I went to see Prince last night.

Prince doesn’t help himself, a lot of the time.  I remember loving  When Doves Cry, back in 1984, when really people in Britain (or, at least, in our little teenage niche of Wolverhampton) first started hearing of him.  And then Let’s Go Crazy followed it up, and I, at least, was convinced.  He won “Best International Male” at the Brits the following year, but it did him much more harm than good, as he turned up in a flurry of purple and white feathers, completely with gargantuan gorilla minders, and made himself look like a total prick.  In many ways, he is.

As a minor for instance, he insists on his lawyers doing regular sweeps of YouTube and so on to get rid of any inappropriate stuff that’s been uploaded.  I only know of Bob Dylan, damn him, who does that as well. …