By BRUCE DENNILL
Prince: The Ultimate Experience 1999 / Directed by John Van Grinsven / Mandela Theatre, Joburg Theatre, Braamfontein, Johannesburg
Tribute shows have the benefit of the original artist’s popularity as a marketing tool and a foundation for the potential success of the piece. And the bigger and more mainstream the star, the better the footing.
In the case of Prince, the formula is not quite as simple. There is no doubting the singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist’s popularity and star power – something north of 100 million album sales and a completely mesmerizing stage presence, plus a powerful legacy in the songs he wrote for other artists. But he was not a maker of hits in the same way as Michael Jackson or Whitney Houston (two other artists who have had successful touring tribute shows made in their honour) were, with his 39 albums realising “only” five number one singles (curiously, Purple Rain is not included in that number). To be clear, this doesn’t speak to a lack of quality or, specifically, talent when it comes to the making of his music. It’s simply that he had a more singular mindset and was notably less inclined to pander to popular tastes, preferring to go where the muse led him. That sometimes took him to obvious hit territory – Cream, Kiss, When Doves Cry, Raspberry Beret and others – but just as easily diverted into songs that were mostly grooves, or largely showcases for the musicality of both Prince and his supporting musicians.
That musicianship is a huge part of Prince’s appeal, as he exhibited an almost unparalleled virtuosity on almost every instrument he played, regularly inspiring his fellow megastars to position him as the benchmark each of them aspired to match in skill.
All of this makes the man a complex challenge to impersonate. Michael Jackson more or less invented a certain way of moving and had a distinctive vocal sound. Whitney Houston could belt out her songs with a blinding power. Those and other specific skills and styles are, very much relatively speaking, easy to mimic. Prince is all over the place – a four-octave range; an obsession with sex that he didn’t bother to disguise; an ability to play dozens of instruments; dance moves that include everything from sultry salsa to James Brown shuffles and splits; and a repertoire spanning from romantic ballads to filthy (on every level) funk. It’s a much bigger job.
Dale Ray, occupying the tight stage suits and stacked heels favoured by the similarly diminutive icon, takes on the responsibility with aplomb and considerable proficiency, being a virtuosic pianist himself. Offstage, Ray is a pretty quiet sort, so to see him transform himself into a groin-thrusting, octave-popping, strutting (sex) symbol is a little weird to begin with. To his credit, though, he earns the respect of the audience in every department of his performance, including a frankly bonkers feat of strength during a break-dancing interlude near the end of the show (because his stamina is on the level of his talent).
All of the aspects of the show are packaged and arranged in such a way to make them accessible to performers who, well, aren’t Prince, but on this scale, such relative simplicity is still beyond the scope of most performers, and the energy with which Ray and his cohorts, particularly backing singer Virtuous Kandemiri, deliver their set keeps the production moving effectively forward.
