Prince’s (late) arrival was preceded by a mass of video footage telling us how wonderful he is (any classical musician who did that would be deemed a right poseur). The man is a consummate performer… he even managed to escape the tyranny of the beat when, sitting alone and playing very good keyboard, he reeled off a string of what are evidently his hits. Prince somehow reminds me of a latter-day Cliff Richard – a great entertainer, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
August 31Mick Brown, Telegraph features writer
“Foreplay”, announced Prince, wagging a finger, “starts in the mind’’ – the first sermon in a “rules of love’’ routine that was one of the highlights of this performance. Rule number two was, “I may be small, but so is dynamite.’’ That this tiny, effete and highly manicured presence should have convinced so many women that he is a love god is one the abiding mysteries, and triumphs, of his career. But he has always known that pop music is, first and foremost, about sex.
September 1Jo Brand, comedian
I was never a fan of “the King’’ and have harboured equally unsavoury attitudes towards Prince. So, you might ask, why did I drag my unwilling self to this feast of funk at the great big dutch cap in Greenwich? Reader, I was looking for conversion, having been lectured by many on the putative tallness of his talent. On arrival, I felt like a BNP member at the unveiling of Nelson Mandela’s statue in Parliament Square.
We awaited Prince’s entrance with baited breath and eventually the little red devil appeared on stage in a burst of light and sound, accompanied by his brilliant band and two of the most energetic dancers since St Vitas taught those medieval types to boogie on down.
The show was amazing, Prince himself an impressive multitasker and the experience something that will sit in my deteriorating memory for some time to come. I still don’t like him, though.
September 6Beverley Knight, singer
I’m a life-long fan, and having supported and jammed with him twice. Effortlessly cool, relaxed and in serious vocal form, Prince and his band, the NPG, ripped the stage from the glorious openers, Let’s Go Crazy and 1999, to the nu-school funk of Musicology, which turned into an almighty jam. “Twenty-one nights? We’re going to have to make it 52 nights!’’ he teased.
September 9Charles Spencer, former Telegraph theatre critic
How Prince loves to tease and provoke. But what he needs, yet is never likely to accept, is a firm and disciplined director. This brave man would tell him that his fans deserve to hear the hits, properly played, that less time should be spent doodling away solo at an electronic keyboard, and that the performance should be compressed and refined so that it builds on its climaxes rather than repeatedly dissipating the energy level.
September 12Bryony Gordon, author and journalist
The ability to make a vast arena feel like an intimate venue is something few artists can manage, but Prince nailed it. It’s a testament to him that, so long into this stretch, he’s performing with the freshness and vibrancy of a man half his age. I love him. I would very much like to marry him.
September 13Katherine Jenkins, singer
I wasn’t a huge Prince fan when I was growing up: I didn’t listen to much pop music at all. Prince took the whole performance to another level. I was surprised by how many men were in the audience, dancing and really letting go. He started to play Elton John’s Your Song and suddenly, a camera picked up Elton in the audience and flashed him on to the big screen, singing along. The next thing, he got up on stage with Prince and they played The Long and Winding Road. I couldn’t quite believe it; watching these two legends on stage together.
September 16Augusto Koschak
I’m 10, and I hadn’t been to a rock concert before. When it started, there was a girl singing, and that was a waste of time. But, when Prince came on, it was like a miracle – like an angel coming down from the heavens. It was explosive.
September 20Ali Smith, novelist
It was another good night with sweet Prince, whose stage, the Symbol – part male, part female, part trumpet, part orgasm – glows and pulses at the centre of the stadium like a body lit up by joy, or like a landing strip for a whole new country. It’s the ideal theatre for the funkiest Priapus alive, glinting his guitar at the tip of his own arrow.
September 21Graham Boynton, journalist
It’s over. Purple towels are being neatly folded in a launderette in Greenwich; bins outside the Dome are filled to the brim with purple glow sticks. Those who were there are struggling to adjust to life without Prince.