I don’t have any pictures or videos from Prince’s last show, but I don’t need them. That 90 minutes will live with me forever in my memory and for that I thank him. I assume this is how most people that had the pleasure of seeing Prince live feel. I’ve been to many concerts, both as a fan and in my time working security at various Atlanta concert venues, but this felt different from the beginning. There was a palpable excitement in the room. We were about to see Prince.
I arrived at my seats in the upper balcony of the Fox Theatre 30 minutes before the show. The only thing on stage was a purple Yamaha piano with a screen behind it. At 10 PM, the ticketed time for the show to start, the lights dimmed and an announcement came over the speakers. The crowd roared, expecting Prince to be announced on stage. Instead it was a request from Prince for no photography or video to be taken during the show. It was to be just him, that purple piano, and the few thousand of us that had gathered at the Fox experiencing what would end up being his final show.
The show was supposed to take place the Thursday before, but he was forced to postpone it one week due to the flu. “The flu.” The same flu that forced his plane to make an emergency landing the night after the show. A week later, we learned of Prince’s tragic death and his battle with opiod addiction. However, on April 14, 2016, those of us at the Fox simply thought we were going to see one of the greatest performers of all-time after he’d fought off a flu bug.
At 10:10, the lights went down completely and the screen was lit up to reveal the silhouette of Prince. The screen pulled up and he walked out with his perfectly manicured afro, purple jacket, and a scepter in hand to the adoring cheers of the crowd. The standing ovation lasted for three minutes before he even sat at his piano.
He thanked the crowd for waiting a week for his show and apologized for postponing. The crowd erupted in response.
“Thank you, Prince!”
“We love you, Prince!”
The show hadn’t even started, but it already felt special.
The tour was called the Piano And A Microphone Tour, as Prince left behind the electric guitar and massive band to create a more intimate setting. Being the musical genius he was — and using the past tense here feels so wrong — Prince was able to put on a show that rivaled anything he did with a full band.
He was seated on the piano bench for maybe half of the show, regularly pushing the bench back to stand up and put his full body into playing, and, at times, he was so overcome by the emotion of his music that he would stand up and run around the stage, mid-song, before returning to finish.
It was a powerful, energetic show that, at its heart, was about celebrating blackness and Prince’s roots in funk music. He performed soulful piano renditions of songs off of his latest album like “Black Muse” while always returning to his hits, bringing the crowd back to its feet.
I’ve never seen a performer control the crowd the way Prince did. If he didn’t think the crowd was singing loudly enough on a chorus, he’d stop the song, say “you all can do better than that” in the tone of a disappointed parent and start over until the crowd gave him the right effort and energy back. This was Prince, at 57, giving us everything he had. The least he could ask from us was to return the favor.
Prince’s energy was incredible. He would stand up and jump around on stage to bring the crowd to its feet, and after playing one of his hits, before going back to new material he’d always say, “you all can sit down now,” just to ensure that everyone felt it was acceptable to take a seat in his presence. He would add little solos in the middle of songs, with my personal favorite being when, in the middle of “Little Red Corvette,” he weaved in the Peanuts theme song in seamlessly, laughing as he did so and we all laughed along with him.
He did three encores. Each time coming back and letting the crowd know that he just needed to see how bad we wanted it, basking in the roar or the standing ovation, before setting back in on his bench and giving us more.
I was twice moved to tears at the show, something that had never happened to me before at a concert. The first was when he played “I Would Die 4 U” and would let all of us in the audience sing the chorus, those five words that, sadly, weigh heavier now than they did at the time, echoing around the theater gave me goosebumps. The final time was when he began playing “Purple Rain” for the final encore performance. I was overcome with emotion that I’d never felt at a musical performance, or really anywhere before. It was as though I couldn’t fathom being there, in the presence of Prince, listening to a song I had always loved but hearing it in such a new way. It was raw. It was powerful, and it was beautiful.
No one knew this would be Prince’s last show ever, but we all still knew what we were seeing was special. For me, it was my first Prince show. At 25, I had grown up hearing his music here and there, but it wasn’t until college that I really started listening to Prince. There were people there that had surely seen him multiple times over the years, but whether the first time or the 12th time, we all knew it may also be the last time. Not because of health issues, but simply knowing that at 57, there probably wouldn’t be too many future Prince tours and it was already difficult enough to score a ticket to this show.
But there we were, watching Prince on his second show of the night, dealing with health problems, giving us an exquisite performance. He hammered away at the keys on that purple Yamaha piano with the same fervor and passion that he had with a guitar in his hands. Taking away the guitar and the band only made you more aware of his genius and his talent. A year ago, we lost that genius and that talent, but he left behind so much for us to appreciate and celebrate him with.
