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Ten years after Prince’s death, friends and collaborators such as George Clinton, Apollonia Kotero and drummer Charles “Chazz” Smith share personal memories that illuminate his musical brilliance and private life.George Clinton, the legendary leader of Parliament‑Funkadelic, remembers meeting the 19‑year‑old Prince in 1977 and immediately recognizing a talent “a new version of Sly Stone.” Clinton praised Prince’s ability to master guitar, keyboards, bass and drums, noting his “arranging genius” inherited from his pianist father and his dance flair “like James Brown.” Clinton also recalled how Prince later signed him to Paisley Park Records and inducted him into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, cementing a friendship that survived countless late‑night studio sessions.Apollonia Kotero, actress and singer who starred alongside Prince in the 1984 film Purple Rain, describes a bond that spanned 33 years. She recounts the grueling shoot—jumping into a freezing lake, suffering hypothermia, and Prince’s frantic plea, “Please don’t die, Apple. I love you.” Their relationship, she says, was “family, not romance,” and Prince’s protective nature shone when he cared for her during illness. Kotero also recalls a surreal moment when Prince hummed the opening melody of “When Doves Cry” into her answerphone, urging her “Don’t erase this!” as a reminder of his creative process.Beyond the studio, Kotero notes Prince’s voracious appetite for literature and politics, his 3 a.m. visits that turned into midnight drives across Hollywood, and his habit of showing her walls plastered with fan mail—a testament to his deep connection with his audience.Charles “Chazz” Smith, Prince’s cousin and original drummer in the early band Grand Central, paints a picture of Prince’s childhood obsession with music. After a spontaneous Sly and the Family Stone concert in Minneapolis, Prince declared, “We’re gonna form a band, and you’re gonna be the drummer.” Within weeks, a newly gifted guitar allowed him to replicate Santana’s “Black Magic Woman” note for note, signalling the start of an insatiable drive to master every genre—from rock to funk to ballads.In the final months of his life, Prince’s friends observed a shift. He reclaimed the rights to his catalog in 2014, began repaying debts, and expressed grief over the death of Vanity, his longtime muse. Smith recalls a poignant encounter six weeks before Prince’s passing: after a brief hug, they exchanged the words “I love you,” marking the last conversation they ever shared.These testimonies collectively reveal a portrait of Prince that goes beyond his public persona: a relentless virtuoso, a compassionate confidant, and an artist whose influence continues to reverberate a decade after his untimely death.

Afika Bambaataa, the Bronx‑born architect of modern hip‑hop, passed away at age 67 in Philadelphia early Thursday morning, with officials citing complications from cancer as the cause of death. The Hip‑Hop Alliance, chaired by veteran rapper Kurtis Blow, released a statement honoring Bambaataa’s role as a founding figure of the culture. The group praised his creation of the Universal Zulu Nation, which promoted the movement’s core values of peace, unity, love and fun, while also acknowledging the complexity of his legacy in light of recent abuse allegations. During the 1980s, Bambaataa helped define the sound of hip‑hop, most notably with the 1982 electro‑funk anthem “Planet Rock”. The track, which sampled German pioneers Kraftwerk, positioned him at the forefront of a new musical frontier and led to collaborations with artists such as John Lydon, George Clinton and James Brown. Born Lance Taylor, he launched the Universal Zulu Nation in the late 1970s, drawing inspiration from DJ Kool Herc and the solidarity of South Africa’s Zulu people. This collective became a cultural hub that spread hip‑hop’s ethos worldwide. In the early 1980s Bambaataa also performed with the electronic group Ebn Ozn, further cementing his reputation as a bridge between American street culture and European synth‑pop. His work helped crystallize the electro‑funk genre that dominated clubs across the globe. His activist side emerged in 1985 when he joined Artists United Against Apartheid to produce the landmark protest single “Sun City.” The project featured a roster of high‑profile musicians—including Bob Dylan, Bono, Bruce Springsteen and Run‑DMC—united against South Africa’s apartheid regime. Throughout the 1990s and early 2000s Bambaataa continued to record, culminating in his final album, “Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light” (2004). While his musical output waned, his influence on subsequent generations of artists remained unmistakable. However, Bambaataa’s later years were marred by serious accusations. In 2016, several Bronx men alleged sexual misconduct, which he publicly dismissed as “baseless and cowardly.” A former bodyguard later claimed to have witnessed inappropriate behavior involving teenage boys. The allegations resurfaced in May 2025 when an anonymous plaintiff filed a civil suit alleging four years of abuse beginning in 1992. Bambaataa failed to appear in court, resulting in a default judgment against him. As the hip‑hop community mourns a foundational artist, it also confronts the enduring debate over how to reconcile his cultural contributions with the serious allegations that have come to define the final chapter of his public life.