Publication: Musical Express [UK]
Date: June 20, 1992
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Title: "Nuremberg Power"
Written By: Betty Page

I wonder if he remembers our first encounter, backstage at the Lyceum in ‘81 after His now legendary first London show, which was so ill-attended it took Him five years to face an English audience again.

I had been whisked along to His inner sanctum on another journalist's wave of arrogance, against my better judgement. Prince wasn't yet famous, but He Already had a reputation for being shy and reclusive.

I was assured we would be welcomed like the long lost tribe, but the resulting 'meet’ was excruciatingly embarrassing. Everyone in the room stopped speaking and turned to behold this air of interlopers. Prince sat, in his black thong, doe-eyes at once inquisitive and defensive. We had omitted a major faux pas maybe that's why now His tour guest pass comes with the proviso ‘no hanging out backstage'...

But enough of grim memories; now, more than ten years later, I have joined the European leg of he Diamonds & Pearls tour at Munich, In Search Of Prince. This was the deal; we get to see the show, talk to members of the 'New Power Generation, even to the dancers (hey, scoop!) but no way were we likely to get within the I5-mile exclusion zone that evolves around That Little Guy.

Don't get excited, we were old, He's not even staying in Munich, let alone the same hotel as the band. 'Thou Shalt Not Do interviews' is Prince's unwritten 11th Commandment; He knows mystery sells. So what we have here is 'The Tin Machine syndrome', i.e. Prince is trying to make out He's just one of the guys in the band, the others are all talented artists in their own right and must be appreciated as such without His presence. Except that's not quite so; His presence is quite heavily felt at all times. He is, with apologies to God, omnipresent...

PARK HILTON Hotel, Munich, Saturday June 6, The Prince 'B' party await the departure of their three-coach convoy to tonight's venue, the Olympiahalle. In the lobby, generously proportioned drummer Michael Bland (aka Mr Tony Sheraton) sits like Jabba The Hutt, surrounded by members of the NPG.

Clean-cut American PR Michael (Mr Pagnotta to you) is in maximum hype flow, describing last night's crowd as "crazy'. He says they were carrying them out 20, 30 at a time, on stretchers. Michael has obviously taken corporate bullshitting to heart, talking of "projects" and discussing pop celebrities in a close-personal-friend kinda way. Guns N’Roses have been to see the show, so have Elton and Lisa…

There’s a dichotomy here; perhaps the greatest soul revue in existence is playing to an audience who will be back next week to see Bryan Adams, Eric Clapton, Diana Ross, Elton John. Prince and the NPG have become part of the Euro corporate rock ‘season’, and what better location than faceless, characterless Munich, remarkable only for it’s sinister proliferation of BMW logos, constantly writ high in the skyline?

Back in the unreal world, PR Michael assures me I will get to talk to some of the band on the coach journey to the venue. So quite why, when we squeeze on to the bench seat at the back next to Levi Seacer Jr (guitar, aka Mr Michael Anthony), Damon Dickson (voice, dancing, aka Mr D Walker) and Kirk Johnson (ditto, aka Mr Silky Slimm), he immediately puts on a CD for the guys to groove to, is beyond me. It's a compilation of old disco stuff., "Sometimes on club nights we do 'Car Wash'," Michael tells me, strangely imagining himself to be in the band.

I stumblingly ask Levi what the most rewarding aspect of working with Prince is. He replies: "We're a cutting edge band," which doesn't really answer the question. The others mutter about "checking what the captain's doing" in case he changes course, continuing the marine metaphor readily to encompass the sinking of the Titanic - if they didn't keep watching him, that is. This 'hanging out' session ends as the band decants into the forbidden backstage area and Steve and I are left to go in search of cheap German sustenance. Pizza Hut declare, sinisterly, on their menu: "We have the solution to your appetite…" We submit.

WE RENDEZVOUS with Michael at 7.15pm sharp to await further instructions. There's no soundcheck tonight, so the guys have a little time on their hands. Against my every expectation, we are whisked down the stairs into the band's dressing room. Just when I thought this was going to he Access No Areas... Here's Levi, Damon, Kirk, bassist Sonny Thompson (aka Mr Lloyd Danger), with all their stage costumes hanging neatly along the walls, relevant footwear on a trellis table in front of them.

Michael seems keen for me to talk to rapper Tony M, and it is while he is off in search of this potential interviewee that Levi drops his bombshell. "Are you going to the party tonight?" he enquires. Slightly taken aback, I inform him of our distinct lack of invitation. Sadly, Michael returns and no further mentions are made of this enticing prospect.

It is about this time that I swing to my left, and out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a vision in peach swishing past the open door. Was it Him? Or was it a wicked trick of the light? No, minutes later, He wafts by again, like a sprite, dressed in a backless jumpsuit-type thing. Yes. It is He. Back in dressing room B, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed and jovial. We are momentarily interrupted by the arrival of a quietly ferocious-looking security man requesting Sonny’s presence in the rehearsal room. "CIA in the house," says Tony (Mosley, raps and dances, aka Mr Billie Ray Valentine) as The Man brandishes his walkie-talkie. "Tell’em no, man, I refuse," counters Sonny, who proceeds to convey this message directly down the intercom. Everyone laughs uproariously. Surely Sonny wasn’t refusing Him?

Ah well, back to the mystery. The Impression I had was that you guys had to be in awe of Him ‘cos when you’re in the band, you’re in favour, but anytime you might be out on your ear.

"There’s two sides to it," says Levi, injecting a little gravitas into the situation. "When we play, it’s another side of us. We counter that with all the joking that we’re doing now. When we get on-stage it’s a serious business." "We’re definitely real people," adds Kirk, helpfully, "we try not to have too much mystique." It wouldn’t be fun if you knew everything anyway, would it? firmly on its head. "But you know that Tony M eats terriyaki beef," adds Tony M, unnecessarily.

ALL THE guys have been around Prince a long time, explains Michael, butting in. Tony, Kirk and Damon have been around since 'Purple Rain’ and even knew Him before that. And Levi's been playing with Him for five years; Sonny used to play in competitions against Prince in the early days; Levi and Rosie (Gaines, big voice, aka Ms Red Makossa) have played together, thus reinforcing the "family within a family" theory they’re so fond of.

Enter gorgeous, pouting, ‘sex symbol’ keyboard player Tommy Barbarella (aka Mr T B Keyes, real name: Elm), he of the flowing black New Romantic locks. "Tommy's a hell of a keyboard player," says somebody, before Damon commences a ritual humiliation of the poor boy, showing me a promo shot in which Tommy's got a bit of a beergut. The pretty one always cops the wind-ups,eh? Michael decides the interview's not going the way he'd planned. "Did you tell Betty about the new album? I can tell you there's a new LP out at the end of the summer."

"Who's doing this interview?" says Tony, cutting Michael off in full flow, but not stopping the torrent. So, erm, what's it called then, I venture, trying to reclaim my lost position. "There's not a title at this point, just the love symbol on the LP," answers Kirk. "We do have a couple of the songs in the show -'Sexy MF' and 'Damn You', which work real well." "Prince has got a name for it but he’s not telling anybody," says Michael, taking over again. "We don't know what it is, I got a note yesterday from my office that says anyone that tells the name gets fined, your pay will be docked. Which is cool, 'cos I don't know the name of it." Funny guy. "Ain't gonna be 'Sitting On The Dock Of The Pay'," says Kirk, a much funnier guy.

"He said something to me about revealing it towards the end of the project," says Michael, revealing his intimate relationship with Himself. Go on, Levi, you tell me about the album, please....

It has bits and pieces of Prince’s greatest moments all in one record, then it’s got more on top of that. It has more of a band sound than even the last LP. We have a reggae tune, we got some kinda new wave maniac sounding track, we got some real classical things - a little bit more back towards the artistic side of Him... this is a little more...artsy. It’s a collective in a certain place, or you lose the feeling". I ask Levi if there are any little surprises waiting on the new album. Levi checks Michael for permission to speak; Michael gives him the nod. "There’s a little interview on there with Vanessa Bartholomew...but it’s Kirstie Alley. But in your report you say Vanessa B. (Not! Ed) She kinda interviews Prince. I can’t tell you what they talk about."

Michael is now keen for me to talk to the dancers Diamond And Pearl, aka Lori Werner (aka Ms Angel Smith) and Robia La Morte (aka Ms Robyn Brett). So I do, just for him. An audition for one video (‘Cream’) turned into several videos, the sleeve of ‘Diamonds And Pearls’, and now the tour, for these two dark-haired, seasoned pros. Robia has always loved Prince’s music; Lori was friends with Prince already. They both enjoy "interpreting his words with our bodies". I notice that Lori’s legs are covered in bruises. "We’re on our knees quite a bit during the show. Dancing, that is . . ." she adds, quickly. Needless to say, they are both "very excited" to be working with Him, despite the odd curveball he throws them onstage.

ENOUGH SCHMOOZING backstage, already. Time to check out the support act, Paisley Park artiste and Prince protégé Carmen Miranda. . . erm, Electra, a rapping version of Ann-Margret who wears fringed bikinis, and has a birdcage and a dressing table onstage. It must be shit being a Prince protégé; you get to dress in scanties, prance and sing a bit, then have to spend the rest of your career talking about what it was like to work with Prince.

She bumps and grinds like there's no tomorrow, but I don't think anyone's going to take her seriously, despite the subMadonna'strong woman'stance.

The Olympiahalle also serves as a velodrome, which means Diamond and Pearl will be risking broken ankles up a curved track every time they do a costume change. Behind the stage curtain, the combined male/female symbol lighting rig is being tested, Peach and violet chiffon waits to be draped. A love-pod waits in the wings. Several hundred roadies get busy. Several thousand Germans behave like sad tossers, indulging in a solid 15 minutes of Mexican waves and waving their bloody lighters the minute the lights go down. The theme of the new Prince show is definitely Space - The Final Frontier, with the androgyny sign of Venus and Mars intertwined (with a crucifix in there somewhere) as the prime symbol, notably in the shape of the Muthaship lighting rig against the fibre-optic Milky Way backdrop and the plasma lamps. Except two giant ship figure-head style statues dominate the stage with their generous bosoms and a ballet dancing belly dancer called Mayte gives it some twirl, rather spoiling the futuristic theme. Prince soon beams up in a glass pod direct from Planet Sex and launches straight into a rocket-powered ‘Thunder'. From then on it's non-stop erotic dashing about on walkways and podiums around the three male dancers, eight band members, Diamond and Pearl and an excellent four-piece horn section, a dizzying output of dance energy and some transcendent musical highlights.

The lovely, lyrical ‘Diamonds And Pearls'; a gorgeous Rosie duet arrangement of 'Nothing Compares 2 U’; a full-blown, soloed-up’ Purple Rain’; naughty new track 'Sexy MF - totally James Browned up; truckloads of funk, jazzy bits, extended jams, Prince blamming out chords in total rock-out style; ‘Kiss’; ‘Let’s Go Crazy’; ‘Thieves In The Temple’; the total lovesexiness of ‘Cream’ and the stupendously stonky ‘Get Off’, a drop-dead bonkers version of ‘1999’ - phew, choose your moment from two and a half hours’ worth of slick, exciting, breakneck entertainment in the knowledge that the show you see is unique. No contrived spontaneity here - this is for real.

Seeing Prince, pistol-packin’ mic in hand, on the podium a few yards away, I realise just how exquisitely tiny He is - deeply masculine but gently feminine, and incredibly childlike, too. If Michael Jackson is the King Of Pop, then surely Prince is the High (Heeled) Priest Of Absolutely Everything Bloody Else. And no, nobody else has an ass like yours, Prince. As the clock passes midnight, He starts playing ‘Happy Birthday’ on the guitar. No-one seems to realise it’s His birthday. Except, of course, those that have been invited to His all-night rave-on birthday party. After the show, PR Michael has, strangely, disappeared. The hottest invite in town becomes a rapidly diminishing possibility.

And I wanted to ask Him - Prince, are you really obsessed with sex, or are you all trousers? And Prince, do you really want to be a hermaphrodite? And do you think the Goddess is returning? And what does the number eight really mean? And what does the fuschia hold for you? And why didn’t you invite me to your bloody 34th birthday party?

Anyway, Prince - I found you and you only exist in the key of E...