Prince
Batman

THE REVIEW

The year was 1989, and Warner Bros. gave someone like Tim Burton free rein to bring Batman to the screen, the film that would completely revolutionize the collective imagination of Hollywood superheroes. No more tight leotards but sturdy armor modeled on an increasingly cyberpunk human body. No more sunny cities and good heroes, it was necessary to deal with a Gotham City that seemed to come directly from Frank Miller's pencil, and above all with a superhero who could be anything but good. And then no more so-so villains, those villains who are also good at heart. No thanks, we're not interested. We have the Joker. We hold dear Jack Nicholson's grin and his total wickedness, without any taint (of goodness, to be clear).

Now try to reflect for a moment: you are Warner Bros., and you have a film like this in your hands. You know you're about to give life to a pop icon. You are very clear that you will flood the market with gadgets, as you are about to unleash one of the biggest marketing campaigns in history. You watched the movie and didn’t understand a damn thing, but you know it will smash because your stomach trembled at every laugh of the Joker. Not to mention Vicky Vale's hair and lips (my God, how beautiful was Kim Basinger before she got silicon implants?). In short, far from being a hot potato, you have in your hands a very intricate tangle of genius, pop aesthetics, visionary style, marketing, ultra-commerciality. Who do you call to make the soundtrack? We are in 1989. Well, you can only call one person, Prince.

And fortunately, Warner called him! The album produced by our miniature Joker is a true gem. The little man from Minneapolis is in great shape, and the essential and mechanical rhythm of "The Future" that opens the album says a lot about what's in store for us. A pinch of distorted guitar in "Electric Chair" reminds us that it is Prince who sets the rules of the game, before the duet with Sheena Easton for "The Arms Of Orion". "Partyman" is Prince 100%: ultra-pop sounds, sensual voice, a few slightly hinted choir parts here and there, soaring incursions of a wild guitar. Pure delight. The entire album is of the highest level, and thinking it’s the last in a series that includes "Purple Rain," "Around The World In A Day," "Parade," "Sign 'O' The Times," "The Black Album," and "Love Sexy," it leaves you speechless. The entire sound structure of the tracks is supported by harsh and angular rhythms that coldly mark every single song, rhythms that seem almost disturbed by Prince's sly voice, which seems undecided whether to push his desire for essentiality to the limit or to overflow with sounds and noises of all kinds.
Here we are, now you've flipped your vinyl and the last track, "Batdance", is about to play: inside this amazing piece is everything you’ve always wanted and never had the courage to ask for. A guitar that erupts distorted on three notes to remain silent, a groove with a hypnotic sound, repeated sound inventions, trash-pop choruses quoting the unforgettable duo of Adam West - Burt Ward, a shouted solo by a guitar that feels out of place, voices urging and overlapping each other, a break that cuts your legs and makes you think "what the hell has this madcap concocted now?" then accelerates again? It’s a Prince victim of his own genius. A song that alone is worth an album. The madness of the Joker and the darkness of Batman encapsulated in 6 minutes and 13 seconds of memorabilia, there's nothing more to say. There are two things: either you read Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns" or you listen to "Batdance". That's it, Batman is born and dies here. Tim Burton’s film fits right in the middle, elbow to elbow with Alan Moore's "Batman: Killing Joke."

Are the crazy laughs of the Joker that open and close the track the same as those of the genius from Minneapolis? Maybe yes, but it's not important to know. After all, have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?