Where would you like to go Mr. Prince?" I caught myself, blushing.

I knew stories about Prince because my wife's cousin was St. Paul, Peterson. the lead singer in one of Prince's sidebands called, "The Family." The two parted ways in a legal dispute. I was not privy to the details, but St. Paul was an inner purple camp during the heyday of "Purple Rain" (1984). So were other in-laws, Jason Peterson DeLaire. Who toured on the Love Sexy Tour, and Ricky Peterson who did production work. Many I knew worked on the plantation.

"First Avenue, backstage door," Prince directed.

On the way, Prince and Electra made small talk. Much of which was about nonsense. Celebrity gossip. Don't get me wrong, a recording no doubt would have found its way into some money-paying pop fanzine.

Prince changed the topic to business and my ear was now an imaginary French horn. I forgot to raise the Vanity 6 glass divider between the front and back seats. He didn't notice that I could hear everything. I felt like an undercover music journalist in disguise. Without evidence who would believe me? Little did Prince know I had been a talent scout. Producer, and artist development for PolyGram International Music Publishing. Manager of a songwriting staff. Rented his Paisley studios for my productions. The former occupant of his manager Owen Husney's office. Received a $20,000 check by mistake for an artist's royalty contribution in the movie "Purple Rain." And an ear for the never-ending complaints by his Minneapolis-based photographer. The purple guy ripped him off?

I would have loved to work at Paisley Park. If not for the lucky chance to absorb his purple mojo. Less so I could have leveraged his name for personal gain like his staff did? That question and many others bounced around inside my pinball machine interview. Dream on, if he'd answer my questions I could have money for nothing, salaried desk job? Tonight I was Mr. Nobody, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

Regardless, I still wanted to ask him if artists he tried to set up that went behind his back to cut deals pissed him off? It happened to me so I wondered if it happened to him what he would do? Other questions popped. What did he think of his first Minneapolis Luther-made guitar?

What was the real reason Prince banned Star & Tribune music journalists from his shows? Did he agree with the photographer's claim of being ripped off? Why did people who worked at Paisley Park dub it the "Plantation?" Was he a caring guy or did the rigors of the business make him jaded? Why did he stiff a personal invite from Madonna? Did he ever collect food stamps like me? Did he eat Capt' Crunch cereal when he was a kid? Was he bullied in high school for being a shrimp? What did he think of Woodstock? Did he ever drop Acid? Not to forget how he made an unannounced appearance on my birthday at First Ave, which blew my mind! There was also respecting his privacy. Time Magazine can ask stupid questions like "Is there anything you can't do?"

When I met the guitar God, Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin. We sat alone at a bar together in London. All the undisturbed time in the world to ask my hero whatever I wanted, I let it go. I felt better not knowing and let him enjoy his peace.

My thoughts were interrupted by Electra.

"Do you like the name of my new band? "The New Power Generation," Prince asked Electra "It's cute," she giggled. "Like you."

Prince sighed, "I'm fed up with my record company, Warner Brothers. They want to control everything I do. They're slave drivers and I am their nigger."

"Do you have any ideas what you can do?" Electra said.

"If they want PRINCE they can have him. I will give them the rights to my name, and fuck it," Prince complained.

I understood his feelings about record label control.

The artist I managed for 18 years was Shawn Phillips. Hardly a household name like Prince. But Phillips did record (9) albums on A&M records. A&M gave Phillips an ultimatum. Succumb to their commercial demand or else. For a similar reason, Warner's wanted to control Prince.

"What will you do without your name?" she asked.

"What will I do without you?" Prince shot back.

I looked into my rearview mirror and they were making out. I thought the timing awkward to butt in and ask for a job. So, I kept my thoughts funky, set on the job. "Little Red Corvette," I hummed my favorite song by Prince.

I pulled the super stretch into the garage behind First Avenue. Several security guards were waiting for my royal couple. I opened the door and they escorted them off to his private booth above the danceteria.

"Hey, how do I get paid?" I asked one of the guards.

"Figure it out," he shrugged.

The next day, I called the manager at Prince's, Paisley Park studios. The manager apologized and dispatched payment for the limo and another check for me. Signed by Prince for $500.00. Next to his name, he made a little glyph.

That night was the most money I had ever made driving limo.

Following the merging of the major record labels. Capitol. Decca, Def Jam, Deutsche Grammophon, Interscope, Island, Motown, Polydor, Republic, Virgin, and EMI. In 1991, Universal Music (UMG) was born. The largest monopoly on creativity ever established in the popular-music record business. Then to drive the proverbial rock n' roll nail into the music coffin.

LIVE NATION and TICKETMASTER took control of the venue business. (4) media giants bought up the radio industry. The day of the INDIE was dead. If you weren't part of the new music mafia your chances for success in the music business weren't too promising.

By merging the world's most diverse record companies into one homogenous corporation. The record giant could control the markets. Distribution, radio, media, venues, and worse shape pop culture. With the combined power to buy out competitors. These guys could rock 'n' roll over anybody standing in their way. The one thing they wouldn't be able to control was Prince.

During the mid-2000s. The Minneapolis Sound set the charts on fire. And sparked a lasting effect on songwriting ended in one, long, sustained Dove cry. Prince who became the artist "formerly known as Prince," died on April 21, 2016. With him died the countless parties, deals, hopes, songs, and groundbreaking videos. The collapse of the purple wave. The zeitgeist of the Minneapolis '80s music scene seemed to disappear. Afterward, I felt nothing was ever the same again. What rained down was not purple. So much as it was a nostalgic media downpour of what Minneapolis once was.