01:00 AM EDT on Sunday, August 15, 2004

BY ROB CLARK
The Dallas Morning News

DALLAS -- There's something strange and wonderful about riding in a golf cart with Prince.

He's just finished a sound check, and in two hours the arena will be quaking, a crowd of more than 19,000 dancing for hours. A driver takes us whizzing through the halls on the way to Prince's dressing room, earning a trail of stares from arena personnel.

It is startling, but so is the rest of a first impression: Prince is disarmingly normal. Maybe some of his mystery comes from his reluctance to do interviews. They're still rare. But lately, he has opened himself up more. Good thing, too. There's a lot to talk about.

This is Prince's year. It started in February, when he opened the Grammys with a stunning performance of hits from Purple Rain with Beyonce. In March, he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His Musicology album is his best-reviewed and best-selling disc in years. And the tour, which reaches Boston's FleetCenter Tuesday through Thursday, has sold out arenas across the country (though not the FleetCenter; at midweek, balcony seats were still available for the first two shows and second-level seating for Thursday's concert).

The attention calls to mind the '80s run in which Prince made some of music's most memorable albums -- Dirty Mind, 1999, Purple Rain, Sign O' the Times and Lovesexy.

Such flashbacks may be why many in the media call the current buzz a "comeback." But Prince has toured and released albums consistently. And he makes it clear he hasn't gone anywhere.

"It's ultimately laziness on the part of the writer," he says, "to regurgitate a term that's not true."

But this tour does feel different. Prince is on a mission: He's now a teacher of sorts, a mentor hoping to inspire younger artists and listeners with real music by real musicians. You'll see more kids and teens at his concerts than in years past. And you can hear his influence in at least a dozen promising soul and rap stars.

What they see in him is what made him such a revolutionary in the '80s: That unmatched mix of funk, soul, rock and pop. The audacity of making the semiautobiographical movie Purple Rain when he was still a young artist, then seeing it win Grammys and an Oscar. Or that androgynous look that got people wondering the same thing he sang in "Controversy": "Am I black or white? Am I straight or gay?" And, especially, the songs that seemed impossible to resist: "Let's Go Crazy," "Raspberry Beret," "Little Red Corvette."

Musicology is Prince's most mainstream disc since 1999's Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic. "Mainstream" isn't a dis in this case; it's just a more straightforward album. His previous discs have been complex: the all-instrumental N.E.W.S. and the ultra-conceptual Rainbow Children. Both were so intricate, even difficult, that some casual fans stayed away. So maybe "comeback" really refers to them.

The silver ring on his finger hints at another facet of his evolution. He's a married man now, to Manuela Testolini. It's his second marriage. (The first was to Mayte Garcia in the late '90s.) But personal questions are off-limits. It's strictly about the music.

Prince gets comfortable on a red plush couch in his dressing room. A large keyboard is nearby. There's a fragrance in the air, like incense already burnt.

And he's as tiny as you've heard. He's dressed in all black, an NPG chain dangling from his neck. Though he just turned 46, he's barely aged in 15 years. He's still a "pretty man," as he once sang, hair and makeup all in place, like a little funky porcelain doll.

His speaking voice is so deep it's hard to believe it hits the high notes in "Kiss." He talks in measured tones.

Yet he's animated, ending several statements with a wheezy-voiced sarcasm. He cracks himself up, and sort of throws himself about the couch for the punch line.

A line from Musicology may best sum up the Prince quest these days: "Don't you miss the feeling music gave you back in the day?" That calling -- getting back to real music, not prepackaged pop or meaningless songs about clubbin' -- gets him going.

"Making music about alcoholism -- is that the one topic?" he asks in frustration. "Is that it? If I grew up on that music, I wouldn't be here."

Many influences

What he did grow up with sparks a river of references. James Brown. Earth, Wind & Fire. Stevie Wonder's masterpieces, Innervisions and Fulfillingness' First Finale. Weather Report. Herbie Hancock's Head Hunters album. "That," he says, "was my Ludacris."

For all of his issues with some of today's pop, there is a young crop of soul and rap artists raised on Prince who now hoist him up as their Hendrix, their Lennon, their Dylan.

You can hear it, feel it, smell it in the manic-funk-creativity in OutKast, the piano soul of Alicia Keys, the ballads of D'Angelo, Musiq and Maxwell.

"Alicia Keys gives me hope," he says. "D'Angelo gives me hope. Beyonce, she's just an incredible singer."

When community involvement by soul hero Erykah Badu is mentioned, he's even more spirited.

"Can I ask you a question? Can we elect her alderman? Why is it always somebody who doesn't inspire you? Elect her as a state official."

He laughs at his idealism.

"Can we dream sometimes?"

Prince mentions the word "morality" several times. And that may surprise some. After all, this is the man who had specialized in sex appeal with songs such as "Sister," "Erotic City," "P Control" and "Darling Nikki," but balanced those with the spiritual "God," "Anna Stesia," "Thunder" and "The Holy River."

He doesn't play the naughty songs in concert anymore. And he downplays the significance of that decision, saying there are only five explicit tracks in his 25 albums. (It's more like a dozen, but no use quibbling.)

It's another reason why more kids are at his shows. But there are those longtime fans who are dying to hear "Nikki" one more time, maybe trying to hold onto that moment.

"I'm not mad at them," Prince says. "I feel for them. It takes all kinds."

Teasing the masses

Even without the explicit material, a Prince show is still a sensual experience. Thousands of screaming women pant at every gyration and coy look. It's the way he moves, that swagger that straddles the line between debonair loverman and pimp daddy. He starts his classic love song "Adore" and then stops, teasing the masses while the howls grow louder, desperate for more.

But, he insists, it's not just him.

"It's music," Prince says simply. "Here, I'll show you."

He pops up and walks over to his keyboard in the corner. He starts to play a simple but lovely tune. It's not recognizable; he's just plinking away. But such an unexpected and generous display -- a brief private concert to illustrate his point -- is a pinch-yourself kind of moment.

"If [keyboard player] Renato [Neto] plays something like this, and [drummer] John [Blackwell] just touches the cymbals, you don't have to say anything," he explains while he plays. "It's just a mood.

"To know that, you have to study music. If Erykah was here and she heard this, her pen would just start goin'.

"Now," he says, "you're painting."

Prince plays at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Thursday at the FleetCenter, Causeway Street, Boston. Tickets are $49.50 and $75. Call (508) 931-2000 or (401) 331-2211, or go to www.ticketmaster.com.