1978: The Year After Punk

As the conservative movement took hold of American political life in the late 70s and early 80s, a prime target for right-wing vitriol was the sexual freedom that characterized post-60s America. Associated in the minds of right-wing Christians with left-wing thinking, homosexuality, urban environments and any number of minority groups out of favor with the “born-again” crowd, the sexual revolution set the mental stage for a country about to make a radical rightward tilt to embrace Reagan, TV-evangelism and the abortion rights debate.

In the 70s, sex and sexuality suddenly came to the surface as tangible elements in American society. Pornography laws were loosened. New lifestyles were celebrated. Some practices, of course, existed only on the fringe, but still, a country once regarded for its gray flannel suits and shared embarrassment over the Kinsey sex report, had changed in a generation into a much more pleasure-seeking society. Sex had begun to be part of a person’s identity in a way it hadn’t in previous years. This change had been pushed along by rock-and-roll, disco and drugs. Artists in the glam and funk movements were the biggest champions of this shift. Bowie, Queen and T. Rex muddled gender identities. The myriad groups associated with George Clinton took rock’s sexually-suggestive lyrics to new heights. And by the end of the “me decade,” the religious right had had enough.

Enter this short guy from Minnesota with the unlikely name of Prince Rogers Nelson. Over the next decade, the artist then known as Prince would prove to be as important to America’s continuing conversation about sex as Dr. Ruth, Madonna and the tragedy of AIDS. Putting funk and glam together in one pop-art package, his records were as tirelessly upbeat and inventive as they were frank about sexual experience. If the religious right were looking for a song to deem “filthy” and “unacceptable” in 1978, they didn’t have to look beyond the first side of Prince’s debut album, For You.

“Soft and Wet,” with its hand-jive beat and quirky chord progression, shimmers with a new-wave-meets-disco sound that hints at his later, more successful records. On first listen, it is a pop song of the forward-thinking variety championed by post-punks of the time. But at some point, the anatomical nature of the song’s title sinks in. Maybe it’s during the bridge, when the gasped breathing kicks in.

Preceding “Soft and Wet” is another synthesizer-heavy pop recording, “In Love,” which wears its Stevie Wonder influence on its sleeve. If the mustached and Afro’d singer weren’t on the cover of the record, though, it would be easy enough to assume you were listening to a group with a female singer. In fact, Prince doesn’t let his voice drop into a register even close to tenor until a brief aside on the album’s third track. As his later work proves, gender is something Prince questions and this vocal style brings the question to the fore.

The acoustic dreamscape of “Crazy You” is a forgotten gem in Prince’s seemingly endless catalogue. Short, and delivered with a plaintive voice, the song strums through a surreal landscape of synthesized water drops and wind chimes. It’s one of those tunes that walks the border between complete genius and laughable cheese and manages to keep its balance to the end.

The straight-ahead disco of “Just as Long as We’re Together” may be the first point in the record when invention begins to take a back seat to filling up studio time. But as you listen to that long rhythm-and-synthesizer coda, it might be a good time to consider that Prince alone played every single note of every instrument on For You. Suddenly, the extended jam that finishes off the tune seems impressive.

Much of the rest of Prince’s debut is forgettable. Side two is made up of a number of soul songs that could have been recorded by other artists from 70s. Chief among these are the lame “Baby” and “So Blue.” Things begin to turn around right at the end with the prog-guitar funk of “I’m Yours.” This last track sounds as if Prince is trying to put his stamp on heavy metal, and the end product is really not all that bad. He certainly could play the guitar, even before he had them shaped into weird symbols we were supposed to use as his name.

Altogether, For You is a more of a well-illustrated sketchpad than Prince’s masterpiece. It signals the arrival of an undeniable musical genius and a challenge to culture warriors intent on cleaning up the way Americans speak, desire and behave. If you find this one in a record bin, grab it up. You’ll be surprised just how far into the future the young Prince could see with his first record.

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