Publication: Wall Of Sound [Internet]
Date: March 5, 1998
Section:
Page Number(s):
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Title: Crystal Ball Review
Reviewed By: Daniel Durchholz

Prince: Crystal Ball
New Power Generation
Soul/R&B
Rating: 69

They're hardly acts one would associate with Prince (or O(+>; The Artist Formerly Known as Prince; The Artist, or, as I prefer for simplicity's sake these days, Art). But on Crystal Ball, his new three-CD set, the purple-fancying imp from Funkytown (how's that for a new moniker) tries to make like Ani DiFranco, Frank Zappa, and the Grateful Dead, all in one fell swoop.

In the spate of interviews he gave surrounding Emancipation, his first post-Warner Bros. release, Prince expressed his admiration for DiFranco, who makes and releases music on her own terms (and, significantly, gets to keep the lion's share of the proceeds). Prince's NPG Records has not run as smoothly as DiFranco's Righteous Babe label, however—there's been considerable confusion about how to order Crystal Ball, long delays in manufacturing the set, and a vexing array of configurations of the album that has left some fans feeling the mail-order version of the set (as opposed to the retail issue) is the less desirable. But one has to cut him some slack. Prince, after all, is kind of like Mozart—a musical genius and peculiar fellow with absolutely no business sense.

Like Zappa before him, Crystal Ball is Prince's attempt to wrest his legacy back from bootleggers who have had a field day over the years with his prodigious unreleased output. For whatever reason, Paisley Park Studio has leaked like Special Prosecutor Ken Starr's office, and there's an amazing array of unauthorized recordings out there numbering well into the hundreds. Crystal Ball is his own version of Zappa's Beat the Boots series (which literally copied mediocre bootlegs) with better sound but equally grim packaging and disappointingly slipshod graphics. The mail-order edition has no booklet, track list, or credits; fans are expected to retrieve the information from a Web site. As for the Grateful Dead comparison, it seems Prince is determined to test just how much of his music the market will bear. Two three-CD sets in a row? Hell, the Dead release that much product every month.

So what does Crystal Ball sound like? Well, not surprisingly, a lot like Prince's officially released albums from the period of 1986 to 1996, which this set chronicles. There's plenty of taut, funky rock and pop with lyrics that conflate sex and religion. There are also flashes of unfettered brilliance and self-indulgence that you'd expect from an artist who doesn't have accountants looking over his shoulder. The title track, for example, is a ten-and-a-half-minute workout about making love during the apocalypse that features some interesting orchestrations, but unnecessary tradeoffs between guitar, bass, and drums. And here's a sign o' the times: Prince's lyrics, which once seemed positively scandalous ("Kiss me, lick me, trick me" he begs in the title track), are now pretty passé in light of, say, Lil' Kim and Foxy Brown.

"Acknowledge Me," on the other hand, is an assertive dance-floor burner with furious jeep beats, skittering keyboards, and a rare, credible rap from Prince. "Ripopgodazippa" is a sexy reggae number, while "Hide the Bone" sports a wonderfully wicked Clintonesque groove (musically, it's George; lyrically, in light of recent allegations, it may be closer to Bill). For pure fun, "Movie Star," a track originally written for the Time, is a hilarious caricature of the cocksure Morris Day on the make: "Let's see, body oil, check; incense, check; environmental records, double check." "What's My Name" combines a lyric dripping with Sly Stone-like superstar paranoia and a forbidding backing track worthy of the Bomb Squad. And "Tell Me How U Wanna B Done" offers some steamy soul and a great first line: "Baby how U wanna B done/ Just say the word and we can stop for number one." It's hardly "Head" or "Sister," but it's a move in the right direction.

The set also contains some vital rock numbers ("Interactive," "Da Bang"), hard funk ("Sexual Suicide"), and psychedelic pop ("Good Love"). But there is oh-so-much filler: "Cloreen Bacon Skin," essentially a rhythm track filled with vocal riffing for a mind-numbing sixteen minutes; "Crucial," a middling ballad; "The Ride," an overreaching blues number; and the album's most spectacular failure, "Strays of the World," an attempted Broadway musical number that sounds like a bad Cats knockoff.

And that's just the tip o' the iceberg. There's a lot to like about Crystal Ball, but it's just too big for anyone but Prince's most fervent fans to digest. What this guy needs is to edit himself severely, drop the single-disc bomb we all know he has in him, and do it in a way that we can buy the thing without going through all sorts of contortions. Otherwise, pretty soon he's gonna be reduced to peddling this stuff on QVC.