Prince 1999 500.jpg
#1: Prince -
1999 (1982)
Ordering this top 25 has been very difficult. I've actually changed the order of the remaining albums a few times, making this exercise feel a bit like Album Survivor. That said, there was never any doubt that
1999 would be my #1. The way it has imprinted itself on my soul blows everything else away.
When I first heard Prince in 1989, I encountered some of his earlier singles through music videos during days-long MTV video marathons where they would play several videos from tons of artists. In this way I discovered the magic of songs like "When Doves Cry", "Let's Go Crazy", "Raspberry Beret", "Kiss", "U Got the Look", and "Alphabet St.". But it was "1999" that hooked me. The opening fanfare of the synths immediately grabbed my attention, soon joined by that first Earth-shattering rumble of the Linn 1 drum machine, and then exploded into a funk bonanza with the delectable bass and guitar licks. The way it wedded the neon of synths with the irresistible gravitational pull of funk left me completely mesmerised, connecting to the deepest part of me. It sounded so massive, an unconquerable force of nature that unleashed unfathomable joy and perpetual motion all at once, tapping into some unlocked quintessence of me later joined by The Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" and Stevie Wonder's "My Eyes Don't Cry".
I started to buy music that year after my parents bought me a cassette player. I quickly bought a BackTrax cassette single featuring "1999" and "Little Red Corvette", another herculean song which used its synths so differently, ebbing and flowing with cinematic warmth before kicking into pop/rock immortality. I played it over and over until I eventually bought a cassette of the whole album, and thus began my decades-long obsession with this album. Actually, the word "album" doesn't cut it, as
1999 feels like an entire world unto itself. Indeed, the songs felt like they were conceived or hatched or unearthed in an isolated lab, cracking open new dimensions that melded sounds and images and all sorts of emotions into a sort of primal omnipresence.
Every single song ingrained itself into my every fiber. I discovered with delight that "1999" offered even more thrills than the sub 4-minute single version I knew and loved, opening with a robotic god-like voice announcing its desire for the listener to have fun before the rumbles of the Linn 1 deliver just that, activating the galactic motion of the thing for over 6 minutes of extended revelry. "Little Red Corvette" was improved with its extended pyrotechnics as well, while "Delirious" was an immediate hit for me with its squeaking synths amplifying a delightful zaniness. "Let's Pretend We're Married" paired Hi-NRG relentlessness with wanton desire in pulsating bursts of megavoltage. "D.M.S.R." was a call to arms for revellers of all sorts, with sassy, brassy synths prancing atop lethal slap bass licks guaranteed to shake and quake a crowd. The synths in "Automatic" were so singularly captivating, transmitting an alien glow equal parts eerie and irresistible. Both "Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)", with its fractured nightmarish magma of scalding synths, frenzied Linn drum patterns, and primordial shrieks as well as "Free" with its anthemic fireworks ignited my emotions. "Lady Cab Driver" blended blistering rock volcanism with thumping funk rhythms, and "All the Critics Love U in New York" convulsed with such a galvanizing freakiness that my face contorted inexorably to the rhythm of its hyperfunkplasma. And the swansong ballad "International Lover" ended the voyage with decadent verve.
1999 engaged me on all levels - it sparked my imagination, burned deep within my soul, and willed me to dance as if by remote control. The purple neon futuresynth soundscape that ties the album together saw my awestruck wonder extend to seemingly limitless heights. Most of the songs stretched to 6, 7, 8, or 9 minutes, but I felt they could go on forever, drowning each corner of my being in succulent splashes of serotonin. More than that,
1999 emboldened me to remain true to myself. In Prince, I had found a hero - this 5'3" titan of a man raised his freak flag so unapologetically high for all to see. At 10 years old, I had begun to feel like I didn't quite fit in, but
1999 helped to instill within me an insistence that I would not,
could not change who I was at my core. If Prince could overcome the family troubles that saw him leave home at 12 as well as God-knows-what harassment due to his race, height, and comfort with his feminine side to release something so unrelentingly badass, I could face my troubles headfirst as well. In this way I felt not only permission, but a DUTY to be myself when I played the album. I had a very strong sense of who I was, and with
1999 I had a reliable way to reconnect with my sense of self when times got hard. If I needed confidence, I could blast "1999" or "D.M.S.R." to pep myself up. When I felt heartbreak or loneliness, I could lose myself in the guttural wails of "Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)" to exorcise those demons. If I felt like I was too weird for the world, I could play "Automatic" or "All the Critics Love U in New York" and feel encouraged to not only accept, but celebrate the quirks that made me… me.
I became a bit of a "purple evangelist", unable to help myself from proselytising about the wonders of Prince and his music. I've bought dozens of copies of
1999 over the years, both for myself and as gifts to others, even strangers who overheard it playing at a drive-thru window. It became a part of my identity, and my resultant Prince fandom changed my life in major ways, introducing me to dozens of friends, and eventually, the love of my life. I wouldn't have met my wife Tracy without Prince. I wouldn't have moved to Australia and started my career as a university academic without Prince. I wouldn't have my son without Prince. In Prince, I found not only an identity to help guide me throughout my childhood and adolescence, but a unique map to my wife, my new home country, and an entirely new life for me. And it was the opening rumble of "1999" that opened the door.
As such, as an album
1999 is the Alpha and the Omega for me. It was on
1999 that the peak of Prince's hunger met the peak of his vision and the peak of his ambition, creating the most vibrant soundscape of any album ever made. It is a 70 minute symphony of neon purple lasers illuminating a pitch black sky that will thrill and amaze me until the day I die. The wails of "Something in the Water" still go right through my core, that drum machine rumble in "1999" still moves with seismic thunder, the alien synthscape of "Automatic" still leaves me breathless, the twisted funk of "All the Critics in New York" still ignites wild fits of dancing in me, the propulsion of "Let's Pretend We're Married" still inhabits me with each pulse, the punishing bass and sassy synth of "D.M.S.R." still get me moving thousands of listens later.
It creates the most vivid pictures in my mind. I mean look at those worlds on the cover art that he drew! Prince made those worlds come to life in such a visual, visceral way. The ladder in the E leading up to the red staircase that climbs into the clouds in particular is so striking. And the guy isn't climbing the stairs as much as he is GROOVING his way up them. If I could think of one image of what Prince's music can do, it would be this. If "everybody's looking for the ladder" as Prince would later sing, I found mine in
1999.
Top 3 songs:
"Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)"
"1999"
"All the Critics Love U in New York"
Full review
here