While scouring the bowels of the internet yesterday, I came across a Prince video. I love to hate Prince. I do not like him and have had many debates with people who think he is a genius. Ooooh, he plays 17 different instruments. So what? He makes shitty music with them. Dream Theater plays their instruments really well and can’t write a song to save their lives.
My judgment on his music may be clouded by just how much I hate Prince himself. Changing his name to a symbol and showing up in pictures with “slave” written on his cheek makes me want to strangle his midget neck. Waaaah, I’m a rich rockstar and my record company is being a meanie. Shut up. Worst of all is his Napoleonic sex god act that is so trite and annoying. Apparently, by declaring yourself a sex god and making bland music with lots of sexual references you actually become a sex god. Who knew?
However, my hatred of Prince is tempered by one thing and that thing is Pussy Control. The song itself encapsulates everything I hate about the man, but it is so damn catchy. First off, the song is named “Pussy Control.” You either have to be a genius or just completely full of yourself to give that title to a song. I lean towards the latter. The beat is entirely bland with Prince talk-singing over top. The chorus is an over the top high pitched male voice singing “aaaaahhhh Pussy Control” with an unmemorable keyboard riff and cheesy record scratching.
That said, the lyrics are such an amazingly ridiculous story that it overrides the unimaginative music and catapults the song into unforgettable heights. If you are not familiar with the lyrics/story of Pussy Control, Pussy Control is the actual name of the character. The song begins with Prince, the narrator, welcoming “boys and mother fucking girls.” As the title of this post suggests, the song is a modern coming of age story of a young black woman and “begins in a schoolyard, a little girl skipping rope with her friends.” “One day over this hoodie, she got beat for some clothes and a rep.” Pussy, emotionally scarred from this experience goes to college, earns a master degree and “hire[s] the heifers that jumped her and made everyone of them work for free.” In essence, Pussy has escaped her ghetto/prole roots, become a financial success, and taken revenge on all those who have wronged her in the past by making them her indentured servants.
The second verse focuses on Pussy’s life as a successful business woman. Pussy is now rich and meets a “fool named Trick” who, “wanna stick her, uh, talking more shit than a bit.” Trick promises her fame if she were to”sing a lick on his hit”, a clever double entendre by our narrator. Pussy of course doesn’t fall for this cheap ploy. She rejects Trick and reminds him that “every women in the world ain’t a freak” and that “[Trick] could go platinum four times” and “still couldn’t make what [Pussy] make in a week.”
Obviously, Pussy being a successful modern woman is having trouble finding love. Men are intimidated by her or just trying to take advantage of her. Luckily in verse three, our hero-narrator Prince comes along. Prince meets Pussy at “the club – International Balls.” Pussy at the time was “rolling 4-deep; 3 sisters and a weepy-eyed white girl drivin’ a hog.” Prince, being the sex god that he is, is not intimidated by Pussy Control though. He unrepentantly tells Pussy, “Motherfucker, I know your reputation and I’m astounded that you’re here.”
Sensing Pussy’s isolation and knowing that he is the only man confidant enough to be with her, he goes on to tell Pussy “I fear you’re lonely and want two know, a 12 o’clock straight up nigga that don’t give a shit that you’re Pussy Control.” Notice how Prince both compliments yet backhandedly insults Pussy. He simultaneously increases his value while decreasing hers. He then begins to rebuild her by complimenting Pussy’s physical appearance saying that it is “hard as hell to keep [his] mind off a body that would make every rich man want to sell, sell, sell.” Prince has obviously read his “pick-up artist” books, e.g. The Game.
Prince, much like Aesop, is careful to make sure his audience is enriched from his story. He leaves us with, “the moral of this motherfucker is ladies make ‘em act like they know. You are, was, and always will be Pussy Control.”
With that, I love to hate Prince. A flawed poet, his sexually explicit stories of modern living enrich us all. Yet, despite these beautiful tales of romance, everything about him screams arrogant, compensating midget. Now, listen to the song for yourself and try not to dance:
Prince is confusing; what the kids call "a hot mess." But, I guess that's part of his appeal? That and all the purple. A 4'11" African American femme misogynist in high heeled boots who commodifies and profits from the hyper-sexualization of women of color like a antebellum plantation owner. You just can't make this shit up.
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