In the grand pantheon of rock ‘n’ roll enigmas – from Syd Barrett to Buckethead – none have left us grasping at mist like Prince. Fiercely private and media-shy, the Minneapolis bandleader’s death in April 2016 left behind a mountain of classic back catalog, but almost no trace of the man himself.
A decade later, the best chance of unpicking the riddle is to ask the musicians who were part of his inner circle.
Born in California in 1961, Levi Seacer Jr was already a respected name on the R&B scene when he began working with Prince protégé Sheila E. in the ’80s. Then a phone call changed his life.
How did you come into Prince’s orbit?
I played for three years with Sheila E and Prince would come to our practices. Then we went on tour to Japan and opened up his shows. During that time [collaborator] Jerome Benton said, “Hey man, Prince is checking you out. You might be in his next band. So be ready.” I said, “You’re kidding me!” I didn’t really think about it.
But when the tour was over I got a call from Prince’s secretary: “Good morning, Levi, please hold for Prince,” The next voice I heard was his: “Levi, you wanna be in my band?” “Of course!” That was Saturday, and he said, “Rehearsals start on Monday.’”
You were historically a guitarist but joined on bass. Why was that?
There was a period where I switched from bass to guitar in Sheila’s band, but Prince knew me as a bass player. He said, “I know you’re a guitarist but I need you on bass. Are you willing to switch?” I said, “I’ll play cowbell if it’s in your band!’”
What was the first music you worked on?
He’d just finished Sign O’ The Times and we were the touring band. I remember my first day at rehearsals. It was crazy, man – this is the first thing he said: “I’m gonna tell everybody right now, if you’re not a genius, write it down, ’cos I don’t like to repeat myself. I’m gonna count these songs off fast and I don’t want to keep going over the same thing. Learn the first three songs from Sign O’ The Times and I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Next day we came in at 11 o’clock and he said, “Good morning. Is everybody ready? Ok, Sign O’ The Times – 1-2-3-4!” And it had to sound like the record, ’cos if it didn’t he could kinda get on you. But he was like, “I don’t want to have to do that. When I ask for something, I want you guys to execute it. If there’s a section you have a problem with, I’ll help. But I want you to know every part backwards and forwards.”
How did the band respond?
For the most part everybody did their homework. Each day we learned three songs, and by the end of the week we had a double album under our belts.
After week two he said, “I want you guys to know why I ask you to do it that way.” It was because he had different arrangements. If you came to a week of Prince concerts, you’d hear different versions of the songs. He said, “I need to have the freedom to change things within a song, and if you don’t know the songs, how can I do that?”
It’s said Prince would fine his players for missing a note. Is that just an urban legend?
The compliment he gave me was: ‘I like you – you don’t never step on my toes.’ I always tried to be the opposite of whatever he was playing
No, that’s real. He would do it with hand signals – if you missed a part, he’d turn round in the show and keep dancing, but hold up five fingers. Every time he did that, that was $50. So we was praying we didn’t get the “five fingers of death” – that’s what I called it! But it kept the band in line.
Was he just one of the guys on the road?
Yeah, we always hung together. That’s how I found out how good of a basketball player he was. You know [NBA sharp-shooter] Steph Curry? To me, Prince played like that. There’d be big ol’ tall guys playing against him and, man, he made them look silly. You know that Dave Chappelle skit? Everybody was like, “That can’t be true,” and I was like, “Yes it is – he really did play basketball in those heels!” And he was incredible. He was good at ping pong and football too.
When that band became the New Power Generation, you swapped back to guitar.
I did two years of touring with him, then he said, “I’m bringing Sonny Thompson into the band on bass, so if you want to play guitar now, you can.” I was so happy. I love bass, but as Prince said, “Not like I love my guitar.”
In that band, we got into a little more Sly Stone type stuff, a little more Latin stuff because of Sheila, and a little more fusion, because we all had a fusion background. He’d studied that about all of us, then put it into his sound.
What guitar did you use with Prince?
It was an Epiphone, kinda like a 335. Another thing Prince did – every year we’d have specific colors. One year everything was blue and fuchsia, and he painted my whole guitar blue with car paint. To this day everybody asks, “Where do you get a color like that?” Well, you probably can’t!
You must have watched Prince close-up. How good was he at guitar, really?
Oh man, incredible. He could play any style. He could go from Sly And The Family Stone funk to Led Zeppelin, all in the same 30 minutes. He’d even do a bit of country if he wanted to. He said later in interviews that he loved Carlos Santana’s playing, and I can hear that in his approach. And Hendrix, of course.
I’ve never seen anybody practice as much as him. We’d have an eight-hour rehearsal, and after the band left, he stayed and practiced his show moves, his singing, all that, by himself.
That’s interesting, because we think of Prince as this God-given genius.
He was a genius but on top of that, his work ethic matched the genius. That’s unique, y’know? You usually get one or the other. He was both.
Did he give any feedback on your guitar work?
He once told me: ‘You don’t know what I go through being Prince. I have so many decisions to make’
The compliment he gave me was: “I like you, because you don’t never step on my toes.” I always tried to be the opposite of whatever he was playing. We had this section of the show where we’d be jamming for five minutes – just me, him, and the drums. If he played a part I’d counter it. If he went low I’d go high. If he did a fast lick, I’d play something slow. So we stayed out of each other’s way.
What are your memories of co-writing Sexy MF with Prince?
I was a jokester; every night after the show I’d sing this little phrase ’cos I was so happy: “We’re some sexy motherfuckers!” Prince thought that was funny. When we got off tour we went in the studio and he said, “I want y’all to give me a funk groove and put some chicken grease on it.” The chicken grease is when you hit that raised 9th chord.
So [drummer] Michael Bland put that thunderous beat under there and we’re grooving, then Prince showed us that bam-bam-bam break. He pointed to me and said, “Remember that thing you sing on tour? You sing it right here.” So it went bam-bam-bam and I sang: “You sexy motherfucker!”
What was Prince like as a person?
First of all, he was the funniest guy I ever met in my life. He once told me: “Levi, you don’t know what I go through being Prince. I have so many decisions to make. Sometimes, man, I just feel like passing out because my brain is so tired from everybody coming at me.”
One day at Paisley Park, somebody from his office was asking him 20 questions, rapid-fire. Next thing I knew, Prince is passed out on the floor. And everyone is panicking: “Oh! What’s wrong with Prince?” When somebody was just about to call an ambulance he got up – and there’s nothing wrong with him. I thought that was so funny because he’d just said he felt like passing out – and then he actually did it!
Prince was the smartest person. I’ve never met anybody that creative. He was never without an idea. He always had an answer. He was 10 steps ahead of everybody.
