Publication: London Times [UK]
Date: March 6, 1995
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Title: "Pop"
Reviewed By: David Sinclair

David Sinclair watches as 'the Artist Formerly Known as Prince' kick off his new British tour in unfamiliar musical guise For the last two years, he has insisted that his name is a gender-blending squiggle, not Prince. Yet when he made his much-analysed acceptance "speech" at the Brit Awards two weeks ago. the diminutive superstar identified himself, three times. as "Prince".

The Times has decided to take this as a signal. and will henceforth refer to him as The Artist Who Calls Himself Prince Even If Nobody Else Is Allowed To, or Prince for short. All this nonsense with the name is, of course, a preposterous indulgence of a super-vain ego. but it is also symptomatic of a genuine identity crisis.

At 36, Prince finds himself at loggerheads with his record company. Warner Bros. and in charge of a studio complex and business organization, Paisley Park, which is reported to be in financial difficulty. He wishes to avoid coasting on his reputation and is desperate to refute the increasingly plausible suggestion that he is past his creative peak. "Since the last time I saw you I've made seven albums, he boasts recklessly to the adoring Wembley crowd. If true, this is quick work indeed, considering that his last UK shows were less than two years ago. "Don’t you worry about my cash flow, either, he adds defiantly.

Prince’s claim that his record company has refused to release his new album, The Gold Experience, has been countered by Warner Bros, who state, not unreasonably, that the company is unable to issue the album until Prince hands over the master tapes which, so far, he has declined to do. To underline what we’ve been missing, four videos of tracks from The Gold Experience are screened before the show starts. They look and sound good, a stylish mixture of rap, funk and rock illustrated by the usual bevy of underdressed women.

Finally the curtain drops to reveal a stage occupied at the rear of the so-called Endorphinmachine, three split-level modules that look like a cross between the spaceships in Barbarella and Alien, among which various members of his group, the New Power Generation, are located. Prince shimmies on, playing a guitar which appears to have been built originally as a crossbow. Halfway through the first number, Endorphinemachine, keyboard player Tommy Barbarella is hoisted high above the stage and flown out over the heads of the audience. Two and a half hours later, Garcia repeats the stunt, dressed as an angel and sprinkling gold glitter on the heads below during the final encore of Gold.

In between is a selection of songs notable in the first instance for their unfamiliarity. These include a falsetto ballad with a noisy climax called Shhh and several heavy-duty, hip hop tracks, such as Days Of Wild and Pussy Control (not about feline matters) which find Prince in rap mode and cheerfully using the oedipal compound swear word as if to the manner born. His recent hit, The Most Beautiful Girl In The World, gets an off-hand airing about halfway through, ditto Letitgo from last year’s Come album (remember that?).

There is a quote from James Brown’s Sex Machine and a brief, dismal version of John Fogerty's Proud Mary, but otherwise he sticks to the untried and untested. It is a brave and bold display, and what with a few pyrotechnics thrown in during the encores, not bad value as these things go. But for all the talk of burying the old Prince and making a fresh start, none of it goes anywhere new, musically. And as a lyricist Prince's preoccupation with the mechanics of sex have taken him so far up a blind alley that he now has nowhere left to turn.

The SLAVE motif which, as always, is crayoned on to his cheek, may turn out to have more resonance than he intended. After all, anyone can change their name, but it's a good deal harder to cast off the shackles of the past and escape from what you are.