If I were to grant you access to my Spotify likes, you’d see a list as esoteric and unpredictable as the wind. Sure, I have some songs on heavy rotation. I can listen to blues and jazz and Americana all day long and be happy. I can listen to Faure and Mozart and Brahms and enjoy every second. The same goes for Stephen Sondheim and Rogers and Hammerstein. I’ll sing along when I can, and hum when I can’t.
I rediscovered an 80s film on Netflix this weekend: Prince’s Purple Rain. The acting is terrible. The plotline is thin.
But the music, y’all, the music. I triple dog dare you to find a musician whose absolute command of craft even approaches Prince’s. He played at least 27 instruments to perfection. He wrote a song a day. He had a vocal range that could make Ms. Barham weep.
Fiona Apple may have just released a tremendous new album. That’s one album.
People from Mississippi may think that Elvis was King. (In that genre of music, I’d vote for Jerry Lee Lewis, but that’s a story for another day.)
People who only listen to the radio may think that Michael Jackson was King. (He was unfit to carry Prince’s guitar case.)
Prince Rogers Nelson was the one and only King.