Purple Rain & First Ave’s Reign (Matchflick column celebrating the anniversary of PURPLE RAIN)

For some reason, July 27 is a special day. In 2007, THE SIMPSONS MOVIE was released on that day. In 1984, the film PURPLE RAIN was released on that day. And sometime in the 1970s, I was born on that day. Back in the day, I loved Michael Jackson, Madonna and, of course, Prince. Friends and I would have long discussions about who we liked better. (For some reason, we suburban white kids grouped Michael and Prince together simply because they were black, and it didn’t occur to us that we didn’t have to choose.) Although PURPLE RAIN was mostly filmed a few miles from my home, I wasn’t allowed to see it because it was rated R. But just because the movie was forbidden didn’t mean the album was off limits. Oh, the songs: “Let’s Go Crazy” at middle school dances, slow dances to “Purple Rain” and the controversy of “Darling Nikki.” (“‘Masturbating with a magazine’?” I wondered what that meant for maybe a full year until a magical day when a light bulb went on over my head.) These songs were a huge part of my childhood and on till today; these songs get regular play on my iPod. Finally seeing PURPLE RAIN was magnificent – I rented it from the local video store/tanning salon when I was in high school – and I have since realized how ahead of its time the film really was. While the blending of   Apollonia Kotero

music with the action was nothing new, the way PURPLE RAIN does it is refreshing. The characters discuss and perform the music; they don’t burst into song as characters do in musicals. The merging of reality and fiction was at first confusing yet intriguing. I didn’t know what to believe. Was Prince “The Kid”? Did he really have an abusive father, whose hateful traits he didn’t want to emulate? The main characters used their actual first names, but, I have since decided, the stories were concocted. While Prince’s character was simply called “The Kid,” the members of the Revolution used their real names. Apollonia used hers (kind of—her name is Patricia Apollonia Kotero). Minneapolis is Minneapolis, unlike how Gotham City is clearly Chicago.

I don’t have to tell anyone in the music business or anyone who’s lived around Minneapolis about the mystique of First Avenue. Fame and fortune isn’t a sure bet after playing First Ave, but, many acts will attest, it won’t hurt. The building, previously the city’s Greyhound station, hasn’t been dressed up. Ever. The iconic stars painted on the exterior display the names of the musical acts who’ve played at the venue and tell a piece of the place’s history. Local boys like Prince, The Replacements, and Hϋsker Dϋ have stars alongside big names

Can you see the stars?

like The Melvins, Nirvana, The Pixies, and the Sugarcubes, who played First Ave as relative nobodies. In fact, I had a ritual during my college years in which I would kiss my left hand and leap to give The Cure’s star a little love slap each time I walked by. I never saw The Cure at First Ave—by the time I was old enough to see a show, they were big enough to play Met Center.

Inevitably, the area has changed. The city has ameliorated around it. The club is no longer surrounded by hourly rate motels and strip clubs. Now it’s next to the Target Center, shiny new hotels and a Hard Rock Café. But the building at the intersection of First Avenue and 7th Street looks the same, and if you drive by, you can imagine that the Minneapolis of today is the same city that “The Kid” and Morris Day rivaled over gigs and Apollonia.

In the event of this anniversary, I urge you to see PURPLE RAIN, especially if you never have. Yes, it’ll feel dated (it has been 25 years!), but that’s the point of history. Plus, if you can visit Minneapolis, catch a show in the Main Room or the Entry. Now that the place is smoke-free it smells better than this dank bus station ever has, and you’ll experience a piece of the Midwest’s rock heritage.

Oh, and while you’re at it, be sure to purify yourself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka.

An Annoyed Rant Turns into Food Nostalgia

When I lived in the Twin Cities, there were two main choices for grocery stores. There were the gigantic ones, Rainbow and Cub Foods, which were almost like Sam’s Club– big ol’ warehouses where there weren’t a lot of specialty items but we would save lots of money and bag our own stuff.  Or there was Lund’s or Byerly’s, stores with carpeting, fancy delis, and cavier. At those stores, we most decidedly did not bag our own groceries. Then in Florida, there was Publix. Ah, Publix. So pretty, so clean. The best of both– big enough to have everything I needed in one place, but good stuff, too — Cuban bread, awesome sushi. Southern hospitality and beer, too. It was win, win, win.

Then there’s Milwaukee. Pick-n-Save; that’s it–literally, the only choice. I like that in Wisconsin (unlike Minnesota), I can get my booze at the grocery store, but I still need to go to Target to get the frozen vegetables and Ben & Jerry’s flavor I like (creme brulee). Today I went to P-N-S to get a few items that the BF forgot while he was there earlier and I brought a grocery bag from home. I walked around the store, picking up the forgotten items and a few impulse things (like fruit!), scanned the frozen vegetable section in case they miraculously started stocking the Bird’s Eye blends I like (no luck), and placing them in the bag I brought. I got to the register and poured out the stuff and told the cashier to please use the bag I brought (because they bag stuff there. I’d REALLY rather do it myself).  I paid and went to grab my stuff, and saw that she did indeed use the bag I brought, but she put the bag inside another bag.  wtf???

There are things about north Florida I don’t miss. The roaches with wings. The shoeless kids in stores. The drenched clothes after being outside for three minutes in June. The water in the Gulf at St. George Island, so warm it was like taking a jacuzzi, and thus not at all refreshing. But some things I miss. Publix. The Cuban food, the good Thai and Japanese restaurants. The canopy roads.  Soul food. Lightning shows. Unlimited puns on Church signs. Peaches and citrus driven in from Georgia and central Florida and sold by men wearing white overalls but no shirts. I would love to have that shrimp with basil and chili peppers from that Thai place in Tallahassee on Thomasville Road. Low country boil at Cypress. Or the gingersnap and mascarpone dessert from Kool Beanz. Sometimes I want to take a trip to Tallahassee just to eat.

Maybe one day, I’ll do just that.