The Prince gave the band a foot-stomp countdown, and then his guitar led them gently into a slow rhythm. He started with a couple high chords and let them stretch while the bass and percussion gently filled the space between. The song started out like the instruments were just going on a nice walk together, and the crowd walked right along with them, taking their cues from the Prince as he bobbed and swayed in his chair. He and the guitar were slow-dancing up there for a while before he finally started to sing.

A thick wake of country dust plumed up from the tires of the big Chevy in front of us. My headlights were breathing life into cloudy specters that flew angrily toward the windshield, banked wildly and disappeared into the darkness behind. The moon was just a sliver, ideal conditions for a night of rustic meditation. Meiss Road is a bumpy, unpaved trail to nowhere that shoots straight off a dogleg on the two-lane capillary that connects my small hometown to a country highway toward Sacramento. It’s a common stop for county kids returning from a night in the city, looking for a place to trip on the primitive darkness.