By 1996, Prince’s battle with Warner Bros. had reached a boiling point. He had written “Slave” across his cheek, declared that “Prince” was dead, and was releasing music at a furious pace in an attempt to burn through his contract. Just months after The Gold Experience proved he could still create a masterpiece, he dropped Chaos and Disorder, a lean, 39-minute album that felt more like a middle finger than a grand artistic statement.

Prince himself dismissed the project, calling it “originally intended 4 private use only,” and refused to promote it. No tour, no music videos (save for the odd “Dinner with Delores” clip), and only a small push from Warner. Critics at the time wrote it off as a contractual throwaway. But listening closely, Chaos and Disorder has its own charm: a rough, guitar-driven, sarcastic collection that reveals Prince at his rawest.

By the mid-1990s, Prince was in open rebellion. He had changed his name to the unpronounceable Love Symbol, branded himself “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” and written “Slave” on his cheek to protest Warner Bros.’ control of his masters. In 1994, he released Come as the “last Prince album,” a dark and brooding project he all but disowned. But the very next year, he unveiled The Gold Experience, the first full album under the Symbol identity.

If Come was the funeral, The Gold Experience was the rebirth. Brimming with funk jams, soaring ballads, political anthems, and rock explosions, it proved that Prince was still operating at the height of his creative powers.

In August 1994, Prince released Come, an album shrouded in tension, ambiguity, and rebellion. By this time, Prince had entered open conflict with Warner Bros. Records, publicly declaring that his birth name was no longer his identity and adopting the unpronounceable Love Symbol instead. He shaved the word “Slave” into his face and staged the “death of Prince” in press images, going so far as to superimpose his portrait onto a tombstone for the album’s cover art. The inscription read:

Prince, 1958–1993. May he rest in peace.

For Prince, Come was not just another release — it was a funeral. He declared it the “last Prince album,” made to fulfill a contractual obligation, even as he poured his true creative energy into the parallel project The Gold Experience. Yet dismissing Come as a throwaway would be a mistake. Beneath the shadow of label politics lies a dark, moody, and daring collection that reflects Prince at a crossroads, balancing erotic obsessions with meditations on mortality.

The Trial of Tomorrow is a 10 track rock-opera set in a world where justice no longer waits for the past. It examines a society ruled by certainty, where choices are weighed before they are made, and lives are judged by the shadows they might one day cast.

At its core, this is the story of an ordinary man who finds himself trapped inside extraordinary machinery — a system that does not ask what have you done? but what will you do! His journey is one of accusation, silence, and survival, as those closest to him are drawn into the struggle between truth and inevitability.

Across three sweeping movements, the play unfolds as a battle of wills: between human voices and mechanical whispers, between memory and prophecy, between love and fear. Testimonies become weapons, numbers become sentences, and freedom itself is put on trial.

The piece blends intimate family drama with grand, operatic spectacle. Sparse spotlights reveal raw emotion, while explosive choruses erupt like thunder. Every act asks a question that echoes beyond the stage: can we remain human in a world that defines us before we speak, before we act, before we choose?

The Trial of Tomorrow is not only a story — it is an experience. A meditation on power, probability, and the fragile line between safety and freedom. It is a mirror turned toward an audience, reflecting the cost of certainty and the enduring mystery of human will.

To download and listen to all 10 tracks visit us online at KJDMusic.com. Here now is track 1 of The Trial of Tomorrow.

By the early 1990s, Prince was in the midst of another reinvention. The 1980s had seen him rise from cult funk innovator to global superstar, with Purple Rain (1984) cementing his place in pop history and Sign o’ the Times (1987) proving his artistry was peerless. But by 1990, Prince faced a challenge: how to remain relevant in a shifting musical landscape dominated by hip-hop, New Jack Swing, and emerging pop trends.

His answer came in the form of Diamonds and Pearls (1991), the first studio album credited to Prince and the New Power Generation (NPG). It marked a fresh chapter, introducing a new band, a more polished sound, and a conscious embrace of contemporary R&B and hip-hop. Released on October 1, 1991, the record became one of Prince’s biggest commercial successes of the decade, spawning multiple hit singles and returning him to the top of the charts.

This review examines Diamonds and Pearls in its full context: the background that led to it, a track-by-track look at the songs, and a critical assessment of its place in Prince’s catalog.

By 1990, Prince had done it all — conquered arenas with Purple Rain (1984), delivered a socially conscious masterpiece in Sign o’ the Times (1987), and scored a blockbuster tie-in with Batman (1989). But he wasn’t done pushing boundaries. His next project, Graffiti Bridge, was both a film and an album — meant to serve as a spiritual sequel to Purple Rain.

Released on August 20, 1990, Music from Graffiti Bridge was a sprawling, 17-track set that mixed funk, pop, gospel, and social commentary. While the accompanying film flopped, the album itself is packed with gems — a mix of Prince’s brilliance and his occasional overreach.

This review takes a deep look at the album, song by song, and considers how it fits into Prince’s career and legacy.

When Tim Burton’s Batman hit theaters in the summer of 1989, the movie was a cultural phenomenon. But alongside Danny Elfman’s now-iconic orchestral score came another soundtrack — a full-length Prince album inspired by Gotham City. Simply titled Batman, it wasn’t just a tie-in. It was a concept album where Prince slipped into the personas of Batman, the Joker, and Gotham’s citizens, creating a funky, theatrical companion to the film.

Released on June 20, 1989, Batman topped the Billboard 200, went double platinum, and gave Prince one of his biggest hits in years with “Batdance.” But while it was commercially successful, it has long divided critics and fans. Some see it as an eccentric detour, others as an overlooked gem of character-driven songwriting.

Here’s a track-by-track review of Prince’s Batman — an album that’s equal parts strange, brilliant, and entertaining.

By the spring of 1988, Prince was at another crossroads. Just one year earlier, he had released Sign o’ the Times, a double album many hailed as his masterpiece. Rather than bask in the acclaim, Prince immediately dove into new projects. One of them was The Black Album, a raw, dark, and funky set that was slated for release in late 1987. But at the last minute, Prince pulled it, claiming it was “evil” and a product of a negative state of mind.

What emerged instead was Lovesexy, released on May 10, 1988. Where The Black Album had been shadowy and hedonistic, Lovesexy was bright, spiritual, and celebratory. It was Prince’s attempt at redemption — a joyful, funk-filled exploration of temptation, faith, and the battle between light and dark.

The making of Lovesexy reflected Prince’s restless creativity. Recorded primarily at his home studio, Paisley Park, the album blended gospel, funk, pop, and psychedelic flourishes. The Revolution was gone; this was Prince leading a new band, but still playing most of the instruments himself.

The record was daring in another way: its cover, featuring a nude Prince surrounded by flowers, was provocative and controversial. It symbolized rebirth but also led to some retailers refusing to stock it. Despite this, Lovesexy remains one of his most fascinating and misunderstood works.