Eight years have passed since the world lost one of its most extraordinary musicians, Prince. He was discovered dead at his Paisley Park residence in Minneapolis in April 2016, at the age of 57.
Throughout his life, Prince was not only a prolific singer-songwriter and musician but also collaborated with numerous iconic artists. One of those artists was Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac, who recently shared insights into their friendship. She recounted how Prince once expressed concern about her struggles with drug use.
Their collaboration began in the early 1980s, blossoming into a profound friendship. Nicks, now 73, reminisced about feeling flattered when she realized Prince had an interest in her. “Prince and I were just friends”, she explained in an interview with Harper’s Bazaar. “I think he would have been happy to have had a relationship.”
While on her honeymoon with ex-husband Kim Anderson, Nicks heard Prince’s hit “Little Red Corvette” and felt inspired to create her own song. “Suddenly, I was singing along: ‘Stand back!’” she told Uncle Joe Benson on the Ultimate Classic Rock Nights radio show. “I asked Kim to pull over because I needed to record this, so we found a store and bought a tape recorder.”
That night, she worked tirelessly on what would become the lead single from her 1983 solo album, The Wild Heart, which eventually reached No. 5 on the Billboard Hot 100.
After completing her song “Stand Back”, Nicks arranged a meeting with Prince, and within 20 minutes, they were introduced in a Los Angeles studio. Prince listened to her track and quickly went to the keyboard to contribute his unique touches. Afterward, he hugged her and left. “He spoiled me for every band I’ve ever had because no one could replicate what Prince did all by himself”, Nicks remarked in her book Rock Lives.
Despite her admiration for him, Nicks chose not to pursue a romantic relationship, valuing their musical bond instead. “I wanted a creative partnership, and I had learned early on that relationships could end badly”, she explained. “He wasn’t just looking for that.”
Interestingly, Prince’s song “When Doves Cry” was inspired by Nicks’ “Edge of Seventeen”, Nicks candidly admitted that during their collaboration, she was deeply involved in drug use. “The eighties were a dark time for me”, she told The New Yorker. “Prince was very much against drugs, and it shocked me to learn he ended up on pain medication. He often lectured me about my habits.”
Nicks recalled their conversations, where Prince would warn her: “You gotta be careful, Stevie”, to which she would respond: “I know, I know”, In the wake of his death, she expressed her sorrow, noting: “It’s tragic that he died of an accidental overdose. I can hear him saying: ‘Sweetie, I can’t believe it happened either’”.
Prince’s concern was warranted, as Nicks ultimately entered rehab twice. In 1986, she sought help at the Betty Ford Clinic for cocaine addiction and returned to treatment in 1993 for an over-prescription of Klonopin.
In 1986, during a visit with a plastic surgeon regarding her nose, she learned she had severely damaged it from her drug use. “I asked the doctor what he thought about my nose, and he replied: ‘The next time you do cocaine, you could drop dead’”, Nicks recalled. This prompted her to seek help at the Betty Ford Clinic, a decision that helped turn her life around and potentially saved her career.
It’s a tragedy that Prince couldn’t overcome his own struggles with opioids. Nicks’ experiences underscore his musical genius and the generosity of his talent. He remains an irreplaceable legend, forever missed by countless fans worldwide.
MY DAUGHTER TOLD ME I WAS TOO OLD AND PATHETIC WHEN I SHARED A PHOTO FROM MY FIRST DANCE CLASS.
The Dance of Dreams
At 70 years old, I decided to step into a dance studio, my heart fluttering with anticipation. The polished wooden floor seemed to beckon me, whispering promises of grace and rhythm. It was time to fulfill my lifelong dream—to dance.
My daughter, however, had a different perspective. When I shared a photo from my first dance class, she scoffed, “Mom, you look pathetic trying to dance at your age. Just give it up.”
Her words stung, like a sharp needle piercing my fragile bubble of enthusiasm. But I refused to let them deflate my spirit. I had spent decades nurturing her dreams, ensuring she never had to abandon them. Now, it was my turn.
I looked into her eyes, my voice steady, “Sweetheart, I’ve spent a lifetime supporting you. I’ve cheered you on during your piano recitals, soccer games, and college applications. I’ve been your rock, your unwavering cheerleader. But now, as I chase my own dream, you criticize me?”
She shifted uncomfortably, realizing the weight of her words. Perhaps she hadn’t considered the sacrifices I’d made—the dreams I’d tucked away while raising her. The music swirled around us, a gentle waltz, and I took her hand.
“Dancing isn’t just about moving your feet,” I said. “It’s about feeling alive, connecting with the rhythm of life. And age? Well, that’s just a number. My heart still beats to the same tempo as when I was twenty.”
We danced then, awkwardly at first, but with growing confidence. The mirror reflected two generations—one hesitant, the other determined. The studio walls absorbed our laughter, our missteps, and our shared joy.
As the weeks passed, my body ached, but my soul soared. I pirouetted through memories, twirling with the ghosts of forgotten dreams. The other dancers—mostly young and lithe—accepted me into their fold. They admired my tenacity, my refusal to be labeled “pathetic.”
One evening, after class, my daughter approached me. Her eyes were softer, her tone apologetic. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. You’re amazing out there.”
I hugged her tightly. “Thank you, sweetheart. But remember, dreams don’t have an expiration date. They’re like music—timeless, waiting for us to step onto the dance floor.”
And so, I continued my dance. The studio became my sanctuary, the music my lifeline. I swayed, leaped, and spun, defying the constraints of age. My daughter watched, sometimes joining me, her steps tentative but willing.
One day, she whispered, “Mom, I want to learn too. Teach me.”
And so, side by side, we waltzed through life—the old and the young, the dreamer and the believer. Our laughter echoed, filling the room, as we chased our dreams together.
In that dance studio, age dissolved, leaving only the rhythm of our hearts—a testament to the resilience of dreams, the power of determination, and the beauty of shared passion.
And as the music played, I realized: It was never too late to dance. 🎶💃🌟
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