Let’s remember the Prince we saw in Australia just eight weeks ago
SCORING a seat at Prince’s Australian tour just eight weeks ago was akin to finding a golden ticket — now even more so.
FOR his legions of Australian fans, scoring a seat at Prince’s ‘Piano and a Microphone’ tour back in February was akin to finding a golden ticket.
Now, just weeks after he left the country for what was to be his final time, those of us who were lucky enough to see Prince’s last Australian tour will be holding those memories even tighter today.
I nearly gave up on seeing Prince when his tour was announced mere weeks before he arrived. When tickets went on sale, I sat patiently in an online queue for 90 minutes as seats were snapped up and date after date sold out. Out of luck, I resigned myself to the fact I’d have to skip this tour. Next time, I thought.
A day later, I tried my luck again, securing one random single seat still for sale at the end of a row at the very back of Sydney’s State Theatre. It cost $200 for a seat that was practically in Pitt St Mall but I was in. Ticket finally secured, on to the next question: What sort of show could we expect from one of music’s biggest enigmas?
The tour was a first for Prince, famed as one of the world’s greatest guitar players and celebrated for his high energy arena shows. The last time Australians saw him, back in 2012, he’d sold out arenas and brought all the bells and whistles: dancers, a full band, even a giant stage in the shape of his unpronounceable symbol.
But in February, we saw another, more intimate side of Prince: quite literally just a piano and a microphone, with nothing but a curtain and a few well-placed candles for props.
Not that these were sombre gigs. At times, he made an humble one-man-and-a-piano concert feel as showy and energetic as any stadium performance.
Squeezed into the boiling hot State Theatre with thousands of others for the 10pm Sunday late show — Prince was doing two two-hour-plus shows a night to cope with fan demand, a testament to his incredible stamina — we witnessed an artist still at the very top of his game, some 38 years after he released his first album.
There were obvious highlights: a gutsy version of his own Nothing Compares 2 U that managed to wrench the song away from its adopted owner Sinead O’Connor. A gorgeous, faithful performance of the classic B-side (B-SIDE! This guy threw away hits-in-waiting other artists clamoured for) How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore?
None of us were to know at the time, but these were to be among his final handful of concerts ever. How perfect, then, that his final Australian visit was a victory lap, treating his diehard fans to all their favourites in such an intimate setting.
But for all the hits, for this fan, the joy came in the more playful, off-the-cuff moments.
At one point, Prince played the instantly recognisable opening notes to one of his best-loved hits, Little Red Corvette, and the audience roared as one.
As if scared off by the intense reaction, he immediately bolted from the piano and ran to the other side of the stage, slowly slinking back to the piano one footstep at a time as we all coaxed and pleaded for him to continue.
It was a spectacular bit of theatre from one of the world’s best showmen.
In another moment during the show, as the applause and cheering inside the theatre reached near-hysterical levels, Prince took some time between songs to soak in the love. Agile and feline as ever, he clambered atop his piano and basked in the warm orange stage lights, milking our applause for all it was worth, feeding off our devotion.
That’s how we should remember him — humble and private offstage, but a brilliantly playful and cocky rock star in front of his fans. Cocky, not arrogant: because he knew he was the best.
And he WAS the best.