The incomparable Prince
When Michael Pagnotta launched his own PR firm, Reach Media, in early 1990s, Prince was his very first client. Now, more than a quarter-century later and one year after Prince’s tragic death, Pagnotta remembers, in this exclusive personal essay for Yahoo Music, a fateful day in Australia when Prince confronted him and gave him some advice that changed his life and career.
“Michael, get your pen and paper and meet me in my dressing room.”
Prince was a man of famously few words, spending most his time — and mine, when I was representing him — refusing interviews rather than granting them. But as the first anniversary of his death arrives, I have had occasion to ponder a few words he did say to me. Words that changed my life.
The year was 1992. We were in Australia as part of the Diamonds and Pearls concert tour and things were going well, at least I thought so, until Prince came up behind me one night backstage and “suggested” a meeting. Before I could even turn around to respond, he was gone, vanishing as he often did — sometimes behind a wall of bodyguards, other times into thin air, like magic, leaving you wondering where the hell he’d gone.
I’d figured out pretty quickly in my relationship with Paisley Park that the less actual personal contact you had with Prince, the better off you were. It meant he was cool with you and what you were doing. This meeting wasn’t a good sign, and I started to think about what time the next plane home might be leaving and whether or not I’d be on it.
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I did as he said, and got a pen and paper and headed to his dressing room, running obsessively through every “I’m sorry and I will do better!” scenario I could imagine. Prince’s half-brother and right-hand man Dwayne met me at the dressing room door and instructed me to enter and sit. Prince would be right with me.
Prince’s dressing room was just as you’d imagine it: a serene space decked out, if memory serves, in gold statuettes, scented candles, incense, caftans, throws, carpets. Splashes of yellow, purple, and gold everywhere. Part temple, part ancient desert caravan tent straight out of Ben Hur. In the center of the room was a couch, and I sat. The seat was broken and I sunk in, feeling like I might just fall through to the floor.
After a few anxious minutes, Prince walked in, still dressed in his canary-yellow jumpsuit, do-rag, and boots from the show. The man had just performed a two-and-a-half-hour gig and he was perfectly coiffed and done up, looking like he’d barely broken a sweat. If anything, I was the one who was sweating. Prince was a small guy, but with me sinking ever deeper into the broken seat cushions like a dying man in quicksand and having to look up at him, he looked like a giant. Intimidating.
There were no pleasantries. He got right down to business. He began to shift his weight from one leg to another, in a slow, metronomic dance as he interrogated me.
“How many T-shirts we sell tonight?” he asked, staring me right in the eye.
The question surprised me. I didn’t sell T-shirts for the tour and had no access to the merch data, especially before the show had even settled. I didn’t know, couldn’t have known, but he made me feel like I should have. He was good at keeping people off balance.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly and sheepishly.
Prince let the uncertainty hang in the air for a second and started to speed up his dance, circling me as I sat, looking less like a canary in his yellow outfit than a bird of prey. He came around the front of me and stopped, looked me dead in the eye again.
“How many programs we sell?”
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Read the rest of the article here:
https://www.yahoo.com/music/princes-ex-publicist-everything-needed-know-music-business-maybe-even-life-learned-prince-180218086.html
By Michael Pagnotta