Happy 30th Anniversary to Prince’s sixteenth studio album The Black Album, originally planned for release as his tenth studio album on December 8, 1987 but subsequently released officially on November 22, 1994.
Note: ‘The Black Album’ is not currently available in authorized form via streaming platforms, hence the absence of embedded audio below.
Possibly the most coveted withdrawn release in music history (and definitely the most bootlegged), Prince’s tenth studio album went down in infamy for the way it was shuttered. Reasons for its withdrawal were rumored to be—depending on who you speak to—a bad ecstasy trip, a nightmare, a vision, a “dark night of the soul,” a revelation, a spiritual awakening. Whatever the reason, Prince deemed the album as “evil” and abruptly pulled its release just days before Warner Brothers were due to ship it and demanded all copies of it be destroyed. With promo copies already shipped, someone had the good fortitude (or financial motivation) to salvage some copies and from that cold December morning it became the most sought after album in Prince’s widely bootlegged canon.
Consisting of a purely black sleeve, devoid of artist name, album title, or the usual “Produced, Arranged, Composed and Performed by…” accompaniment, the album alluded to as “The Funk Bible” (as touted in the opening track) became more commonly known as simply The Black Album. Originally set for release on December 8, 1987 and after a decade of trading, counterfeit pressings, cassette recordings and fan swaps, it saw an official release on November 22, 1994.
So after all the hype, all the Princelore, all the built up stories of its destruction, was The Black Album an “evil” lapse in judgement or was it insanely good? Was it really a musical answer to critics who felt Prince had abandoned his black funk roots and moved into a more decidedly commercial pop and maybe even “white” market? Just how black was The Black Album?
On its surface, and by that I don’t mean the shiny black cover, The Black Album is a concerted return to harder funk edge (and even offers murky dabbling in hip-hop) that brought Prince attention in his early career. But it isn’t an album trying to recapture the excitement of Controversy (1981) or 1999 (1982), instead it contemporizes the funk with a grittier edge. It’s definitely less polished than say some of the landmark funk on Sign O’ The Times (1987), but it doesn’t feel like a huge departure from the trajectory Prince was on.
Album opener “Le Grind” finds Prince still enraptured with the sampling techniques of the Fairlight accompanied by a fuller band sound that was missing on most parts of Sign O’ The Times. There’s a darkness brewing in the funk with sweeping bass synth and punctuating horns. Sticking to a consistent groove designed for the dancefloor, “Le Grind” echoes the gritty funk of “Hot Thang” and “It” from his previous release, and whilst it’s a fun party jam, it fails to really seal the deal and ends up overstaying its welcome.
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As an ode to supermodel Cindy Crawford, “Cindy C” by contrast is a bouncy bounty of funk. Prince is playful, cheeky and his borderline obsession is the stuff that would make mere mortals have a restraining order placed on them as Prince begs, “Cindy C / play with me / I will pay the usual fee.” Now depending on who you ask, the track is either a diss track written after Crawford snubbed Prince in a club or written as the lustful fantasies going through Prince’s mind after a brief exchange on a dance floor in New York. Whatever the inspiration and whether fueled by lust or spurned by rejection, “Cindy C” is a brewing stew of funk and desire, an extended jam that works even with Cat’s lifted rap lyrics from “Music Is The Key.”
Prince has a dig at hip-hop (a genre he would come back round to rather quickly) and the proliferation of “tone deaf” lame rappers. Whilst his tongue is firmly in his cheek, “Dead On It” comes across as just as cliched and tired as the music he seems to be riling against. Not his finest moment on record.
With the dark and gritty funk of the three songs that preceded it, the delicate “When 2 R In Love” feels out of place as it closes out Side A and almost as an afterthought to balance out the album being the last track recorded for the project. With its bright arrangement and Prince in full-blown seductive mode, it’s no wonder this is the only track to survive the cull and find its place on the more positive Lovesexy (1988) album.
Prince kicks off Side B with his darkest and bleakest moment on record with the disturbing but somehow insanely funny spoken word piece “Bob George.” Set against a tweaked drum pattern, the equally tweaked out and pitched down vocal details the accusations of a disturbed and demented jilted lover. With snappy one liners and quick hit retorts, the track delivers a smile amidst the descending madness of domestic chaos with the discovery that his lover is stepping out with a man who manages rock stars including, “Who Prince?… That skinny MF with the high voice?”
It’s no surprise that “Bob George” and “Superfunkycalifragisexy” were included in the set for the Lovesexy tour, as these are the standout tracks from The Black Album. Sounding like a deranged circus of sorts, “Superfunkycalifragisexy” delivers on what the title promises, a fully-fledged funk fueled jam. With a drum pattern influenced by “Housequake,” the song would have been at home on Sign O’ The Times. With an unrelenting beat and constant guitar riff throughout the track, the accompanying instruments seem to swirl around you like an off-kilter carousel, placing you in the eye of the funk storm. This is a bold, amped up Prince, full of energy and laying it all down on the track.
And just when you think the storm is over, “2 Nigs United 4 West Compton” comes on, and the funk storm really blows up. With switching solos, the song feels like the kind of impromptu jams Prince would lose himself in during his famous aftershows. With a sublime bass solo littered throughout, bubbling organ runs, and the SOTT band backing him, you knew this jam was going to be tight.
Capping the album off with “Rockhard In A Funky Place” feels like a bit of letdown. It’s an ok song—and let’s face it most of Prince’s ok songs would probably be singles for others—but the track feels rather limp than rockhard. Feeling like an ode to the trippy funk of Parliament-Funkadelic, the song ends up feeling more like one of Prince’s castoffs, and perhaps better suited as one of his legendary B-sides, rather than a bona fide album track.
When all is said and done, The Black Album is a mixed bag, a less consistent Prince than we had become accustomed to. Standouts like “Superfunkycalifragisexy,” “Bob George” and maybe “Cindy C” make it worth listening to, but as an album it feels uneven, even a little unfocused. Its appeal benefited from being shelved, and maybe it had nothing at all to do with being evil and more to do with perhaps Prince just not being that happy with the end result. It’s just not his finest hour. But if it’s the album and drama he had to go through in order to arrive at the sublime replacement album Lovesexy, then that’s ok with me.
Editor's note: this anniversary tribute was originally published in 2019 and has since been edited for accuracy and timeliness.