PRINCE AND 3RDEYEGIRL

Electric Ballroom, Camden | February 5

Sitting uncomfortably in my tiny, damp-ridden room in Camden, my Big Thoughts On Beyonce’s (un)Feminism (or whatever topic white middle-class male journalists felt sufficiently experienced to comment on that day) are interrupted by the phone ringing. “Do you know where Electric Ballroom is?” It’s my girlfriend. It sounds important. “Prince is playing there tonight, get in the queue and I’ll meet you there.” 

And so began a surreal night, during which we stood outside, in the cold, for around five hours; drank eight cans of pre-mixed gin & tonic; watched the usually unnecessary New Girl; and chatted cordially (I hope, but probably dyspeptically) with similarly baffled, half-believing strangers, for a small man from Minneapolis called Prince. It was worth it.

Prince has been playing a few guerilla-style ‘secret gigs’ in London, presumably in preparation for a tour. Someone on social media got wind of them, bruited about them, and 2,000 people turned up a few doors down from my flat. That’s how these happen when Prince is involved.

The first four hours in the queue passed uneventfully. Occasionally, we moved forward and people sneaked off for food or booze. But mainly we stood in stupefied silence, like the doe-eyed supplicants before an all-powerful, gatekeeping bouncer we were. Then, around 10, one came over. With consoling eyes, he told us the venue was full. We weren’t going to get in. Savage, savage disappointment. He paused, took in the crowd, and spoke again: “He’s gonna do another show at 11. Take a comp ticket and come back then”.

Incredible. We were actually about to see Prince. We went to my flat to prepare physically and mentally — by which I mean we drank beer and watched the episode of New Girl with Prince in it. Thus readied, we went back to Electric Ballroom. We paid £10 each. I will be smug about this price for the rest of my life.

3rdEyeGirl, Prince’s all-female (obviously) backing band for the night, introduced themselves and took to their instruments. Dry ice filled the stage. Subsequently, some noodling from the band before Prince himself came out – diminutive, afro’d, silhouetted against purple lights – and then it began: just over two hours of the best live music I’ve ever seen. He stuck mainly to lesser-known or new material, like Something in the Water, but dutifully bestowed the comforting blanket of classics like Purple Rain, Let’s Go Crazy and several others in a series of encores, culminating in a blitzing cut ‘n’ chop 15 minute medley – “You know how many hits I got?” – yes, yes we do. His playing throughout was exceptional, those fretboard-finger-fuck solos of his mesmerising the crowd, even taking to slap (spank in this context?) bass to demolish any gimmicky preconceptions. It was a rockier set than I expected, but then, I didn’t really know what to expect, outside of being blown away by pop’s most talented musician. Yes, lots of people think he’s ‘eccentric’; yes, the symbol thing was alienating; and yes, he’s 53 now. None of these things matter. Prince has more charisma, talent, sex appeal and hits than any other artist performing today; Prince, All The Critics Love U In London.

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3rdeyegirl.com

Words: Robert Bates