FLASHBACK: Prince in Arkansas
In 1998, Prince — or as he was called at the time, The Artist — played Barton Coliseum in Little Rock. Click on the page to view/download a larger version or read Jennifer Christman's full review below. Click here for more photos of Prince, including from the 1998 show in Arkansas.
The Artist gives LR Jam of the Year'
BY JENNIFER CHRISTMAN
ARKANSAS DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE
At first mention, a rock tour christened "Jam of the Year" might seem a bit smug.
But after experiencing The Artist (the moniker that Prince, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, Squiggle Man and His Royal Badness, etc., answers to these days) in all his frisky, frenzied splendor, it would appear that he formulated the name in a rare moment of humility. To many of the fans who witnessed the tour, which made a sold-out stop Saturday night at Barton Coliseum in Little Rock, this was the jam of the century.
It also was a relief.
Coughing up $50 to see any artist, let alone one so prone to erratic self-reinvention, is an act of faith. There was no telling which of the many versions of the celebrated and hated musician -- who has both shocked and stimulated people since the late 1970s with his Jimi Hendrix-inspired guitars, foul mouth and half-campy, half-coercive irreverence -- would show up Saturday. Would it be the in-your-face sex fiend, the suave Casanova, the cheeky imp, the awkwardly shy child, the aloof recluse or the controlling quasi-monarch in his own mind?
Strangely enough, it was all and none of them. The Artist who performed for Little Rock was the friendly, flamboyant aerobics instructor in tin foil.
First came the spasms of flashbulb-like lights. Then, a spray of green light beams that created a rotating image of his trademark glyph over the heads of the crowd. Finally, the familiar, undulating silhouette and his unmistakable coo.
With sunglasses perched on his boyish face and a suit of shiny, silver material draped over his petite frame, The Artist opened the show with an energetic rendition of the tour's namesake single, "Jam of the Year," during which he made the first of several flirtatious, applause-soliciting conversations with the audience.
"Little Rock, it's been a while since I've been in your neighborhood," he said. "And I have one question for you -- did you miss me?" A deafening barrage of screams and clapping gave him the answer he was looking for.
You could tell just from a general survey of the audience, which was flecked with purple suits, dresses, shirts and fingernails, that this was a devoted crowd. It was also the most diverse crowd in terms of age and race that Barton has drawn in recent memory.
Watching The Artist is like letting go of a blown-up balloon and watching it soar and sputter around the room. Unlike a balloon, however, The Artist's momentum never appears to deplete.
When he wasn't wailing on a glyph-shaped guitar, he was running up the platforms on either side of the stage, kicking and flailing like James Brown on "speed," encouraging the audience to hoot or wave their arms, or prancing about in high-heeled shoes on the piano with the word "Beautiful" inscribed on the side. Anyone close to the stage was lucky enough to take in The Artist's priceless, coy facial expressions.
While his self-assured instrumentation (pick one: the guitar, electric keyboard or piano), singing and antics all scream "show horse," it was clear that The Artist is every bit as much a workhorse and merciless perfectionist.
The music and lights are flawlessly synchronized. His seemingly whimsical whirling sessions are timed to the second. Pelvic thrusts and lounge lioness piano poses all are errorlessly choreographed.
Anyone concerned that the concert would feature only The Artist's obscure newer work was soon comforted by a medley of blurbs from his older songs like "Delirious," "Purple Rain" and "Little Red Corvette," which he sang with the stage -- complete with plastic, abstract plants that looked like they were borrowed from a set of a Tim Burton movie, planet-like spheres on both sides and smoke-breathing lion statues -- bathed in scarlet light. He carried out this medley approach throughout the night, playing bits of everything from "Take Me With You" to "Kiss" and "Raspberry Beret," before ending the night with "1999."
Opening for The Artist was Larry Graham and Graham Central Station, which marched right through the audience with a tribe of snare drums on its way to the stage, proving itself possibly the most audience-friendly band ever.
After playing a stirring rendition of "Everyday People," (and you thought it was just a car commercial jingle), Larry Graham took his bring-the-music-to-the-people concept a step further by playing his bass in the middle of the crowd.
The Artist, too, was surprisingly crowd-friendly.
The best display of his humor happened in the second set when, adorned in a ruffled raspberry-colored suit, he attempted to play "Darling Nikki," the risque song from Purple Rain about the woman in the hotel lobby who didn't use magazines for reading. Four notes into the song, the audience roared and The Artist, mock-horrified at the audience's wantonness, walked away from his piano. This happened three times before he actually followed through with the song.
"Ooooooh. I'm telling your mama!" he chided after the audience cheered after a particularly bawdy line.
As he would say, "But it was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right."
In 2001 — exactly 15 years before his death — Prince played what was then Alltel Arena in North Little Rock. Read the full review below:
