Time magazine   :  NOVEMBER 15, 1999

                                    Reclaiming His Crown,
                  The Artist is back with his best CD in years. And who is his producer?
                      Believe   it or not, it's Prince  BY CHRISTOPHER JOHN FARLEY

                    So I'm hanging out with [The Artist] in a suite in
                    the New York Palace Hotel, and one of the first
                    things he tells me is that his name isn't really his
                    name.

                    Now [The Artist] is a cool guy to chat with: funny,
                    insightful and, except for the fact that he's a
                    musical genius, a regular guy. Truth is, he puts
                    on his bell-bottom, glittery blue stretch pants one
                    leg at a time, just like the rest of us. But his
                    perspective on the world is like his
                    music--constantly surprising. For example, a few
                    minutes into the conversation, an insanely
                    beautiful woman enters the suite and cuddles up
                    in [The Artist]'s lap. It's Mayte, [The Artist]'s wife.
                    Only she's kind of also not really his wife,
                    because they had their marriage annulled so they
                    could transcend the "legal bonds that people
                    demand."

                    Then there's [The Artist]'s new CD, Rave Un2 the
                    Joy Fantastic. It's a terrific album, full of some of
                    [The Artist]'s freshest, most focused music in
                    years. It's being released by Arista--the first time
                    [The Artist] has hooked up with a major label
                    since 1996--but [The Artist] says he doesn't
                    really have a contract with Arista, merely an
                    "agreement." That agreement, [The Artist] says,
                    is only two pages long. Two pages? Most pop
                    acts need longer contracts just to cover the
                    number of M&Ms that have to be in their dressing
                    rooms after a gig.

                    And, of course, there's [The Artist]'s name. Ever
                    since he changed it from Prince to [The Artist] in
                    1993, folks in the media have called him "The
                    Artist Formerly Known as Prince." [The Artist],
                    as it turns out, doesn't care for that title. His
                    name, he says, is simply that unpronounceable
                    symbol that looks like a combination of an ankh,
                    an ampersand and a lollipop. Says [The Artist]:
                    "I've made choices, and people can respect them
                    or they can not respect them."

                    In recent years, [The Artist], 41, has been
                    releasing records on his own label and selling
                    them via the Internet. Some of those records
                    have been sprawling; his 1998 album Crystal Ball
                    was a five-CD set. Rave is smarter and trimmer,
                    a single CD, 15 songs, with an impressive roster
                    of guest stars that includes, among others, folk
                    rocker Ani DiFranco, the rapper Eve and
                    saxophonist Maceo Parker. And [The Artist]'s old
                    pronounceable name makes a return on the new
                    album. Rave's credits list Prince as the producer.
                    [The Artist] adopted his old persona to recapture
                    some of the creative spirit of his Prince-era
                    albums. "I was curious as to how Prince used to
                    edit himself," says [The Artist]. "I was interested
                    in my approach to music then. I didn't care what
                    other people were doing. I came up with my own
                    program."

                    Speaking of programs, one of [The Artist]'s
                    favorite films is The Matrix--the sci-fi thriller in
                    which the human race is trapped inside an
                    oppressive computer simulation. [The Artist]
                    frequently uses the movie as a
                    metaphor--especially when he talks about the
                    music industry. Says [The Artist]: "People aren't
                    supposed to go into the studio to make music
                    thinking about 'How will this look in the video?'
                    That's a matrix. That's dangerous to me. People
                    shouldn't have to ask permission to record with
                    other artists. That's a matrix. I had to get out of
                    the industry to realize what it's like to record from
                    a free place." He charges that record companies
                    like Warner Bros. (Prince's former label, which is
                    owned by the same company that owns TIME)
                    are making more and more money while the
                    artists' share of the profit remains the same.
                    "Now are you gonna write that," challenges [The
                    Artist], "or is the matrix gonna stop you?"

                    It's nearly time to go. I'm still thinking about that
                    ankh-ampersand-lollipop looking name. What
                    does Mayte call him at home? "I never called him
                    Prince when I met him," says Mayte, from her
                    snug position on his lap. "Now I realize that
                    names don't matter. For example, I don't know
                    your name."

                    "You don't know my name?," I say.

                    "No," says [The Artist]'s insanely beautiful sort-of
                    wife.

                    "It's Michael Jackson," I say.

                    [The Artist] laughs, but his wife just keeps going.
                    "When I need to talk to him around the house, I
                    just stand in front of him and get his attention.
                    But if you need to say what I call him, you can
                    say I call him 'honey.'"

                    The interview's over. [The Artist] gets up from the
                    couch.

                    "Nice to meet you, Michael," says [The Artist].

                    I'm a little startled by this. I wonder if a) he's just
                    joking, or b) he forgot my name, or c) I really am
                    Michael Jackson and only [The Artist] has the
                    power to see through the illusions of the matrix!

                    "Nice to meet you...um..." I say. Should I call
                    him Prince? Artist? Honey?

                    Whatever. I shake his hand without another word.
                    As long as [The Artist] keeps making albums as
                    good as Rave, he can call himself anything he
                    wants. END
 

                    COPYRIGHT © 1999 TIME INC. NEW MEDIA