Prince: There ain’t nothing, nothing left to say

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Today would have been Prince’s 58th birthday. It’s officially “Prince Day” here in Minnesota, much as it has been, unofficially, for 46 days now, and will be every day this summer, at least. Me, I’m going roller-skating. It’s what he’d have wanted.

The day itself  I spent in the Carver County District Court in Chaska, attending a hearing in Prince’s ongoing probate case, which I’ve been reporting on for Billboard. (When the judge issues his order on Thursday, I’ll link to my story, and to my previous coverage.)

So yes, most of what I have to say these days has less to do with the man and the art, and concerns the legal aftermath of his death. A couple weeks back, for MinnPost, I covered the gruesome “PRINCE Act,” a proposed right of publicity statute that fortunately stalled in our dysfunctional state legislature.

On the other hand, I did get an opportunity to write as encyclopedic a history of the New Power Generation as I could squish into 1000 words for The Current. (Though I didn’t get a chance to attend any of the NPG’s quickly sold-out tribute shows.)

Finally, apropos of zip, other than avatars of African-American excellence dying, here’s an obituary of Muhammad Ali I wrote for Rolling Stone last week. I’m not the kind of guy who says “this fuckin’ year.” But really, this fuckin’ year.

 

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