Recently, we were discussing how the effect of a national television broadcast catapulted a talented rock band like the Beatles into the upper stratosphere of fame and fortune. In that discussion, I asked my favorite question: What if? What if it was someone else instead of the Beatles that night? What if…it were Prince instead?
NOTE: Some of the following story is true. The rest of it could have been.
Prologue
World Introduction:
ROD SERLING: Tonight, we stand on the precipice between what is and what might be, exploring tales of the impossible. From the Philadelphia Experiment’s vanishing ship to the time slips of Liverpool’s Bold Street and Sir Victor Goddard’s flight into the future—each story is a thread in the tapestry of time’s uncertain weave. Through Einstein’s revelations and the quirks of quantum mechanics, science teases the edges of these enigmas, suggesting a universe where time is not a constant but a variable.
In the twilight of an ordinary rehearsal in Minneapolis, a band led by a man named Prince suddenly finds themselves swept from the neon glow of 1980 into the monochrome world of 1964. Without warning or explanation, they stand in the heart of a television studio inside the CBS TV Studio 50 theater, relics of the future amidst the past’s technology. They’ve entered the Twilight Zone.
ACT 1: Setup
Character Introduction:
As they glance around at the bewildered faces of a crew preparing for The Ed Sullivan Show, Prince and his band The Revolution agree: This is definitely weird. But they also decide to seize this moment with just one day to adjust to their unexpected journey through time. Here, in an era where their music does not yet exist, they are poised to deliver a performance that will bridge the gap between what is and what might have been. In doing so, they remind us all that in the vast expanse of the universe, art knows no boundaries, and time is merely a stage for the eternal dance of creativity.
As the temporal anomaly unfolds, Ed Sullivan finds himself at the epicenter of an unprecedented event. Initially unaware of the shift, Sullivan is preparing for another routine broadcast when he’s informed of the sudden appearance of Prince and his band—a group not scheduled and seemingly out of sync with the times.
Ed Sullivan sat at his desk, buried in paperwork and the endless to-do list of upcoming shows when his intercom crackled to life. His assistant's voice, usually calm and collected, carried an unmistakable note of hysteria.
“Mr. Sullivan, you're not going to believe this, but there's been a shift—a big one.”
Sullivan raised an eyebrow, accustomed to the unpredictability of live television. "A shift? Did the Beatles get cold feet? Did Ringo decide to pursue a solo film career?
"No, sir, it's... It's more complicated. The Beatles are gone."
"Gone? What do you mean gone? They walked out?"
"Not exactly, sir. They've been replaced. By someone named Prince. And, uh, he says he’s here from the future."
Sullivan blinked, the words taking a moment to register. Then he cursed. "From the future? What the hell! Did he bring a hovercraft or something?"
"Just his guitar, sir. And a band. They're... different."
Sullivan leaned back. He’d read something about this once."You tell Mr. Future Prince he better be ready to go tomorrow evening. But warn him, this is a tough crowd. Time travel or not, he better be ready. And someone get me a coffee. I’m Irish. Put the good stuff in it." He slammed down the phone.
Later, as the early morning light filtered through the theater’s high windows, Ed Sullivan stood in the shadows of the wings, a mixture of bewilderment and anticipation etched into his features. He had been informed of the temporal anomaly, but hearing about it and seeing it unfold before his eyes were two vastly different experiences.
On one hand, Sullivan, a pioneering figure in American television, already held a significant place in the history of broadcast entertainment for his progressive approach to showcasing talent. In an era when segregation and racial discrimination were rampant, Sullivan’s show became a beacon of inclusivity, notably for his commitment to featuring black entertainers on network television at a time when such appearances were exceedingly rare.
Sullivan’s reputation for championing diversity on his stage was not without its challenges. He faced backlash from certain segments of the audience and pressure from sponsors and network executives who were wary of alienating viewers in a deeply segregated America. Despite these pressures, Sullivan remained steadfast in his belief that talent knew no color and that his show should reflect the diversity of American culture.
This commitment led to groundbreaking performances by African American artists, including legends like Harry Belafonte, Ella Fitzgerald, and Louis Armstrong. These appearances were significant for the career exposure they provided to the artists and the message they sent to viewers across the country. Sullivan’s platform offered a rare, powerful form of visibility for black entertainers, contributing to the slow but vital process of breaking down racial barriers in the entertainment industry and beyond.
By welcoming Prince and his band to perform, Sullivan would have been continuing this legacy, pushing the boundaries of what was considered acceptable or expected on network television. In doing so, he would make television history by showcasing futuristic music and reinforcing his show’s role as a trailblazer in promoting racial equality and artistic freedom.
On the other hand, this entertainer was like none before him.
Prince and his band began their rehearsal with their futuristic instruments and attire that seemed to blend decades yet to come, unaware of Sullivan’s vigilant gaze.
Initial Conflict:
As the first chords of I Wanna Be Your Lover echoed through the theater, Sullivan’s initial shock gave way to a grudging admiration. The sound was unlike anything he had anticipated; it was as if the very essence of the future had been distilled into melody and rhythm. Prince moved with a captivating confidence and flair, commanding the stage as if born to it.
The rehearsal moved through several numbers, each more innovative and compelling than the last. With Why You Wanna Treat Me So Bad? the theater was filled with soulful rock that defied the current norms of music. Sullivan, though rooted in the traditions of the ‘60s musical landscape, found himself tapping his foot, caught up in the undeniable talent displayed before him.
As they launched into Dirty Mind, Sullivan felt a twinge of apprehension. The lyrics and the energy were groundbreaking but also provocative, challenging the boundaries of what was considered acceptable for national television. He could foresee the mixed reactions from the audience and the potential uproar, yet he couldn’t deny the magnetism of the performance.
Throughout the rehearsal, an increasingly apprehensive Sullivan remained a silent observer, wrestling with his own preconceptions about entertainment and the role of music in society. Here was a group that had, quite literally, come from the future to challenge the present. The realization that he was about to introduce this anomaly to the American public both thrilled and unnerved him.
Initially skeptical, Sullivan’s disbelief gave way to curiosity as he prepared to introduce himself to Prince and encounter firsthand the charisma and talent that transcended decades. As the final notes of rehearsal faded away and Prince and his band conferred among themselves, Sullivan stepped out of the shadows. Approaching them, he was met with curious, if not slightly wary, glances. The moment was surreal, a meeting of times and minds that would have been impossible under any other circumstances.
“Mr. Prince,” Sullivan began, extending a hand in greeting, his voice a mix of professionalism and the slightest hint of awe, “I believe we’re about to make television history.” He paused, looking from Prince to his band and then back again, “Mr. Prince, might I have a word with you? We need to discuss a few things before tomorrow’s show.”
With a nod and a smile that seemed to acknowledge the weight of the moment, Prince replied, “Of course, Mr. Sullivan.”
They walked over to Prince’s dressing room and sit in the dimly lit space. The air is thick with anticipation and a hint of tension. Sullivan began with an attempt at polite chit-chat, trying to bridge the gap between them.
Sullivan: “Mr. Prince, I’ve seen quite a few acts in my day. Elvis, The Beatles... But I must say, your... ah, unexpected arrival has been quite the talk of the studio.”
Prince, his face an unreadable mask, nods slightly, his eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Prince: “I appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Sullivan. Music is a message, no matter the year or the audience.”
Sullivan shifts uncomfortably, knowing the heart of the matter must be addressed.
Sullivan: “Speaking of messages, Prince, there’s the matter of your song lyrics. I Wanna Be Your Lover, for instance. The imagery, the implications... It’s quite ahead of its time.”
Prince’s expression remains unchanged, though his voice carries a hint of steel.
Prince: “My songs reflect emotions, Mr. Sullivan. They’re meant to evoke, to provoke thought.”
Sullivan presses on, firm in his stance.
Sullivan: “I understand that, but songs like Why You Wanna Treat Me So Bad? are just a tad abstract for our viewers. And Dirty Mind, I’m afraid it’s out of the question. The references there, well, they’d have us pulled off the air before the first chorus.”
Prince leans back, his demeanor calm, but the tension in the room grows.
Prince: “Those lyrics are the heart of the song. To change them would be to alter its soul.”
Feeling the weight of his responsibility to the show and its audience, Sullivan leans in, trying one last time to find common ground.
Sullivan: “Prince, you’re a talented young man. But we have sponsors and families to consider. Can’t we find a middle ground? Maybe adjust just a few lines? For the sake of the performance?”
Prince, face still a mask of composure, pauses before responding, his voice low but firm.
Prince: “Art, Mr. Sullivan, compromises for no one. It’s how we reach into the hearts of those who listen. I’ll perform as I am or not at all.”
The standoff hangs between them, unresolved. Sullivan, faced with a decision that could mark a historic moment or a catastrophic failure, is visibly troubled. Prince, for his part, remains enigmatic, his resolve clear, leaving the next move uncertain as the moment of the live broadcast looms ever closer.
FRIDAY: Act Two of Three