Prince - Come (LP)

Prince’s Come landed on 16 August 1994, right in the heat of his stand-off with Warner Bros and fresh after he’d shed his name for the Love Symbol. The cover, with “Prince 1958–1993” etched on a mausoleum, tells you exactly where his head was at. For some listeners at the time it felt like a provocation, for others a curtain call. Either way, the music inside is richer and more curious than the industry drama suggests. It even topped the UK Albums Chart, while in the States it settled into a respectable showing and a louder conversation about what he would do next.

The title track is an 11-minute slow-burn that rolls in like fog over the Mississippi, all whispered commands, rubbery bass, and a sax that sidles up rather than shouts. Prince stacks the mix with ear candy. You get dry, close-miked vocals, spacious drums, and sly guitar flickers that could be a wink or a dare. It sounds like a club at 3 am, when the dancers are moving on instinct. From there, he tilts the palette. Space glides on sleek synths and a pop heart, then Pheromone slinks around a brothel-red bassline that refuses to sit still.

Loose! remains one of his wildest detours, a techno-industrial sprint that could have rattled the rafters at any mid-90s rave. Race drives hard on clipped guitar and stabbing horns, Prince spitting lines about identity with a confidence that dodges sloganeering. Papa cuts deeper. It’s short, stark, and unsettling, a memory piece that turns the studio into confessional. Dark is the balm that follows, a classic Prince torch song with elegant keys and that unteachable sense of timing, the note held just long enough to make you lean in.

Solo might be the album’s strangest jewel, almost entirely a cappella, with lyrics by playwright David Henry Hwang. Legend has it Hwang faxed the poem and Prince shaped it into this eerie prayer. You can hear the room, the breath between syllables, the small creaks of a singer trusting silence to do half the work. Then there’s Letitgo, the closest thing to a conventional single and a reminder that even during a contractual chess match he could toss out a top 40 hit without breaking stride. Closing cut Orgasm is pure mischief and texture, all feedback and ecstatic moans, a collage that pulls the blinds and lets the imagination do overtime.

The sessions centred on Paisley Park in 1993 and early 1994, and you can feel the intimacy of a self-contained lab. His New Power Generation orbit is in evidence, even when he plays most of it himself. Live horns bristle against drum programming, analog synths brush up against fretless bass. That alchemy is why Come has aged better than its reputation. At the time some American critics treated it like a placeholder, since he was already lining up The Gold Experience for 1995. In the UK it was embraced more readily, and revisiting it now you can hear a cohesive mood piece rather than a stopgap.

There are a few release quirks worth noting for collectors. Some international editions include The Most Beautiful Girl in the World, though the US album does not. If you come across Come vinyl with that track, you are likely looking at a European pressing. Either way, this era sits sweetly on wax. The low-end on the title track needs room to bloom and the cymbal work on Dark shines when it is not being squeezed by a streaming codec. If you love Prince vinyl for its tactile punch and the way the grooves seem to widen the soundstage, this record earns its shelf space.

For crate diggers in a Melbourne record store, a clean copy can be a small celebration. It is not as omnipresent as the purple canon from the 80s, but it turns up, and it is the kind of LP that rewards a late-night spin when the house is quiet. If you prefer to buy Prince records online, keep an eye on reputable sellers and pressings with reliable sources for matrix details. Prince albums on vinyl vary a lot in sound from run to run, and this one’s mood lives or dies on dynamics. For anyone browsing vinyl records Australia, it is a smart addition that opens a window into a pivotal, complicated year.

Come is often framed by the politics around it, yet the songs tell a simpler story. A great artist locked in his own compound, pushing faders and feelings, finding new ways to make desire, fear, and grace sit in the same room. If your image of mid-90s Prince is all headlines and glyphs, drop the needle and let the music make its own case. And if you stumble on Come vinyl in the wild, do not hesitate. It is a dark treasure with a slow glow, and it belongs next to the classics.