By Jesse Marx
By Chris Parker
By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
Michael Welch, April 22, 1987
The Reverends Jim and Steve Peters, pastors at the Zion Christian Life Center in St. Paul, don't like all this talk about shades of gray....Looking at the evil discs the Peters Brothers could come up with only one conclusion: destroy them....They don't really burn the vinyl because to do so creates illegal toxic fumes; they just break them to tiny bits and burn the album covers.
Jim walks over to a box in his comfortable office...."This is the Stones' album, Some Girls. As you begin to look at Mick Jagger it's fairly obvious from the lifestyle of Mick and also from Saturday Night Live last year when he kissed Keith Richards on the lips during his performance, that he's a homosexual."
Dick Dahl, January 21, 1981
The Replacements are working in a Minneapolis venue that will remain unnamed. About four songs into their set, the owner informs them to either "turn down the volume or get off the stage." Paul surprises the owner by quickly initiating a rather pertinent financial discussion. The miffed owner promptly storms away. Paul replies by turning up his amp while the band launches into "Shut Up," replacing the title chorus with "fuck you" while the owner watches. After the song, the band leaves the stage, vowing never to return.
P.D. Larson, February 18, 1981
City Pages: Are you satisfied with most of the records you make?
Dylan: No, no, it's unbearable to hear some of them. I hear them, and I want to shut them off. The sound of my own voice...I can't get used to it, never have gotten used to it. Makes you wanna hide....
CP: Do you believe in reincarnation?
BD: Yeah--I do. I don't think there are any new souls on earth....Spirit talks to flesh--flesh talks to spirit. But you never know which is which. I'm not seeking the truth--nor was I ever. I was born knowing the truth. Everybody is. Trouble is they get it knocked out of them before they can walk.
Martin Keller (interviewer), July 13, 1983
Bob Dylan makes an easy target. He can't sing, he's ugly, and he's getting older every year. The lyrics for his last album would embarrass a well-read six-year-old. His live shows have become legendarily indecipherable. He hasn't made a uniformly solid album since Gerald Ford was president. Anybody who can wheeze can do a passable imitation of what's become of his singing voice. Worst of all, he just won't go away.
Burl Gilyard, August 26, 1992
Prince's ballads--the ones that last year made girls of all ages squeal with dee-light at his premiere concert--seem for now to be his forte.... What we have here is genius unfolding. Prince is still in the bud. Where else did you think a groove got started?
Frank Schwartz, December 1979
Clad only in matching zebra-striped vest and briefs, high-heeled boots, and thigh-high stockings, Prince prances about the Orpheum stage like a stripped-down version of Gene Simmons in a drag show....
At the time of the first interview, he shunned local radio....When asked to name musicians and songwriters whose work he admires, he came up with Joni Mitchell, Janis Ian, and then randomly listed names off the top of his head, like he was dialing a car radio in search of a sound. Nobody he mentioned was black.
Martin Keller, January 21, 1981
This brazen little genius from Minneapolis is such hot stuff that I, for one, have no doubt he'll take over the world. It's not too early to claim two honest-to-God musical history makers from Minnesota: Dylan and Prince.
Randy Anderson, March 18, 1981
Honoring Koerner, Ray & Glover after all these years as the Best Folk Group was a bit of collective inspiration on the part of the voters. And the sight of these three aging West Bankers clad in their street duds presenting the Best Musician Award to Prince was indeed a rare, incongruous moment. (Koerner wore his "joke hat," a Japanese head umbrella.) ...There His Royal Badness stood in a swashbuckling pose among his band members, sporting different-colored cowboy boots, wrap-around shades, a shirt open to the navel, and the familiar studded trench coat. "When will they give the award for the Best Ass?" Prince quipped as the crowd roared out with a standing oh.
Martian Colour, May 27, 1982
[N]obody has it that perfect, nobody wears purple shiny plastic Revolutionary War coats around the house. Nobody's baby cums all day and all night....That's just high school cool gone mad.
Look who comes to your birthday party. Microskirts and chains. Black white girls and white black girls....Chilly groovers with hostile intentions. Look-alikes who imitate you like hollow canyons. Clockwork purple. See, no matter how princely you be, we've been fed this entrée before. If you sell us this hero sandwich and we find out it's dead meat, we're gonna be mad. Or we're gonna be broken-hearted. Again. Maybe we'll kill you, and maybe we'll just shed you like yesterday's worn-out costume....Give it up and introduce yourself as a human instead of a divine ghost. Tell us why you are not home tonight blowing out candles.