Before the guitars turned electric, before the lights turned purple, before the world learned the name that would reshape modern music, there was a boy in Minneapolis who seemed to live inside a song. Prince Rogers Nelson came into the world in 1958, already surrounded by melodies. His father, a jazz pianist, filled the air with clusters of chords that danced across the living room. His mother’s voice floated over them like smoke. Music wasn’t an activity in the Nelson household; it was its atmosphere.

Prince was named after his father’s stage persona, a decision that would cast a long shadow. It wasn’t just a name — it was a prophecy. Yet the child behind that grand name was small, shy, and often afraid of being seen. He moved quietly, observing everything, absorbing everything. You could mistake him for timid, but beneath the stillness was a mind overflowing with rhythm, harmony, and something far more powerful: destiny.

Even as a toddler, Prince wandered toward instruments the way most children drift toward toys. He didn’t simply bang on a piano; he studied it. He placed his hands on the keys as though they were secrets waiting to be unlocked. His father watched him with a mix of pride and concern, sensing that this child — this tiny being with enormous eyes — might one day outgrow the boundaries of the life around him.

But before Prince could rise, his world had to crack.

Support the show

When you become a premium subscriber, you get instant access to exclusive episodes you won’t find anywhere else—deep-dive stories, new music, member only DJ sets and stories we can’t share on the free feed. Subscribe!

For more music news visit us online at https://tonejournal.com