Faith & Reflection: Voices from the Black Church and Beyond
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(ThyBlackMan.com) When most people think of Prince, their minds immediately go to the global hits—”Purple Rain,” “When Doves Cry,” “1999,” and “Kiss.” And fair enough—those songs helped shape pop culture. But if you’ve ever taken the time to really dig through his discography, you already know there’s so much more to Prince than the radio ever let on. Behind the hits is a sprawling universe of deep cuts, B-sides, and album tracks that show Prince as a boundary-pushing, genre-defying genius.
Some of his most rewarding songs are the ones that didn’t top the charts. These are the tracks where he let down the commercial guard, got weird, got honest, got spiritual, or just plain got free. Whether it was through hypnotic grooves, political edge, or aching vulnerability, these songs reveal an artist who never stopped evolving. If you’ve only scratched the surface, it’s time to dive deeper.
So here’s a personal selection—7 lesser-known Prince songs that are absolutely worth your time. Each one brings something fresh, and they still hit hard today—whether you’re looking for inspiration, introspection, or just a reminder of how far ahead of the curve Prince always was.
1. “All the Critics Love U in New York”
Buried within the ambitious double album 1999, “All the Critics Love U in New York” stands out as a minimalist, electro-funk experiment that Prince might have plucked from a futuristic dance floor. Built around a hypnotic synth loop, squelching bass lines, and a robotic vocal delivery, this track predicted the rise of electroclash and downtown art-rock years ahead of its time. There’s a pulse here that mirrors New York’s grittiness and its avant-garde scene, and Prince captures it all with biting irony and a wink.
The lyrics themselves form a stream-of-consciousness commentary on trendsetting, narcissism, and urban self-importance. “You can dance if you want to / All the critics love U in New York” is delivered with detached amusement, as if Prince is both mocking and celebrating the art world’s need for constant reinvention. It’s a song made for those who live for the edges—where style matters more than substance, and originality is often just eccentricity wrapped in attitude.
What’s most fascinating is how sonically stripped-down the track is, allowing its sharp lyrical barbs and synthetic textures to take center stage. There are no lush harmonies, no stadium-filling hooks—just repetition and groove. This skeletal approach makes the track timelessly cool and endlessly remixable, anticipating not just the techno-pop of the early 2000s but the indie-electronic movements that would blossom in Brooklyn and Berlin decades later.
Listen to it today with headphones on, preferably late at night. Let the groove sink in and you might just see the neon glow of 1980s New York reflected in your own room. It’s Prince the provocateur, pushing limits with synthetic style—a track that dares you to feel smart just for listening to it.
2. “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker”
On the critically acclaimed Sign o’ the Times, one of the quieter yet most intriguing tracks is “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker.” Named after the famous American writer known for her wit and melancholy, the song tells the story of an encounter between Prince and a woman at a diner, using sparse instrumentation and surreal lyrics to create a dreamlike atmosphere. It’s moody, jazzy, and effortlessly cool—like a noir novel written in synth lines.
The recording itself is an anomaly. Due to a studio malfunction, the final take ended up missing its usual high-end clarity. But Prince kept it. That lo-fi sound actually works in the track’s favor, making it feel like something recovered from a smoky cassette tape, a private confessional never meant for mainstream ears. The snares sound dusty, the keyboards slightly muted, and Prince’s vocals intimate—just shy of a whisper, like he’s letting you in on a secret.
Lyrically, the song walks a strange but charming tightrope between flirtation, surrealism, and philosophical musing. Dorothy is seductive and strange—offering bubble baths, throwing out cryptic lines, and disrupting the traditional power dynamic. Prince is vulnerable here, unsure, fascinated. There’s no dramatic arc; it’s a mood piece, a vibe suspended in midair. The conversation between them feels half-real and half-symbolic, like a Lynchian dream that might dissolve if you listen too closely.
In a time when lo-fi and experimental R&B are thriving, this track could easily find a home on a playlist next to Frank Ocean or Solange. It shows Prince not just as a performer but as a sonic novelist—a master of atmosphere and story who knew how to create characters and worlds within the space of a few bars.
3. “Anna Stesia”
Prince’s Lovesexy album is often misunderstood—too spiritual for pop, too sensual for gospel, and too layered for quick consumption. But it holds some of his most personal and transformative music, with “Anna Stesia” as its glowing centerpiece. The track is a spiritual cry for help, a confessional, and a redemptive anthem all wrapped into one. It’s not just one of Prince’s best lesser-known songs—it’s one of his most emotionally honest.
The song begins with a sparse piano riff and raw vocals. There’s no grand entrance, just vulnerability. Prince sounds stripped down, emotionally exposed. “Have U ever been so lonely that U felt like U were the only one in this world?”—it’s not just a question, it’s an invitation to feel with him. He’s not singing to the audience—he’s speaking to the divine, to the self, and to anyone who’s ever sat in that same kind of isolation.
But “Anna Stesia” doesn’t wallow. It builds. Like a soul finding its footing again, the track gradually fills out with layered synths, echoing vocals, and a triumphant melody. By the time Prince chants, “God is love, love is God,” the track has transformed into a spiritual crescendo, echoing gospel without mimicking it. This is no religious cliché—it’s a revelation born from struggle.
In today’s hyper-performative culture, where vulnerability is often curated for clicks, “Anna Stesia” remains refreshing in its sincerity. It’s the song you turn to in the dark night of the soul—and it’s also the light that pulls you through it. Prince was many things, but in “Anna Stesia,” he’s simply human, reaching for something higher.
4. “Joy in Repetition”
From the Graffiti Bridge soundtrack—a project overshadowed by its mixed critical reception—comes one of Prince’s deepest cuts: “Joy in Repetition.” It’s a spiritual cousin to songs like “The Ballad of Dorothy Parker” and “Condition of the Heart,” where narrative and emotion become inseparable. But this track goes further—it’s about obsession, transcendence, and how routine can become revelatory.
The story is deceptively simple. Prince walks into a club and sees a woman onstage singing the same song over and over. Instead of finding it dull, he’s entranced. “There’s joy in repetition,” he notes, with a tone that’s part revelation, part surrender. The repeated act of performance becomes a ritual, and the woman—unnamed, mysterious—becomes an almost divine figure through her dedication to her art.
Musically, the track is subdued but spellbinding. A smooth guitar riff loops like a mantra, the groove never breaks, and Prince’s voice hovers between spoken word and hushed singing. There’s a meditative quality to it all. The repetition itself becomes the message—how beauty is often found in the act of returning to something, again and again, until it transcends its own form.
Today, in a world of instant gratification and endless distraction, “Joy in Repetition” serves as a powerful reminder of presence. Whether you’re meditating, painting, working out, or writing, there’s something sacred about showing up to the same task again and again. Prince channels that energy into a hypnotic masterpiece that’s best experienced with eyes closed and soul open.
5. “The Love We Make”
After years of feuding with Warner Bros. and releasing music under the infamous unpronounceable symbol, Emancipation was Prince’s triumphant return to autonomy. Across the three-disc set, Prince explores every musical terrain imaginable—but “The Love We Make” stands out for its spiritual urgency and heartbreaking humanity. While never explicitly confirmed, many believe the track was born out of Prince’s grief following the tragic death of his infant son, Amiir. Regardless of its exact origins, the emotional weight carried in this track is unmistakable.
The song opens with a slow, solemn progression—almost like a dirge. Its piano-led introduction quickly gives way to warm gospel textures, with a subtle organ swell, choral harmonies, and Prince’s guitar crying out in restrained agony. His voice isn’t grandiose here—it’s broken, searching, but resolute. “It’s the only love there is / Is the love we make,” he sings, like someone clinging to that phrase for survival. This isn’t a pop lyric—it’s a life lesson.
As the track progresses, it swells emotionally and sonically, building toward a cathartic crescendo that blurs the line between sermon and song. The choir rises, the instrumentation becomes more urgent, and Prince channels the pain into praise. He doesn’t just mourn—he transforms loss into a mission of love, a message of compassion that dares to imagine something greater on the other side of sorrow.
“The Love We Make” is a healing balm. In moments of personal grief or collective tragedy, it stands tall as one of Prince’s most meaningful spiritual declarations. It’s not often that popular music allows space for grieving fathers or wounded souls to process through art. Here, Prince gives that moment to the world. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s absolutely essential.
6. “Muse 2 the Pharaoh”
By the early 2000s, Prince had entered a new creative and philosophical era—The Rainbow Children was its manifesto. Often polarizing due to its overt spiritual themes and complex storytelling, the album showcases Prince’s jazzier, freer musical sensibilities. And right in the center of it all is “Muse 2 the Pharaoh,” a deceptively smooth track that radiates historical pride, sensual reverence, and spiritual awakening.
From the first fluttering flute and upright bassline, “Muse 2 the Pharaoh” feels unlike anything else in Prince’s discography. It’s jazzy, yes, but also playful and mysterious. The arrangement feels alive—like a jam session in a smoky underground café where the players are tuned in to something greater than themselves. The percussion dances with light touches, while Prince’s falsetto floats like incense, wrapping the listener in curiosity.
Lyrically, the track weaves together ideas of sacred femininity, Black royalty, and metaphysical insight. The “muse” in question isn’t just a lover—she’s an embodiment of knowledge, legacy, and divine purpose. Prince references hieroglyphics, ancient prophecy, and liberation theology without becoming didactic. He delivers the message through groove and metaphor, inviting the listener into a more expansive conversation about identity and spiritual alignment.
And yet, even with its abstract framework, the song is never inaccessible. It grooves. It swings. It seduces. It’s part love letter, part philosophical lecture, part history lesson. In the era of artists like Erykah Badu, Janelle Monáe, and Kendrick Lamar who fuse spirituality with political commentary, “Muse 2 the Pharaoh” sounds right at home. It’s Prince digging deep into the sacred and emerging with funk. For those willing to listen closely, it’s a revelation.
7. “Colonized Mind”
“Colonized Mind” is one of Prince’s most underrated protest songs—fierce in content, stripped in arrangement, and fiery in spirit. Released as part of his 2009 Lotusflow3r project, the track echoes the blues-rock ethos of his guitar-driven idols while delivering one of the most unflinching lyrical critiques of systemic oppression and mental enslavement ever recorded in his career.
The track begins with a slow, heavy, almost sludge-like blues riff that feels like it could have been ripped from a Cream or Hendrix session. There’s dirt in the strings, grit in the rhythm, and anger simmering just below the surface. Prince’s guitar tone is raw, distorted, and unapologetic. It’s a sonic punch to the chest—and it’s deliberate. He doesn’t want the message to go down easy.
Lyrically, “Colonized Mind” is blunt, poetic, and philosophical all at once. “Upload the evolution principle / You see a rock on the shore and say,” he warns, invoking the way power manipulates truth and education. He calls out indoctrination, corporate control, racial injustice, and even the passive consumption of lies. This isn’t Prince the entertainer—it’s Prince the freedom fighter. He’s not interested in subtlety; he wants you awake, uncomfortable, and inspired to question everything.
What elevates the song even more is its timing. Released during a period of global disillusionment and economic collapse, “Colonized Mind” was ahead of its time in anticipating conversations around decolonization, white supremacy, and spiritual reclamation. In 2020 and beyond, its message grew louder as movements like Black Lives Matter gained global momentum.
“Colonized Mind” is a slow burn, meant to simmer long after the music fades. It’s not a radio single—it’s a revolutionary prayer wrapped in six-string fire. Prince was always political, but here he’s urgent, prophetic, and bold. If you ever needed proof that he was still pushing boundaries well into his later years, this track is Exhibit A.
Prince was never content with being predictable. He challenged the industry, defied genre labels, and always stayed about five steps ahead of everyone else. And while the world will always sing along to “Purple Rain” and dance to “Let’s Go Crazy,” it’s in these lesser-known songs where you really start to hear the full scope of his artistry.
These tracks might not have been hits, but they’re rich with meaning, sound experiments, vulnerability, and sharp insight. Some of them feel like secret messages, tucked away for the fans who were willing to listen a little closer. Whether you’re just discovering them or revisiting them with fresh ears, they offer something rare: timeless music that still speaks truth.
Take your time with these songs. Let them unfold. Because if Prince taught us anything, it’s that the deepest cuts often leave the most lasting mark.
Staff Writer; Jamar Jackson
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