In a purple-hued dreamscape where time bends and guitar solos float like incense, Riffs and Beats caught up with Prince, elusive, brilliant and unbound, for a conversation that defies gravity and genre.
Riffs and Beats
Prince, if you were still with us in the physical world, what kind of music would you be making right now?
Prince
I’d be making music that doesn’t ask for permission and doesn’t care about playlists or metrics. I never created to fit in, only to break something open. I’d probably be deep into mixing analog warmth with alien digital textures, finding new frequencies that speak to the soul. I’d want to disrupt the airwaves, not just decorate them. The music would be raw, spiritual, sexy, and political, all at once. I wouldn’t chase trends, I’d challenge them. I’d be collaborating with orchestras one day and bedroom beatmakers the next. And I’d still be pressing vinyl, because the groove should breathe.
Riffs and Beats
You fought fiercely for artistic independence. How do you see the current state of ownership and control in the music industry?
Prince
The industry still doesn’t understand that art and commerce are not the same language. Too many young artists sign away their names before they know who they are. Ownership isn’t just business, it’s identity. When you sign away your masters, you’re giving someone else the right to decide how you’re remembered. I fought so others wouldn’t have to, but they still do. Now, people talk about NFTs and decentralization, but the hunger for control hasn’t changed, it just got shinier. The revolution in music needs lawyers, not likes. If you don’t own your voice, someone else will sell your silence.
Riffs and Beats
Social media has become a dominant force in the music world. Would you have embraced it?
Prince
I might have used it like a mirror you only look in once a day, not to live inside. The problem with social media is it puts the spotlight on the self before the art. Artists start thinking like influencers and forget that mystery is a sacred thing. I always believed that a little silence keeps the magic alive. I’d rather spend an hour rehearsing than posting. If I used it, it would be for poetry, cryptic images, clues, never oversharing. The moment people know everything about you, they stop listening to your music and start watching your life. And I wasn’t here to be watched, I was here to make people feel.
Riffs and Beats
Your sound was always ahead of its time. Where did you draw that vision from?
Prince
I listened to the spaces between the notes. I was obsessed with what people weren’t doing, the silence between genres, the emotions left unexplored. Vision comes from trusting your inner ear more than the outside noise. Sometimes I’d dream entire arrangements, then run to the studio to catch them before they faded. I read books, I studied painters, I listened to Miles Davis like he was scripture. Innovation isn’t about complexity, it’s about saying something no one else dares to say. I treated the studio like a laboratory of the divine. The goal was never to sound modern, it was to sound eternal.
Riffs and Beats
You were an icon of gender fluidity and identity long before the world caught on. How do you feel watching that conversation evolve today?
Prince
It’s beautiful to see people owning their truth without apology. I didn’t wear high heels and lace to shock, I wore them because they felt like me. Masculine and feminine were always just colors on a palette to me. I was painting a self-portrait in motion, and it had to be honest. The world used to call it “weird”, now they call it “freedom.” What matters is that more people feel safe now to express who they are. But expression isn’t a costume, it’s a commitment. You don’t just wear the clothes, you carry the weight of them with dignity.
Riffs and Beats
What do you think of the current state of funk and soul?
Prince
Funk is alive but underfed. It’s in basements, jam sessions, old heads teaching young bloods. But mainstream funk today lacks danger, it’s often sanitized for easy consumption. Soul music needs to come back to church, to protest, to the body. Too much production, not enough perspiration. You need to sweat for the funk to breathe. I want to hear a bassline that makes me close my eyes and forget where I am. And I want drums that sound like they’re chasing a storm.
Riffs and Beats
If you could mentor a young artist today, what would be your first lesson?
Prince
Find your voice before you find your audience. Practice until your fingers bleed and your heart breaks, then you’re getting close. Don’t imitate, investigate. Success that isn’t earned will haunt you. Respect your art like it’s a living thing. Don’t be afraid to be alone, isolation builds originality. And when you walk on stage, do it like it’s the last moment of your life. The world doesn’t need more stars, it needs more light.
Riffs and Beats
You were also known for your spiritual journey. Has that journey continued beyond?
Prince
Of course, music was always the bridge. I used to say God is in the groove, and now I know it’s true. Here, the vibrations are pure, undiluted, it’s like jamming with the universe. There’s no ego in the sound, just intention. I understand now why silence matters so much, it holds everything. Earth was just the first rehearsal. The encore is eternal. But I still tune in when someone plays “Adore” on vinyl.
Riffs and Beats
What do you miss most about Earth?
Prince
That sacred moment before the curtain rises and you feel the crowd breathing together. That electric silence where possibility lives. I miss Minneapolis in winter, purple lights on snow, and the scent of a guitar case opening. I miss rehearsals that went on until sunrise and spontaneous songs born in laughter. I miss looking someone in the eye from the stage and seeing they felt seen. There’s no virtual replacement for that. You can stream sound, but you can’t stream soul. The physical world, with all its pain, had an exquisite texture.
Riffs and Beats
There are said to be thousands of unreleased tracks in your vault. What would you like to see happen to them?
Prince
That vault is full of experiments, prayers, and unfinished conversations. Not every track was meant to be shared, but some deserve a second breath. I’d want curators, not marketers, people who know the difference between a groove and a gimmick. Release them with reverence, not for revenue. Let them live in context, not just playlists. Pair them with visuals, stories, liner notes, let them educate, not just entertain. Some songs are seeds, not flowers. And even in silence, some should be left to bloom unseen.
Riffs and Beats
Do you have personal favorite albums from your discography?
Prince
Sign o’ the Times was prophecy, still is. Parade was like a French film wrapped in funk. Lovesexy was misunderstood but closest to my soul at the time, a divine paradox. The Rainbow Children came straight from scripture and spirit. I loved Dirty Mind for its rawness, and The Gold Experience for its ambition. But I didn’t measure albums by sales, I measured them by truth. The ones that felt like exorcisms were often my favorites. If it didn’t scare me a little, it wasn’t real enough.
Riffs and Beats
Do you see anyone today as your successor, someone carrying that same flame?
Prince
Successor is a heavy word, I wasn’t trying to be anyone else, and no one should try to be me. But I see sparks. D’Angelo has that sacred tension between sex and spirit. Janelle Monáe walks the tightrope between concept and charisma with elegance. H.E.R. understands the weight of a note, and Kendrick Lamar plays with language like it’s jazz. I feel echoes in artists who are fearless, genre-fluid, and spiritually grounded. It’s not about copying the style, it’s about carrying the courage. Anyone who makes music like it’s a revolution of the heart… they’re already family.
As our time ran out, Prince rose without a sound, adjusted his collar, and turned toward a horizon tinted deep violet. He didn’t say goodbye, just looked back and said, “The music’s still playing. Don’t miss your cue.” Then he vanished, like a fade-out on the perfect final track.
