As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, I remember the sheer excitement I felt each time a new Prince album or single came out. The trip to the record store to pick up a cassette (I'm that old), unwrapping it in the car, popping it in the player as soon as possible, grooving down the road, listening with friends… and all of it was made better knowing that this guy was from here (not the Coasts!). That fact made us embrace Prince tighter and feel a sense of pride at his successes (and eccentricities). I got to see him live once, at the St Paul Civic Center where he did a four night stand in late December 1984 in support of the Purple Rain album. The only trip I ever made to Paisley Park was not long after it opened, to deliver a singing telegram to Prince's publicist. When I heard that he had passed on this day ten years ago, the song playing on the radio was My Name is Prince and since then I have been particularly fond of that song. I couldn't make it to the spontaneous tribute concert that happened on the street that day but I did head downtown with a friend later that night and communed with the thousands of others gathered outside of First Avenue.
