Come (1994)
1. Come
2. Space
3. Pheromone
4. Loose!
5. Papa
6. Race
7. Dark
8. Solo
9. Letitgo
10.Orgasm
If there were ever a Prince album that screamed “contractual obligation,” this is probably it. Released more than a year after he famously shed the name “Prince” in favor of an unpronounceable symbol, Come still hit shelves with the old name slapped on the cover. Not that it was subtle—there’s a tombstone right on the front with the word “Prince” etched into it. Message received.
The problem is, the music inside doesn’t feel like a bold reinvention or a grand farewell. It feels like a filing cabinet getting dumped out. Yes, this is Prince we’re talking about, which means even his leftovers can sometimes sound more inspired than most artists' A-sides. But here, even his genius can’t disguise what sounds like a man clearing house. And doing so with a shrug.
To be fair, there are moments. Pheromone and Loose! provide a nice back-to-back jolt, the former with a seductive groove and the latter with a healthy dose of unhinged energy. Letitgo is another small gem—breezy, radio-friendly, and very listenable. But the good stuff is far too sparse, especially when stacked against what might be his most uneven and frustrating record to date.
The album opens with the title track Come, which clocks in at over eleven minutes—a move that would’ve felt audacious if the track had any business being that long. Instead, it meanders through bits and pieces of decent ideas that never coalesce into anything cohesive. By the time it ends, you’re not intrigued. You’re exhausted.
And then there’s Papa, a track that could’ve been an emotionally charged statement on abuse, but instead veers into a deeply uncomfortable spoken-word piece that’s more disturbing than it is musical. Worse still is the album closer, Orgasm. A minute and forty seconds of exactly what the title implies. There’s no metaphor, no deeper artistic point—just a sound collage that feels designed to provoke, and not in a good way. It’s the kind of track that makes you want to hit the “skip” button before anyone else in the room asks what you’re listening to.
The rest of the album plays like a mix of abandoned sketches and half-baked experiments. There are interesting flourishes here and there, but nothing really sticks. The songs often feel like they were abandoned mid-idea, left to fend for themselves without structure or purpose. It’s not that Prince couldn’t write great songs at this stage—it’s that he didn’t seem particularly interested in trying.
Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be a one-off. Come marks the beginning of a long stretch where Prince’s output became increasingly erratic and indulgent. There would still be great music, no question. But from here on out, every new album came with a question mark instead of an exclamation point (in addition that pesky symbol). And when the man himself wasn’t invested, it was hard for the rest of us to be either.
Go back to the main page
Go to the Next Review