Reclaiming His Crown

By CHRISTOPHER JOHN FARLEY

So I'm hanging out with [The Artist formerly known as Prince] in a suite in the New York Palace Hotel, and one of the first things he tells me is that his name isn't really his name.

Now [The Artist] is a cool guy to chat with: funny, insightful and, except for the fact that he's a musical genius, a regular guy. Truth is, he puts on his bell-bottom, glittery blue stretch pants one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. But his perspective on the world is like his music--constantly surprising. For example, a few minutes into the conversation, an insanely beautiful woman enters the suite and cuddles up in [The Artist]'s lap. It's Mayte, [The Artist]'s wife. Only she's kind of also not really his wife, because they had their marriage annulled so they could transcend the "legal bonds that people demand."

Then there's [The Artist]'s new CD, Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic. It's a terrific album, full of some of [The Artist]'s freshest, most focused music in years. It's being released by Arista--the first time [The Artist] has hooked up with a major label since 1996--but [The Artist] says he doesn't really have a contract with Arista, merely an "agreement." That agreement, [The Artist] says, is only two pages long. Two pages? Most pop acts need longer contracts just to cover the number of M&Ms that have to be in their dressing rooms after a gig.

And, of course, there's [The Artist]'s name. Ever since he changed it from Prince to [The Artist formerly known as Prince] in 1993, folks in the media have called him "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince." [The Artist], as it turns out, doesn't care for that title. His name, he says, is simply that unpronounceable symbol that looks like a combination of an ankh, an ampersand and a lollipop. Says [The Artist]: "I've made choices, and people can respect them or they can not respect them."

In recent years, [The Artist], 41, has been releasing records on his own label and selling them via the Internet. Some of those records have been sprawling; his 1998 album Crystal Ball was a five-CD set. Rave is smarter and trimmer, a single CD, 15 songs, with an impressive roster of guest stars that includes, among others, folk rocker Ani DiFranco, the rapper Eve and saxophonist Maceo Parker. And [The Artist]'s old pronounceable name makes a return on the new album. Rave's credits list Prince as the producer. [The Artist] adopted his old persona to recapture some of the creative spirit of his Prince-era albums. "I was curious as to how Prince used to edit himself," says [The Artist]. "I was interested in my approach to music then. I didn't care what other people were doing. I came up with my own program."

Speaking of programs, one of [The Artist]'s favorite films is The Matrix--the sci-fi thriller in which the human race is trapped inside an oppressive computer simulation. [The Artist] frequently uses the movie as a metaphor--especially when he talks about the music industry. Says [The Artist]: "People aren't supposed to go into the studio to make music thinking about 'How will this look in the video?' That's a matrix. That's dangerous to me. People shouldn't have to ask permission to record with other artists. That's a matrix. I had to get out of the industry to realize what it's like to record from a free place." He charges that record companies like Warner Bros. (Prince's former label, which is owned by the same company that owns TIME) are making more and more money while the artists' share of the profit remains the same. "Now are you gonna write that," challenges [The Artist], "or is the matrix gonna stop you?"

It's nearly time to go. I'm still thinking about that ankh-ampersand-lollipop looking name. What does Mayte call him at home? "I never called him Prince when I met him," says Mayte, from her snug position on his lap. "Now I realize that names don't matter. For example, I don't know your name."

"You don't know my name?," I say.

"No," says [The Artist]'s insanely beautiful sort-of wife.

"It's Michael Jackson," I say.

[The Artist] laughs, but his wife just keeps going. "When I need to talk to him around the house, I just stand in front of him and get his attention. But if you need to say what I call him, you can say I call him 'honey.'"

The interview's over. [The Artist] gets up from the couch.

"Nice to meet you, Michael," says [The Artist].

I'm a little startled by this. I wonder if a) he's just joking, or b) he forgot my name, or c) I really am Michael Jackson and only [The Artist] has the power to see through the illusions of the matrix!

"Nice to meet you...um..." I say. Should I call him Prince? Artist? Honey?

Whatever. I shake his hand without another word. As long as [The Artist] keeps making albums as good as Rave, he can call himself anything he wants.