In studio with guitar, with Prince in the wings, is all part of Symbol of our affection

The Love is shared by recording done at Paisley Park, with Prince in the house, and a Prince tribute locally.
— One-man bander Jeff Loven had a guitar student who got to know Prince, and early in his career also became part of perhaps the first band to record at Paisley Park. It was a cold winter night, and it was suggested that Jeff could even park his vehicle inside the garage there so it would start after the session, which was at one of the multiple studios at Prince’s place. Loven entered, guitar in hand and full of bravado, and was told when hearing the screamed licks of someone else on that instrument to knock at the door to be let into the recording room. He eventually did so and didn’t find a full band playing, just Prince off in the distance wailing on his instrument of choice.
— There was a North Hudson memorial to Prince on the same weekend as one in the Twin Cities, and this one was not by invitation only. Word has it that the Prince remembrance that started at 3 p.m. and featured all his classic songs was well attended and a highlight was seeing the movie Purple Rain all the way through. That also was the song that wrapped up the evening in a stellar vocal performance there by Mystic Funk back in their pre-Thanksgiving Day party, (so maybe there is something to his lyrics, at least as done by some cover bands, foretelling events of his death).
— Prince isn’t the only short in stature, but not vocals, deceased singer you can meet in the Twin Cities. A former Dibbo’s bartender said she met the late Ronnie James Dio at the Mall of America and also in a separate encounter had her photo taken with the Marshall Tucker Band.
— Now that it’s growing season, a couple I know who have run karaoke and also run a farm near Roberts say they have an unusual crop being raised — hops, you know the kind they use to make beer. (Maybe being Wisconsin this is not so unusual). They also add that they might do some bottling of it in the future.
— In a recent revisiting at the Village Inn, there was a tribute this time around not to Prince, but to chain saw art. Out where the driveway meets Hwy. 35, a man from Cape Cod who travels the country had his stump-size, wood-carved pieces, of things such as bears, eagles and owls, on display and available for purchase.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. — On another stage, I dissed...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top