He was a hurricane in a suit. Or a lace glove. Or nothing but a guitar strap and some strategically placed glitter. When you talk about the best of Prince, you aren’t just talking about a collection of radio edits that played at every Midwest wedding for the last forty years. You’re talking about a guy who famously wrote a song called "Purple Rain" that was originally an eleven-minute country ballad before he realized it needed to be a stadium-sized anthem.
Honestly, most people get him wrong. They think the "best" starts and ends with the 1984 movie soundtrack. Don't get me wrong—Purple Rain is a masterpiece of pop-rock fusion that basically redefined what a "superstar" looked like in the Reagan era. But if you stop there, you’re missing the weird stuff. You're missing the vault. You're missing the moments where he played every single instrument on an album because he didn't think anyone else could keep up with the rhythm in his head.
The Hits vs. The Truth
Radio likes the "the best of Prince" to be neat. It likes the 3:45 version of "Kiss" where the funk is tight and the vocals are crisp. But the real Prince—the version that musicians like Questlove or Sheila E. talk about in reverent whispers—is found in the extended 12-inch remixes. Take "Little Red Corvette." On the radio, it’s a synth-pop dream. In the long version? It’s a psych-rock exploration of lust and regret that stretches into a sunset.
He was obsessive. Like, "don't sleep for three days" obsessive.
Engineers like Susan Rogers, who worked on Sign o' the Times, have shared stories of him staying in the studio until his eyes were bloodshot, chasing a specific snare sound that sounded like a "heartbeat in a vacuum." That’s why his best work feels so alive. It isn't polished to death. It’s raw. Even when it’s electronic, it feels like it has a pulse.
Why 1987 was his peak
If you ask a hardcore fan what the absolute pinnacle of his career was, they won't say Purple Rain. They’ll say 1987. That was the year of Sign o' the Times. It was a double album that felt like a chaotic tour through every genre known to man. It had social commentary ("Sign o' the Times"), gender-bending funk ("If I Was Your Girlfriend"), and pure, unadulterated spiritual joy ("The Cross").
It’s a mess. A beautiful, genius, purple mess.
He was supposed to release a triple album called Crystal Ball, but the label got cold feet. They made him trim it down. Even the "trimmed" version is widely considered one of the greatest albums of the 80s, if not all time. It showed that he didn't need a Revolution—the band, I mean—to be a force of nature. He was the band.
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The Best of Prince: The Songs You Forgot to Love
Everyone knows "1999." Everyone knows "When Doves Cry." But have you actually sat down and listened to "Sometimes It Snows in April"? It’s a stark, acoustic track from the Under the Cherry Moon era. It’s devastating. It’s Prince at his most vulnerable, stripped of the LinnDrum machines and the screaming guitar solos.
Then there’s the guitar work.
People forget he was a virtuoso. They see the outfits and the dancing and they forget he could out-shred almost anyone on the planet. Look at the 2004 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame performance of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." He didn't just play a solo. He took the song over. He made George Harrison’s classic feel like it was just a warm-up for his own arrival. And then? He threw the guitar into the air and it never came down. Seriously. Watch the footage. It just vanishes.
That’s the kind of myth-making that follows him.
- Controversy (1981): This is where he found his voice. It's jittery. It's political. It's hyper-sexual.
- Dirty Mind (1980): Recorded mostly in a home studio, this album sounds like a demo in the best way possible. It’s punk-funk.
- The Gold Experience (1995): People ignore his 90s stuff because of the legal battles with Warner Bros, but "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" and "Gold" are top-tier songwriting.
The Myth of the Vault
For decades, we’ve heard about "The Vault." A climate-controlled room at Paisley Park filled with thousands of hours of unreleased music. Since his passing in 2016, we’ve started to see some of it. The 17 Days piano and microphone sessions? Breathtaking. The Welcome 2 America album that sat on a shelf for a decade? Relevant as hell.
The best part? We've probably only heard about 5% of what’s in there.
He was writing and recording a song a day at his peak. Imagine that level of output. Most artists struggle to write ten good songs every two years. Prince was discarding masterpieces because they didn't fit the "vibe" of the month. He was his own worst critic and his own biggest fan.
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How to actually listen to Prince in 2026
Streaming has changed things. It used to be hard to find his stuff because he hated the internet. He sued fans for using his likeness. He pulled his music from YouTube. He wanted total control. Now, everything is a click away. But don't just put on a "This Is Prince" playlist.
You gotta listen to the albums.
Start with 1999. It’s the bridge between his early disco-funk and the global domination that followed. Then move to Parade. It’s sophisticated. It’s weird. It’s got "Kiss," but it also has "Mountains" and "Sometimes It Snows in April." It shows the range.
If you want the grit, go for The Black Album. It was so dark and funky that Prince actually pulled it from release right before it hit shelves, claiming it was "evil." It became the most bootlegged album in history until it finally got an official release in the 90s. It’s basically a masterclass in bass-heavy groove.
What we get wrong about the "Best of"
We tend to categorize him as "R&B" or "Pop." He was both. And neither. He was a rock star who loved Joni Mitchell as much as he loved James Brown. He was a jazz enthusiast who could write a bubblegum pop hit for The Bangles ("Manic Monday") or Sinead O'Connor ("Nothing Compares 2 U").
His "best" isn't a genre. It’s a feeling of absolute freedom.
He didn't care about trends. When the world was going grunge in the early 90s, he was making hip-hop-influenced funk with the New Power Generation. When the world went digital, he went back to analog. He was always out of step, which is why his music never sounds dated. A song like "7" or "Sexy M.F." sounds just as strange and fresh today as it did thirty years ago.
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Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Prince Fan
If you're ready to go beyond the surface, here is how you should actually dive into the catalog.
First, skip the "Greatest Hits" discs for a week. They are too curated. Instead, find a high-quality copy of the Purple Rain Deluxe Edition. Listen to the "Vault Tracks" on the second disc. Specifically, "Electric Intercourse." It’s a ballad that was cut from the movie, and it’s arguably better than half the songs that made it.
Second, watch the concerts. Prince was a live performer first. The Sign o' the Times concert film is essential viewing. It’s not just a concert; it’s a theatrical experience. You’ll see him switch from drums to guitar to piano without breaking a sweat. It explains his greatness better than any essay ever could.
Third, look at the credits. He wrote "Stand Back" for Stevie Nicks (and played the uncredited synthesizers on it). He wrote for Chaka Khan. He mentored Sheila E. The "best" of his work is often found in the songs he gave away to others.
Prince was a once-in-a-century talent. He was small in stature but loomed over the entire music industry like a giant. To find his best work, you have to be willing to get a little lost in the weeds of his discography. You have to be willing to listen to a B-side from 1982 that sounds like it was recorded on a different planet. Because usually, it was.
Go listen to "Joy in Repetition" right now. It’s a deep cut from Graffiti Bridge. It builds and builds until the guitar solo feels like it’s going to tear your speakers apart. That is Prince. That is the best he ever was. Pure, unmithesized emotion captured in a dark studio in the middle of a Minnesota winter.
To truly understand the sonic evolution of his work, compare the dry, stripped-back production of Dirty Mind with the lush, orchestral arrangements on Diamonds and Pearls. You will see an artist who refused to stand still. He was a master of the "Minneapolis Sound," but he spent his whole life trying to escape it.
Start with the 1982-1988 era. It is the undisputed "gold standard." But don't sleep on the early 90s. There's a reason he was the only person who could challenge Michael Jackson for the throne. He didn't just want to be a star; he wanted to be the sun. And for a long time, he was.
Next Steps for Your Journey:
- Stream the Sign o' the Times Remastered Super Deluxe edition—specifically the live show from Utrecht.
- Track down a copy of the Small Club bootleg (1988) to hear him play late-night blues-infused funk in a tiny venue.
- Read The Beautiful Ones, his unfinished memoir, to understand the childhood that fueled his obsessive need to create.