Go Crazy (23/2/14)

So, where does one start?

With the unbelievable heat that filled the Academy by the end of the night, a stunned, shocked, transported audience dripping with sweat, steam rising slowly into the night air?

With the sheer wall of noise that greeted the closing notes of set opener 'Let's Go Crazy' (the 'oh no, let's go' that opens the chorus handed to the audience to deafening effect), a level of volume, a sense of delight like nothing I've heard in 35 years of live music?

No. We start with this.

I'd given up hope of seeing Prince on this leg of 'hit'n'run' shows designed to introduce his audience to 3RDEYEGIRL, his incredible new, all female, three piece band that had seemed so decidedly London-centric. The 'Prince is playing The Cavern tonight' rumour that swept Liverpool for a weekend had come to nothing; to play such an iconic venue was a wonderful concept but it clearly wasn't going to happen (although if they were to announce it now for tonight I would reluctantly abandon Liverpool vs Swansea and queue in this pouring rain, £70 clutched in my excited little hand)

Manchester though, Manchester was close enough. Unfortunately, this one, this one they chose to announce a few days in advance rather than on the day of the show. Chose to sell tickets for it with sales limited to four tickets per person; a birthday present for the touts who were posting tickets on ebay for £1,000 each. The two shows sold out within ten minutes of announcement , an announcement that I knew nothing of as (at that very moment) J and I were eating a wonderful meal in an excellent hotel in Lancaster - and I wouldn't trade that moment for anything.

Friday night's first show didn't sell out though. A second show was announced on Twitter. I saw the announcement but was on my third glass of (a very pleasant) red wine at that point and driving to Manchester was beyond out of the question. There was chaos in this arrangement though, the second show turned into the 150 queuing outside the venue being allowed in to the encores for a half price £35.

This apparently upset some who were under the impression that they were to see a full show and (second show having been abandoned) a further announcement was made that these fans would be allowed in for nothing the next night.

So. A second night in Manchester. Presumably, as had become apparent from the Friday, the 'sold out' signs would apply to about 2100 of the 2500 available tickets leaving 400 on the door. Twitter reports through the afternoon saw the size of the queue for remaining spaces grow rapidly, past the point where admission seemed a realistic proposition. Was it worth it then to bolt from the house immediately after an early tea and drive the fifty minutes to Manchester?

You don't know if you don't try.

Did you know that there are two venues called The Academy in Manchester? The joy of setting the Maps on my phone for the wrong one was that parking spaces were more plentiful than expected although an unexpected half mile walk was called for.

A queue. Guidance from security to a 'French lady with frizzy hair and purple boots' who would give me a number. The number 389 written in (appropriately) purple ink on the back of my hand. The immediate concern that 500 spare tickets less the 150 returning from Friday meant 350. If only I had left half an hour earlier.

And then the whispered started. 'They're letting 400 in' 'They're letting 500 in' 'We'll be okay'. There was standing. In the cold. A lot of standing. No movement. The doors opened and the 'ticketed' line from the other side of the building started to move. Almost simultaneously 'our' door opened and our line started to slowly shuffle forward.  The hope of rounding the bend and heading directly to the pay point. The constant panic that admission would cease twenty people ahead of you, ten people ahead of you, five people, that bloke that you've been listening to for the last hour. The ridiculous excitement and relief of handing over four crisp twentys to a girl behind a window and receiving a ten and a ticket in exchange. Of handing over that ticket within two feet and never seeing it again. 'You can get them back on the way out' - yeah, that never happens.

Within ten minutes of entry the band were on stage. A brief announcement that they really didn't want anybody taking photos or video or taping the gig 'so put your phones away' and then he was there.

There's stardom and there's stardom and then there's thoroughly overwhelming global super fame. On a small(ish) stage in a smaller room than you would ever anticipate seeing this level of artist.

A heavy, chugging riff. All guitars, no eighties synth polish, no sign of the intro that we've been used to for decades and then the line "If you don't like the world you're living in.." and we're straight into 'Let's Go Crazy', the song that ushered in 'Purple Rain' all those years ago.

And that's how the night sits, classics revisited, transformed, heavier at times, lighter at times, new life breathed into them by nature of a small band, sitting alongside newer guitar heavy 'Funk'n'Roll' as the song of the same name (and mission statement) has it.

In no order (as such delight tends to blur) 'When Doves Cry', 'Sign O The Times', 'Take Me With U', 'Purple Rain', 'The Beautiful Ones', 'Sometimes It Snows In April', 'Raspberry Beret', 'Nothing Compares To U'. Classic after classic after stone cold sodding classic punctuated by newer pieces, 'Guitar', 'Screwdriver', 'Plectrum Electrum'. Stretched out jams, soloing, virtuoso musicianship.

There's a moment of panic between these moments of wonder. At merely an hour in Prince leaves the stage; the band appear uncertain whether to follow. It looks worryingly as though the night may be prematurely (if gloriously) over.

The return may constitute the start of the encores. If so it's the only night that I've ever seen where the encores outlast the main set. Three hours on stage (although some Twitter chatter has this running at three and a half, time becomes very flexible on nights like these), encore after encore after encore. House lights up (Housequake, he did Housequake. And Starfish and Coffee) audience refusing to move, Prince back on stage. Repeatedly. And repeatedly calling out to the audience. Prowling the stage, guitar to keyboard to guitar again. Motioning to audience members, pulling fans up on stage to dance (although never close enough to touch the artist himself).

Having, it would appear, the time of his life.

And then it's over. And seemingly the tour is over, "we're going to take a break, put the album out and then cone back to see you again". All that's left is the bizarrely wonderful sight of the audience being treated to a playback of tracks from this new work as the band (sans their leader) occupy the stage to enjoy the experience.

An utterly incendiary evening. A unique moment in the company of a unique and still vital performer.  A proper star.