Prince
The Gold Experience

THE REVIEW

NOTICE TO RELATIVES:

EXPLICIT AND HAPPY.

PART 1: THE 'PUSSY CONTROL'.

Giulio was a tender 9-year-old fledgling; his days had the soft innocence of pastel colors; a child's world encapsulated in Donald Duck sheets and the scratched display of any gameboy: but one Friday it was decided for him that puberty should begin. The little guy was bursting with pee and, breaking the hesitation, he dashed like a tomcat in heat into the first free bathroom at home, and an unexpected surprise opened up a new, almost unknown universe to him. Michela, the 17-year-old somewhat loose sister, didn't lock the door and just as she was pulling up her panties, BOOM! Little Giulio, who barely tolerated his despotic big sister, saw the light between her voluptuous legs; something that from that moment in his little mind took on the feline shape of a BLACK CAT. The red cheeks and squinty eyes gave rise to the boy's constant embarrassment, and cunning little mouse Michela took advantage of it: if little Giulio wanted to have a naughty peek at his sister sometimes, he had to submit to her commandments and do whatever the heck she asked...With his head bowed, the little one finally entered the bathroom, relieved himself, and discovered the physical and metaphysical meaning of 'Pussy control'.

PART 2: HE WHO SLEEPS CATCHES NO FISH (BUT RIDES ELECTRIC SHEEP).

Tafkap, once Prince, was fed up with Warner Brothers, contracts, and obligations, and his inner turmoil had already been spilling over into furious fights for years with various record executives who kept him too leashed and made him a 'slave'. Projects overlapped during the times like Apollonia's legs, and a sequence of bland and monochromatic works emerged: 'Batman soundtrack', 'Graffiti bridge', the overly polished 'Diamonds & pearls', 'Come', etc. Meanwhile, the New Power Generation was born, the new backing band of the great dwarf with the highest stiletto heels in Minneapolis; comprised of the black drummer Michael B., the funky bass of Sonny T., Mr. Hayes on organ, Tommy Barbarella (a half-deadoralive/half Pippo Baudo man) on piano and synth, and the wiggling Mayte in the hot chick department. Finally, our Little Genius at the guitars, who, due to the sign 'o' the times, would have a more central role than in previous works. The appetizer to the golden experience was the pulpy and sonic blaxploitation of 'Exodus', where the Symbol appeared masked on the cover, as creepy and manic as usual, and the EP dedicated to a new, yet another sexy muse, the never-too-much-missed Mayte - or 'The most beautiful girl in the world'. Touché and next, please. And let the dances begin, then, between the pulsating and dancing hip hop like Roberta Missoni's boobs in 'P Control' and the '...Tommy Barbarella, turn it on...' of the roaring 'Endorphinmachine', the soft-porn lust of 'Shhh' (shut up and take the pop), a long orgiastic ride with Hammond and guitar solos penetrating the piece, because this love is a 'private affair' for the Prince (of Minneapolis, of course, not Giannini eh) and a 'We march', the ideal soundtrack of yacht parties with trans, coke, and a liken to-Mastella decadent politician (the real one rules in Ceppaloni, rather than Saint Tropez, and his rural mentality hinders bacchanals and too many belénrodriguezes around..). Easy to imagine Aragozzini at the next Olympics in China parading with the Italian flag at the head of a group of Italian ingenuity subversives like Luca Sardella, Raspelli, and Paolo Fox; all marching together, the rhythm pumps, and the pride fills our veins (I don't know with what..). The npg operator welcomes us at dawn with Mayte's alluring little voice, and we can joyfully enjoy the new exciting experience that awaits us. 'Dolphin' cuts the psycho/beat wave with sixties-like accents, precisely, like the mammal, and 319 is nervous with horns, frenetic flashes on chicks in action, and a nagging new wave. 'Ripped' notes, funky on the first verses of the ex-Prince introduce the melody in 'Shy'; notes that soon turn into an acoustic oasis, refined and linear like Nadia Cassini's glutes. 'I hate you', 2 powerful words like 'I love you': in the vocal tour de force little Prince surpasses himself, in a schizoid coming and going that leads to the distorted scream finale of the guitars (liberating and post/coital).

PART 3: UNITY IS STRENGTH, UNLESS YOUR NAME IS PRODI.

And finally a rain of annoying frogs poured from the sky and invaded Saxa Rubra and the Raicavallo headquarters. Many managed to shield themselves from the loud SPLASH! and the gelatinous green substance mixed with internal organs...Pippo in summer is permanently soaking in the Catania pool, thus safe and sound; Matilde Brandi, being the great top dancer that she is, with a somewhat rapid hip move, found herself in a whistle inside the car outside the studios; that day of apocalypse. She was the only one still on the run, everyone else fled with Gilette's helicopter and Carlo Conti's professors. The imaginary news was making its way into my humble scribbler's mind, and the epic 'Gold' echoed in my eardrums when I thought quietly of the fate that could await the marzullo. The keyboard flakes of Barbarella carried along a once-familiar path, 7 minutes in which Tafkap, or Love Symbol, or Billy Ocean (no, not him, please!) returns to Prince in a guitar solo reminiscent of a sunny and pacified 'Purple rain'. The emancipation from Warner is almost complete. The obscene marzullo, meanwhile, remained holed up in his bunker of Rai studios; a hermitage reminiscent of flaviocattaneo: nothing and no one could stop his cultural reform proposals for public television, a reform of which he was the beastly epicenter while the blue-screen behind him changed from 'Sottovoce' to 'Sipario', to 'Cinematografo'...

"GOOD MORNIN' LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. BOYS AND MOTHERFUCKIN' GIRLS. THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN WITH NO NAME SPEAKIN'. AND I'M HERE 2 ROCK YOUR WORLD. WITH A TALE THAT WILL SOON BE CLASSIC. ABOUT A