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    Why You May Never See the Documentary on Prince by Ezra Edelman

    Dig, if you will, a small slice of Ezra Edelman’s nine-hour documentary about Prince — a cursed masterpiece that the public may never be allowed to see.Listen to this article, read by Janina EdwardsIt’s 1984, and Prince is about to release “Purple Rain,” the album that will make him a superstar and push pop music into distant realms we had no idea we were ready for. The sound engineer Peggy McCreary, one of many female engineers he worked with, describes witnessing a flash of genius during the creation of his song “When Doves Cry.” Over a two-day marathon recording session, she and Prince filled the studio with sound — wailing guitars, thrumming keyboards, an overdubbed choir of harmonizing Princes. It was the sort of maximalist stew possible only when someone is (as Prince was) a master of just about every musical instrument ever invented. But something wasn’t right. So at 5 or 6 in the morning, Prince found the solution: He started subtracting. He took out the guitar solo; he took out the keyboard. And then his boldest, most heterodox move: He took out the bass. McCreary remembers him saying, with satisfaction, “Ain’t nobody gonna believe I did that.” He knew what he had. The song became an anthem, a platinum megahit.The next sequence starts to probe the origins of Prince’s genius, how it grew alongside a gnawing desire for recognition. His sister, Tyka Nelson, a woman with owlish eyes and pink and purple streaks in her hair, appears onscreen. She describes the violence in their household growing up. How their musician father’s face changed when he hit their mother. The ire he directed at his son, on whom he bestowed his former stage name, Prince — a gift, but also a burden, a reminder that the demands of supporting his children had caused him to abandon his own musical career. Prince would risk lashings by sneaking over to the piano and plinking away at it — the son already embarked on his life’s work of besting his father, the father giving and withdrawing love, the son doing the same.Cut to Jill Jones, one in a long line of girlfriend-muses whom Prince anointed, styled, encouraged and criticized. Hers is one of the most anguished testimonies in the film, revealing a side of Prince many of his fans would rather not see. Late one night in 1984, she and a friend visited Prince at a hotel. He started kissing the friend, and in a fit of jealousy, Jones slapped him. She says he then looked at her and said, “Bitch, this ain’t no [expletive] movie.” They tussled, and he began to punch her in the face over and over. She wanted to press charges, but his manager told her it would ruin his career. So she backed off. Yet for a time, she still loved him and wanted to be with him, and stayed in his orbit for many more years. Recounting the incident three decades later, she is still furious, still processing the stress of being involved with him.In the next sequence, it’s the evening of the premiere of “Purple Rain,” the movie, which will go on to win the Academy Award for best original song score in 1985. Prince’s tour manager, Alan Leeds, was with him in the back of a limo on the way to the ceremony. He remembers one of Prince’s bodyguards turning to Prince and saying: “This is going to be the biggest day of your life! They say every star in town is there!” And Prince clutched Leeds’s hand, trembling in fear. But then, as Leeds tells it, some switch flipped, and “he caught himself.” Prince’s eyes turned hard. He was back in control. “That was it,” Leeds says. “But for maybe 10 seconds, he completely lost it. And I loved it. Because it showed he was human!” In the next shot, we see Prince emerging from the limo and walking down the red carpet in an iridescent purple trench coat over a creamy ruffled collar, his black curls piled high. He swaggers, twirling a flower, unbothered: a creature of regal remove.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Shoe Obsession for the Ages: Prince’s Killer Collection of Custom Heels, Now on View

    The beautiful ones, they hurt you every time.CHANHASSEN, Minn. — Before we start, I want to get one thing straight: You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a grown man gasp over a giant wall of high heels. Not just any heels. Stiletto heels, custom-made for a size 7 foot. Fabric-covered ankle boots, mainly, but also knee boots, over-the-knee boots and platforms, in colors bright as Oz.Male, female, Black, white, young, old — everyone visiting “The Beautiful Collection: Prince’s Custom Shoes” at Paisley Park on a recent Saturday afternoon tour went gaga over Prince Rogers Nelson’s heels. More than 300 pairs, soles cleaned, fabrics vacuumed, shapes stuffed and lit up from behind, delivering us from gender norms and pandemic loungewear.Hark! Here were the hand-painted cloud boots from the “Raspberry Beret” music video; the platform roller skates documented by Questlove and discovered, posthumously, in a custom-made briefcase; and ankle boots with metallic stickers proclaiming “Get Wild” on the toe and “Free Music” on the heel. (Prince wore that pair in 1995 in protest against Warner Brothers, whose recording contracts he found so exploitative he temporarily changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol.)Prince wore these gem-studded heels at his induction ceremony into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2004.John Wagner PhotographyHe wore these boots, hand-painted with clouds, with a matching suit in the “Raspberry Beret” music video in 1985.John Wagner PhotographyOne pair was covered in candle wax. (Prince loved candles.) Another hid scuffs with pink Magic Marker. Multiple pairs had friction burns from Prince’s legendary dancing.“If there’s a stain or a scuff mark, that should remain on the shoe,” Mitch Maguire, the curator of the exhibition, said on a humid afternoon. “That’s part of its history.”The artist’s estate, which assumed management of Paisley Park in 2019, manages tours of the complex, which Prince built in 1987. Photos and videos are not allowed, and visits to “The Beautiful Collection,” a limited-run exhibition that opened to the public in July as part of the larger tour of Paisley Park, are kept to 15 minutes.More than 900 additional pairs of heels discovered at Paisley remain in storage, though Mr. Maguire said they hope to exhibit them all over time. Also omitted from the tour are the consequences of wearing nothing but high heels for four decades, including a reported hip surgery and well-documented opiate use that led to Prince’s fatal overdose in 2016.Instead, visitors are treated — and it is a treat — to nose-to-glass close-ups of exquisite bespoke designs from artisans including Willie Rivera, Franco Puccetti, Cos Kyriacou, Andre Rostomyan and Gary Kazanchyan of Andre No. 1, as well as filmed interviews with Mr. Kyriacou and Mr. Kazanchyan. Between them, the two men built more than 3,000 custom pairs of heels for Prince, including light-up Lucite platform sneakers and ankle boots with reinforced heels for arena shows.Yet even reinforcements — in this case, a metal brace bolting the heel to the sole — wasn’t enough to let Prince’s shoemakers watch concerts in peace. “There were moments when my heart was in my mouth,” Mr. Kyriacou said in an exhibition interview. “He was a relentless performer.”Constructing dangerously high heels that were embellished enough for the artist’s taste, yet secure enough for his talent, required ingenuity and engineering. After all, Prince stomped in his heels — four inches high in the early years, three and a quarter inches later. He spun and strutted and sashayed. He swayed and skipped and slid into the splits so fast that unreinforced heels sometimes broke clean off like a wishbone.Over time, designers refined the reinforced heel and fiddled with its angle. Mr. Kyriacou worked with Donatella Versace to get the famed Versace fabric heels up to snuff. (The label was the only one Prince wore outside of his custom designs.)Prince wore these boots when he performed “Purple Rain” at the 1985 American Music Awards.Tony SylversHe wore these gold metallic boots during his 2010-2011 “Welcome 2 America” tour.Tony SylversCreating a literal head-to-toe look with custom fabrics — usually his heels were covered in the same material as his suits — is arguably Prince’s most memorable contribution to rock ’n’ roll fashion. The goal wasn’t to make the 5-foot-2 musician taller, said the costumer Helen Hiatt, who headed Prince’s wardrobe department from 1985 to 1991, but to construct a look in which the shoes “wouldn’t cut your eye.”Gwen Leeds, a stylist who worked for Prince in numerous capacities from 1983 to 1988, recalled flying to New York to buy fabric at the high-end shops on West 57th Street and taking it to T.O. Dey on 46th Street to have the shoes custom-built and covered.“Normally you purchase fabric by the yard,” she said. “In the purple world, it was done by the pound.”Money was no object, but time often was. Ms. Leeds’s instructions from Prince’s wardrobe department? “Have them do whatever’s necessary” to meet the deadline. This once meant outbidding reps for Luther Vandross and Queen Elizabeth to secure the fabric that became Prince’s 1985 Oscars ensemble, to which H.E.R. recently paid homage.“I said, ‘Well, I’m representing Prince, and I have cash,’” Ms. Leeds said. “I got the fabric.”Necessity, of course, is the mother of invention. Mr. Kazanchyan recalled purchasing, demolishing and rebuilding a pair of Fendi shoes in two weeks to match Prince’s foot pattern. Ms. Hiatt attached metal bat wings onto Prince’s toe box with double-sided carpet tape to create his now-legendary Batman boots. Once she even melted plexiglass in her oven to satisfy a last-minute request for a glitter cane.“You just used every bit of ingenuity you could come up with,” Ms. Hiatt said.Yet when Ms. Hiatt tried to invent a new toe point on Prince’s shoe pattern, widening the box to prevent bunions, Prince demurred. “‘You know I hate to argue,’” she recalls him saying while staring at the floor. “‘Just go change it.’ My heart ached for his little feet.”Bunions did not, apparently, matter in the purple world, any more than budgets. And though this purple world is not the real world, “The Beautiful Collection” reveals the benefits of an alternate reality. For here, an androgynous Black man represents peak sex appeal, straight white couples will ooh and aah at platform flip-flops, and a couture shoemaker will buy a pair of children’s shoes from Payless, rip out the light-up soles and build them into white platform sneakers so that every time a rock legend pushes down on a piano pedal, his heels light up like happy Tinkerbell.And if there remains skepticism toward the purple world, this celebration of spectacle, turn your gaze toward Paisley’s parking lot, 19.4 miles from George Floyd Square, where a group of Black motorcyclists, engines gunning, jams out to “When Doves Cry” as total strangers dance. More