http://fiyastarter.com/its-only-mountains-and-the-sea/





There are some moments for which the word “remember” is simply inadequate. Some moments, for better or worse, help fuse your psyche. Some moments recode your DNA. There is no remembering. There is only you. I don’t remember the day my cousin Ann died, as I watched my mother and sisters weep for what seemed like forever. I don’t remember when our entire neighborhood had a picnic at Rock Creek Park, a moment that I’m certain is top 10 for all participants. I don’t remember spontaneously jumping off my Uncle John’s boat into the Chesapeake, too young to know swimming isn’t instinctive for humans, seeing all of that life under the water and, eventually, my father’s hand. I don’t remember all of the prep time of that November morning when our family braved the stinging cold to celebrate Dr. King’s birthday becoming a national holiday. I don’t remember the day my father left home, exploding into the bedroom he shared with my mother and yanking the television from the wall as my friend Randy and I played Combat on Atari. And I don’t remember the day I discovered Prince. It’s all just who I am.



After my father left, my time out of school was my own. There were no more long bike rides around the city. No more fixing cars. No more reading the comics in the paper. I filled a large portion of this time listening to music. My older sister, Princess (yeah, I know), had all of Prince’s albums through Controversy. Prin (which she prefers) had an impressive album collection: the Dreamgirls sountrack, Kiss, Queen, David Bowie, Marvin Gaye, Parliament, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Michael Jackson, the Sugarhill Gang and so much more. I listened relentlessly to all of them, especially Dreamgirls, The Message, and Thriller.



However, I ignored the dude in the bikini briefs on one album cover and sitting naked atop a goddamn pegasus on the back cover of another. I was too young and it was just all too much. Prin would listen to Prince while getting dressed in the morning, vibrant and confident, like all young women who listen to Prince. Not only did it sound like something I shouldn’t be listening to, it sounded like something I shouldn’t want to listen to. One time, I blurted out that that the hook on that song she loved so much sounded like “Touch-Your-Pus-sy” to me. What else would that freaky looking guy be singing? My mother laughed her big laugh and Prin facepalmed so hard. When they explained to me that I was wrong—by holding up the album cover and demonstrably sounding out the word “Con-Tro-Ver-Sy)—I decided right there I was going to see what was up with this dude.



Back then, the weekend was peak listening time for me. I’m the youngest by a decade, so everyone had something to do or someone to see. In those days, a teenager or young adult staying in the house was a treasonous act, so everybody was gone. I could sit with those albums sun up to sun down, without a hint of interruption.

The time had come. I was going to see what was up with the dude in the bikini briefs. I needed to understand why Prin became so alive every morning.



So, at nine-years old, I pulled 1999 from its sleeve and I noticed the artwork on the cover for the first time. There’s a lot there, but the feral eyes in the 9s set a tone. I felt like the album was staring back at me, giving me a last warning. Enter if you dare. I forged ahead. Every track was sonic quicksand. How had I missed it all those mornings? Of course I knew 1999, Delirious and Little Red Corvette. Those were the hits. But, D.M.S.R.? That groove completely eviscerated Another One Bites The Dust, which was my favorite song of that time.

I sank deeper. Something in the Water (Does Not Compute) and All the Critics Love You in New York? To this day, I still don’t know what they are. They’re music, but I don’t know what kind. They were recorded in 1981 or 82 and they STILL sound like the future. Free? Honestly, I still don’t understand my connection to that one, because not even other Prince diehards love it as much as I do. But, I reflexively hear it every time I’m confronted with the idea black people don’t love America or shouldn’t love America. I wouldn’t even say it’s a great song. It’s just an incredibly sincere statement. Automatic? The actual song, which is brilliant, is just a warm up for an unforeseen collision into a wall of Prince spoken word, spooky synths, guitar solos, sobbing succubi and extraterrestrial backing vocals. This is music? 1999 is the album that ruined radio for me. After listening to it for a few hours, my young mind understood that radio is for entertainment, not for art. If I wanted art, I needed to go find it.



At some point, I got around to Controversy, after 1999 and Dirty Mind took me past lunch and into the late afternoon. Now, I’m just going to say this and you can take it how you want: If the Ramones had recorded Ronnie Talk to Russia…undisputed greatest punk song ever. EVER. You think about that and be honest with yourself.



Well, moving on…



Before I heard Annie Christian, I was about 6 or 7 hours deep. I already knew I was a fan. I knew I would listen to this dude for as long as he made music. But, Annie Christian is The One. That song made me believe God had a hand in this. God wanted me to hear this man’s music. Prince’s delivery on the track sounds like he’s possessed. There’s no life in his voice. There’s only the words.



Annie Christian wanted to be a big star
So she moved to Atlanta and she bought a blue car
She killed black children, and what’s fair is fair
If you try and say you’re crazy, everybody say electric chair
Electric chair



Annie Christian, Annie Christ
Until you’re crucified, I’ll live my life in taxicabs



She killed black children? Here I am, a nine-year-old black boy, hearing this man offer this to the world with the indifference of a veteran cop writing a parking ticket. I was scared to fucking death. But, I must’ve picked up that needle and dropped at start of that song over a dozen straight times. I had to hear it. I became possessed. The song is so damn unnerving. But, I loved it. It made its way into my cells. And as the years passed, more of his music would do the same. It’s been been there every day of my life since that day. Every high and every low.



Earned a new belt at martial arts school? Play some Prince. Let’s Go Crazy.



Win another basketball trophy? Play some Prince. Baby, I’m a Star.



Graduate? Play some Prince. Delirious.



Get married? Nigga…Adore. Adore, nigga.



Mom dies?



Stand tall, sweet baby, don’t you fall
(Tall, baby)
You ain’t the only one gettin’ beat down
Happens to us all
The road you chose to walk in this life
(The road you choose to walk in this life)

Is one that leads into the next
So sweet baby, stand tall
(Sweet baby, stand tall)
Stand tall
(Sweet baby)



I know most people would guess Sometimes It Snow In April. I also played that one on the worst day of my life, but Sweet Baby absolutely gutted me. It still guts me. I have never listened to that song again. I still don’t know why I even played it that day, other than I was supposed to.



First child? Play some Prince. The Holy Trinity: The Love We Make. Let’s Have a Baby. Friend, Lover, Sister, Mother/Wife.



I could go on forever about what that man meant to me. I would love to talk about how prolific and versatile he was. I could talk about how I could hear him in songs from Nine Inch Nails to Lil Wayne (Trent Reznor and Wayne would proudly confirm it for you, too). I could rage on about how he was underrated as a lyricist and guitarist with malice by music critics who didn’t want to accept that a black man from Minnesota was the apex predator of music, the preferred artistic medium of the universe, for the vast majority of his life. I could present my case for him being not only the greatest talent of the Rock era, but the greatest musician who has ever lived. But here’s what I’ll never do and have never done:



I’m not selling anyone on Prince. If you don’t get it, it’s fine with me. It’s a very personal thing and I don’t like to trivialize it with petty debate centered on music industry metrics. I’ve always likened meeting another true Prince fan to meeting someone of the same mutant race. The other parts of them, good or bad, do not matter to me, because we have a primordial bond. You can be an absolute scumbag, but if you’re up on Moonbeam Levels and Electric Intercourse and The Grand Progression and Rebirth of the Flesh and Train and Billy’s Sunglasses and Movie Star and Empty Room and the guitar solo on Just My Imagination…like, if you get IT, I got time to talk to you. There’s a place for you in my heart, because I understand that we’ve had the same profound experience at some point in our lives. We heard the future.



When I learned of his death, I was surprised by how composed I was. I opened my laptop to confirm he was gone. But, just as I started to get down about it, there he was in my head again…



Once upon a time in a land called Fantasy
Seventeen mountains stood so high
The sea surrounded them and together they would be
The only thing that ever made you cry
You said the devil told you that another mountain would appear
Every time somebody broke your heart
He said the sea would one day overflow with all your tears
And love will always leave you lonely

But, I say it’s only mountains and the sea…

____________________________________________________


Steph: I was just fooling about

Kyrie: I wasn't.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8OWNspU_yE