Prince "Cindy C"

There it was.  A little piece of legend wrapped in plastic.  And I didn't have the money to buy it.

I headed back to my college dorm, knowing who I had to talk to.

"You aren't going to believe what I saw downtown."

"What?" he said.  He was the kind of guy who believed he was cool, so he acted cool, nonchalant.  But I knew his interest was piqued.

"The fucking BLACK album!"

He knew what I was talking about, immediately.  And he knew what it meant.

I'd gone straight to him, because he was a fan of Prince, like me.

And we'd talked about the mythical Black Album before.

Word was that just weeks before its intended release, it was pulled from production.  Few copies existed.  Some stories said that Prince thought the record was too dark.  Other stories had it that the record label had found it too vulgar.

Whatever the reason, it was not in stores.  Until now.

Trolling through the import LPs at a downtown Amherst record shop, I found it.  Like the Spinal Tap record that shares its name (and predates it by several years), the record was as black as black could be, with only a small sticker to indicate that this was a Prince release.

It was an "import" suggesting that it had been released in Europe.  But more likely it was a bootleg.

And it cost $30.

I didn't have thirty dollars.  But I knew someone who would want the record as badly as I did.

"And there's only one copy," I told him.

We made our way back downtown, post-haste, ready to split the cost of owning a rare and profane piece of art.


Neither of us actually owned a record player.

But a guy down the hall did.

He let us sit in his room and listen, so long as we did it one at a time, using headphones so he could keep studying.  I got to go first.

I'd heard a few things about the contents of the record.  Like, there was a dirty tune about his lust for Cindy Crawford.  And that it was funkier than anything he'd released recently.  And that he was dabbling in rap.  And he'd done all kinds of crazy things to electronically alter his voice.

Like in the song "Bob George," where he talks (rhythmically) to a woman he suspects is cheating on him, with Prince.

I listened as the beats flew by and his voice was amped up, lyrics tumbling by at an over-caffeinated pace.  I could hear him saying some nasty shit, but a lot of it was too altered and garbled for me to pick out.

As side one was drawing to an unrelenting close, my co-owner stuck his head in the door.

"How's it sound?" he asked coolly, but with an undertone of eagerness.

"Great," I enthused.  "But he's doing some crazy stuff with his voice.  And its short too.  Side One is about to end and I've only been listening for 10 minutes."

My friend looked at the turntable, and, trying to remain cool and nonchalant, while injecting a slight tone of both disdain and glee, said:

"You don't play an LP at 45.  You're listening at the wrong speed."

Rolling Stones "Bitch"

I remember standing outside the dorm building, looking up at McNamara Hall, trying to find out where the music was coming from.

It was cold, but I was happier to be standing alone in the cold, than headed upstairs toward confrontation.

I was an R.A. at UMass Amherst, 1989, and it was my night on duty.

R.A.s were there to answer questions, help folks out, intervene when necessary and keep the peace.  Mostly, I just told my residents "Don't smoke dope in the hallway, and I won't hassle you."

But some students just had to be confrontational.

What other reason could there be for the level of noise that was coming from somewhere in the 8 story building?  There was no possible way that someone was actually IN the room where the music was.  It was insufferably loud.

The other R.A. on duty and I were in the 1st floor office, when we got complaints.  She was a take-charge type, and was ready to march up the stairs and find the source.

I headed out into the courtyard, to see if I could pinpoint it from that vantage.

It was early evening, and most all the rooms on that side of the building had lights on.  Except one.  And notably, that room's window was open.

Yes, very sneaky, Idiots.  No one will be able to figure out it's you playing the stereo at 11, if the lights are off.

Pretty much on schedule, the music stopped.  The light came on.

This happened in just about the amount of time it would have taken my partner to walk up to the 5th floor, knock on the door, and tell these geniuses to turn the music the fuck down.

I stood there for a second, waiting to see if I could hear anything, or see any shadows or action.

Pretty much on schedule, the music came back on.

This happened in just about the amount of time it would have taken my partner to yell at the residents for a few minutes, tell them they were going to get written up, and leave.  Likely, she was about halfway down the hall away from the room, when I saw a stereo speaker hoisted into the window.

The volume went straight up to FULL, and across the courtyard and echoing against the surrounding buildings was "Bitch" by the Rolling Stones.

As offensive as it was, I had to give them some kind of credit for not being afraid of inevitable confrontation and penalty.

The song lasted for a good 30 seconds.  No doubt my partner had wheeled right around and double-timed it back to the room.

I had to give her credit too, for not being afraid to going charging into the face of the most truculent opposition.

The music stopped.  I waited out the in cold.  Nothing else happened.

Both parties had satisfied their level of confrontation.

And I, ever one to avoid a tangle, waited outside a few minutes more, just in case . . .



Hear the song on Youtube.

Bob Dylan "Lay Lady Lay"

It must've been one of the strangest double bills Bob Dylan had ever been on.

It was a late 80s Spring Concert at UMass Amherst, where they always booked several bands---a little something for everybody. So you often go a big name act, a rapper, an alternative outfit and a folkie. Or something like that.

(To my mother's delight, they always held the show on Mother's Day, and me and my sister always opted to be concert-goers instead of gracious children)

This particular year, the headliners were Bob Dylan and De La Soul.

I was a HUGE De La Soul fan at the time. "3 Feet High And Rising" is still one of my favorite albums. So I was front and center for them.

And I was curious to hear Bob Dylan. I knew a bunch of his songs, and I knew he was a legend and all, but I was still years away from any kind of "Dylan Phase."

I was going to have to sit through Dylan, it turned out. De La Soul was scheduled to be the second-to-last act of the day, just before Dylan, but word was being passed that De La's tour bus had been delayed, so Dylan would go on first.

Again, I knew a few Dylan songs, and I know it sounds cliche to say this, but I swear to you, I have no idea what Mr. Dylan said over the course of the next hour. I managed to make out that he was singing "Lay Lady Lay," by virtue of the word of the chorus, but the melody and tempo were virtually unrecognizable.

Dylan wrapped up his set, and I got ready to bounce to De La Soul.

Unfortunately, the MC announced that De La Soul had been detained by the State Police, on suspicion of transporting drugs on their tour bus.

But Mr. Dylan has graciously offered to play an extra long set.

And with that, Dylan came out and said the only recognizable words of the day:

"Zaazz zu zaaaa, Mother's Day!"

Okay, only some of the words were recognizable. But we appreciated his gracious effort!


The station has two Bob Dylan Channels up for his 70th birthday. One is all Dylan songs, and the other is all Dylan covers. And we're asking for your votes, to help put together the Top 70 Bob Dylan songs. Find it all on our website.


See the video on Youtube.