起因是因为我听了P. Funk的那张精选，感觉很糟糕，因为就感觉是“一群人在开一个荒淫无边的party”，你能听到他们嘶吼，尖叫，还使用了音效听起来特别evil。他们让我感觉像是“被欲望疯狂驱使”的混蛋。
nothing but the fuc*

更先前，我去听了一些特别柔软的啊嗯比情歌之类的东西。
Around the Way Girl，Bonita Applebum这两首尤为好。听起来腻到不行不行的。。。
真正的情人胚子就是这样。

带着同样的感受我去听Lovesexy和Black Album，
我记得我在听B的时候恨不得把When 2 R In Love删了，感觉像是中和用的。但在Lovesexy里，它被放在了side b的重要位置，lovesexy的核心主题。外搭标志性kiss音（其实我觉得love symbol应该这么发音）加一句“i wanna make love to you”最后画外音的“sweet dream”转过去的。其效果是为了创造世外之爱，纯洁，感性，深情。这个时候的When 2 R In Love也开始缠绵起来。那个瞬间是Prince再多的情歌都比不了的。I Wish U Heaven+Positivity就是为了延续的存在。美妙。

从表达来看，Lovesexy混搭了Purple Rain的The Beautiful Ones+Computer Blue+Darling Nikki里的sex，和隐藏在sign of the times里的爱。比较特点的地方就是他假音特别多，性别来回反转。突出爱中平衡的两人。当然了，后期的他拿这些东西又做出来了The Gold Experience等一系列佳作。
而Black Album。就当是Prince的奏乐好了，而且我以后也不打算去听什么P Funk了，但是One Nation Under a Groove是个例外，这个很棒，groove没人能抗拒。

至此，Prince的人格感觉又完整了。
A-
为什么我要打分呢？

啊突然想补充一个毫无关联的东西
本来我以为M.I.A.的kala的image系列的东西是自创的，后来才发现是致敬。
http://www.vice.cn/read/george-clinton-funkadelic-interview-2015
当然不是上面这个了
http://www.vice.cn/read/defining-the-visual-style-of-southern-hip-hop-noisey-design-episode-1
但是我觉得p funk那一套image太。。。了
这个需要有人给我解释解释

哇

转一篇截至目前我看过最好的乐评吧。

I'm sure all musical critics, from Pierre Boulez right through to Johnny Vaughan, would agree that a pretty admirable accomplishment for a pop song is to make the listener want to be God, or at least Jesus. The heartwrenching Anna Stesia grabs the painfully physical planet earth and holds on for dear life while screaming to the heavens, and whatever they might contain, for help. It's by far the closest Prince gets on this album to the emotional nakedness suggested by the physical nakedness of the cover, and to the intense vulnerability you suspect is what truly lies behind the rest of the album's blindingly bright pantomime of grinning joy. He takes aim with a quivering hand before pulling the trigger and splattering the listener's emotions all over the wall, creating a bright pastel-colored mural as diverse as it is homogeneous. Any cynicism regarding religion, Prince, or the force that is created when the two are combined, is completely blanketed by a mix of sympathy, pity, joy, slack-jawed awe and - gulp! - idolatry. A diverse list of feeeelings, all combining to form a single entity known as....love, maybe? This Lovesexy horseshit sure is hard to follow. Whatever the case, you wish you were God, or Jesus, or Anna Garcia (do I have the dates of my dates right?), just so you could shut him up. By, I dunno, blessing him, or whatever. Or by performing fellatio, in the case of the right honorable Ms. Garcia.
Accompanying this album was a fantastic but fucking ludicrous tour in which the wee man entered the stage in a classic white Ford Thunderbird (I like to think if the Thunderbird had broken down one night in, like, Birmingham, he would have to have done it in a rented Ford Orion or something). After that Prince buried Anna Stesia, like pretty much every other track on Lovesexy, for 13 years before digging it out to serve as the setlist climax for his first truly full-on "Prince, Brought To You By The Jehovah's Witnesses" tour, the now-legendary One Nite Alone jaunt. Before having the entire auditorium singing its refrain "God Is Love, Love Is God, Girls & Boys Love God Above", he occasionally asked if any of the audience believed in God. I said yes.
WHAT'S HE DONE TO ME!!?!?!??? DO THE JEHOVAH'S WITNESSES HAVE ANY IDEA OF THE POWER THEIR NEW TOY WIELDS!?!?!?

不让发我放弃了。

Physical nakedness is much easier than emotional nakedness. Especially if you're someone whose personality seems about equally divided between extreme introversion and extreme extroversion.
On Lovesexy Prince, huffing and puffing angrily, takes Wendy, Lisa, Susannah, Wally, Chuck Huntsberry and Steve Fargnoli and throws them all in a closet. He locks the door, tosses its key into the deep blue underground, and positions a large ceramic cock sculpture in front of it just to be sure (he has many large ceramic cock sculptures around Paisley Park, just in case Sinead O'Connor comes round). He then paints over the door, the keyhole and the big ceramic cock in bright pastel colors. Humming Parliament songs to himself, he frantically paints the first coat. Then he paints another coat. Then another. Then another, and another, and keeps going until his mural is a thick, almost deafening blowout of bravura spirituality. Then he winks suggestively, and asks you if you'd like to swap coats, and points towards his....but, really, the much-ballyhoed god-is-love-is-sex-or-thereabouts axiom of "Lovesexy" was for all intents and purposes just a louder, more obnoxious redux of Parade/Under The Cherry Moon's equivalent aesthetic, and essentially an self-intervention to reconvince himself of his own god after his post-Revolution slide into secular "nasty bitch!" Blackness. Whatever gets him to come at night, I guess. At least it's more exaltation than sermon, unlike certain other religiously-bound moments in Prince's discography.
You or I, who are not Prince (unless you are, in which case CAN I GET MY COPY OF CRYSTAL BALL ALREADY PLEASE, I ORDERED IT A FUCKING DECADE AGO), can happily dig his oh-lord-bless-me-on-the-one gospel some of the time, but for most of the album the lyrical substance of Lovesexy is completely bulldozed by the very restraint-free bluster with which it's delivered, rendering the album a talkin'-loud-and-sayin-nothin' dull knife of the worst kind. Prince gets everything absolutely right on the title track, which is a joyous swagger down to a perfect utopia located at the orthocenter of a triangle formed by his spirituality, his libido and his sense of humor. The lead single Alphabet Street also works fairly flawlessly, though like almost every track here kinda overstays its welcome by about two minutes. But Eye No, Glam Slam, Dance On and Positivity are overcooked to the point of absurdity; tightly wound rollercoaster arrangements or knowingly complicated drum programming go for naught when all the songs seem to do is thrash around like a Jesus Fish on a shipdeck. It's not too hard to see a parallel between him sabotaging his own never-released lament Wally with endless overdubbing because it was too honest, and him ruining with endless overarrangement his own resolution of the tumultuous series of events that Wally was originally supposed to document; religious ephiphanies don't go so well with irony.

Physical nakedness is much easier than emotional nakedness. Especially if you're someone whose personality seems about equally divided between extreme introversion and extreme extroversion.
On Lovesexy Prince, huffing and puffing angrily, takes Wendy, Lisa, Susannah, Wally, Chuck Huntsberry and Steve Fargnoli and throws them all in a closet. He locks the door, tosses its key into the deep blue underground, and positions a large ceramic cock sculpture in front of it just to be sure (he has many large ceramic cock sculptures around Paisley Park, just in case Sinead O'Connor comes round). He then paints over the door, the keyhole and the big ceramic cock in bright pastel colors. Humming Parliament songs to himself, he frantically paints the first coat. Then he paints another coat. Then another. Then another, and another, and keeps going until his mural is a thick, almost deafening blowout of bravura spirituality. Then he winks suggestively, and asks you if you'd like to swap coats, and points towards his....but, really, the much-ballyhoed god-is-love-is-sex-or-thereabouts axiom of "Lovesexy" was for all intents and purposes just a louder, more obnoxious redux of Parade/Under The Cherry Moon's equivalent aesthetic, and essentially an self-intervention to reconvince himself of his own god after his post-Revolution slide into secular "nasty bitch!" Blackness. Whatever gets him to come at night, I guess. At least it's more exaltation than sermon, unlike certain other religiously-bound moments in Prince's discography.
You or I, who are not Prince (unless you are, in which case CAN I GET MY COPY OF CRYSTAL BALL ALREADY PLEASE, I ORDERED IT A FUCKING DECADE AGO), can happily dig his oh-lord-bless-me-on-the-one gospel some of the time, but for most of the album the lyrical substance of Lovesexy is completely bulldozed by the very restraint-free bluster with which it's delivered, rendering the album a talkin'-loud-and-sayin-nothin' dull knife of the worst kind. Prince gets everything absolutely right on the title track, which is a joyous swagger down to a perfect utopia located at the orthocenter of a triangle formed by his spirituality, his libido and his sense of humor. The lead single Alphabet Street also works fairly flawlessly, though like almost every track here kinda overstays its welcome by about two minutes. But Eye No, Glam Slam, Dance On and Positivity are overcooked to the point of absurdity; tightly wound rollercoaster arrangements or knowingly complicated drum programming go for naught when all the songs seem to do is thrash around like a Jesus Fish on a shipdeck. It's not too hard to see a parallel between him sabotaging his own never-released lament Wally with endless overdubbing because it was too honest, and him ruining with endless overarrangement his own resolution of the tumultuous series of events that Wally was originally supposed to document; religious ephiphanies don't go so well with irony.

九楼是第二节，上面这是第一节。