Sing Like No One's Listening
Last week’s column started out as a dedication to Prince, but wound up exploring a pretty dark corner of my psyche. Definitely not what I intended, but grief makes us do funny things. Plus, writing about the Minneapolis shit show turned out to be a lot less painful than writing about The Little Man’s passing.
It’s not like we thought this day would never come. The minute that Michael Jackson left the planet, we were reminded of Prince’s inevitable mortality. But imagining a world without him and actually living in it are two very different things. I doubt any of us could have imagined the epic magnitude of love, tears and celebration that have ensued since his passing.
At the same, time someone dear to me has spent their entire life preparing for that very day; not because they were his ultimate fan, but because they were a member of his inner circle.
Can you imagine a life spent preserving your anonymity in preparation for the moment when the media hunts you down and exposes whatever measly details they can find about your life, while you’re in the midst of your most intimate grief?
Neither can I.
The idea of it makes me fiercely protective— not just of my friend with the story that an insatiable media would love to steal away, but of those private, cherished moments belonging to everyone I love. It turns out that life’s not just an electric word— it’s a limited engagement; I want to honor my tribe and hold them as close as possible while they’re still here.
Prince’s passing has also made me a more avid fan of music; not just his, but every song that’s ever been a part of my life’s soundtrack. Because of him, I am no longer a passive listener but a loud, proud singer of every song, every moment that I hear it. Who knows when it will play again?
Anyone who heard me singing “Centerfold” at the top of my lungs last Sunday afternoon as I biked past the band that was playing it outside of Wild Wings can attest to my newfound passion—especially when I shamelessly screeched those off-key high notes, just because I could.
Those of you who saw “Purple Rain” at the Lucas and were embarrassed for my awkward, MST3000-style silhouette screaming from the front row, “I love you, Minneapolis!!!” and “You GO, Kid. You TAKE THAT ENCORE!!!” are fully aware of how Prince’s passing has disintegrated my inner filter. You also know how hard I sang and danced my ass off during the final scenes of the film.
What you don’t know is that I wasn’t just paying my last respects; I was expressing everything I want to tell the world about everyone I’ve ever loved, but will hold selfishly close to my heart instead.
Recently, I’ve received a ton of questions from those who are curious about His Purpleness. What’s he up to? Have I have channeled any messages from him? I can neither confirm nor deny this information, but I promise you…
…if you go to a screening of “Purple Rain”…
… and see him on the big screen one last time for yourself…
…you will witness firsthand…
…the one time that he was ever taller than the rest of us.
Originally published in Connect Savannah