From lurid pranks and late-night drives, to why playing in the Revolution was like joining the marines – Prince’s friends and collaborators recount their memories of one of the music world’s most majestic and mercurial performers
George Clinton, singer and leader of Parliament-Funkadelic
It feels deep that Prince has been gone 10 years. When he died, it felt like I couldn’t even move my mouth, but I’m able to talk about it now. I first met him when he came to my show in 1977, when he was 19. He had the swagger and looked like he was in [Clinton’s band] Funkadelic. To me, he was a new version of Sly Stone. He was excellent on the guitar, could write on keyboards, and play bass and drums as good as hell. His [pianist] daddy had been an arranger, so he knew how to arrange music, and he could dance like James Brown. As a rock star he was perfect, but he was more than a musician. He was special.
I took his music to a pirate radio DJ in Detroit who broke all our records [to the public] and, years later, Prince returned the favour when he signed me to Paisley Park Records and inducted me into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. After we made music together, we started hanging out. Prince would call me at all hours. He’d never go to sleep. I’d go: “I’m the one on drugs, you ain’t!” But he’d ask me to come over in the middle of the night, and we’d just talk. He loved to hear my stories about the old days, meeting people like Mavis Staples, Sam Cooke or Jimi Hendrix. He’d go: “I never met nobody.” But once you were tight with him, you were tight for years.
