Permit me to plan your dream weekend. You’re going to see a musician, a great one, play at a small club in Las Vegas. For a hundred and seventy-five dollars, you could stand on the dance floor in front of the stage. But, if you want to sit down, house policy requires that you buy at least two tickets and pay an additional three hundred and seventy-five dollars, which entitles you to a bottle of alcohol and seats at a V.I.P. table at the edge of the dance floor. At midnight, the performer will begin a hundred-minute set. Afterward, as you wait half an hour in a queue for a taxi to drive you to a hotel that is roughly three blocks away but inaccessible by foot, you will see adults throwing up into garbage cans and waving plastic necklaces above their heads. You will get to bed at approximately 3 A.M.Why would you do this? Because the musician you are seeing is Prince, who made an agreement with the Rio hotel—its purple décor reportedly pleased him—to turn Club Rio into a club called 3121, after Prince’s agreeably funky but modest 2006 album of the same name. Prince has been performing midnight shows there on Fridays and Saturdays since November (though he’s missed a few weekends). It doesn’t matter that the artist, who is forty-eight, has released only a handful of decent recordings in the past fifteen years. He is perhaps the greatest living performer in the pop tradition. The fact that, as he says during his live shows, “my friends all look different—I look just the same” simply enhances the impression that he is our Dorian Gray, if Gray had been raised by Cher and James Brown. Prince’s songwriting heyday, which stretched from 1979 to 1988, is rivalled only by the Beatles’ in generosity, formal variety, and intensity. - complete article
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