Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine
Prince cultivated a reputation as a powerhouse concert attraction in the early 1980s, but he spent decades avoiding the release of a live album. The closest he came to an official live document were home videos and the 1987 concert movie Sign 'O' the Times, which was filmed just after he disbanded the Revolution, the band that supported him during his phenomenal rise during the '80s. He didn't release a live album until 2002, when he effectively was in a bit of self-imposed exile from the pop mainstream. After the Clive Davis-shepherded Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic failed to become Supernatural, Part 2, Prince turned to the jazz/gospel fusion The Rainbow Children, an album he effectively was promoting during the One Nite Alone tour. While he didn't avoid secular material on this 2002 tour, take his warning of "For those of you expecting to get your 'Purple Rain' on, you're in the wrong house" to heart: this isn't the rock & roll Revolution, it's the jazz-funk incarnation of the New Power Generation, one who sprinkles in snippets of chestnuts between extended new jams. The band is certainly fine -- tight, lithe, and eager to follow the leader down his detours -- and their sound is invigorating, at least for a little while. The performances quickly become exhausting. Prince treats his older, better tunes as inconveniences and he's so committed to his new direction, he doesn't bother meeting his audience at a halfway point.

These problems are lessened on One Nite Alone…The Aftershow, where Prince intentionally pushes New Power Generation -- along with guests George Clinton and Musiq Soulchild -- into carnal territory. Here, the older tunes are sometimes turned inside out -- the original structure to "Girls & Boys" is treated like a suggestion, "Alphabet Street" is hurried through at double time -- which makes it an interesting listen, even if the flashy professionalism of NPG manages to be a bit exhausting. The band doesn't support Prince on One Nite Alone…(Solo Piano and Voice by Prince), but the half-hour collection feels scattered and unfocused, as if Prince was writing the songs as he was singing them. Comparing this to the archival release Piano & A Microphone 1983 -- which contains a similar format, plus another cover of Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You" -- is instructive, as the earlier recording feels intimate and relaxed; this just feels disparate, as if Prince was working through his ideas and demons in hopes of getting somewhere better.