Back in 1982 when he wrote "1999," Prince was the party king. Hawking erotic fantasies set to slinky beats, he wore G-strings onstage and gyrated atop a four-poster bed. Offstage, he prowled through the wee hours with exotic beauties named Vanity and Cat and romanced a cluster of celeb girlfriends that included Sheena Easton and Kim Basinger. But that was last century. Drop in on him these days and it's almost like the guy, by comparison, has gone Amish—he's partying like it's 1899.

Although the famously eccentric pop star still plays the role to the hilt onstage—as anyone who saw his pay-per-view-performance on New Year's Eve will attest—the now 41-year-old Artist Formerly Known as Prince Rogers Nelson says he is a one-woman homebody. He enjoys such pedestrian pursuits as watching TV (Politically Incorrect is one of his favorite shows), cruising in his purple Plymouth Prowler, playing pool and, yes, bowling. He's a frequent visitor at a neighborhood alley. "He's an excellent bowler," says Larry Graham, the former Sly and the Family Stone bassist who is a regular companion. "He gets almost all strikes."

The singer, who bewildered fans by having his name changed to an unpronounceable symbol in 1993, is even warming up to his old moniker again. "I'm still Prince," he told Larry King last month while promoting his new album, Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic, which credits "Prince" as producer. "I just use a different sound for my name, which is none."

At least he has a name for where he lives and records. Greeting a guest at Paisley Park, the recording studio and living quarters located in the suburb of Chanhassen, Minn., 17 miles west of Minneapolis, where he grew up, he dresses like a sultan in a burgundy top and trousers, with a matching scarf wrapped around his head. Striding in high-heel boots across marble floors, past trompe l'oeil waterfalls and purple columns, The Artist meets a visitor in a spacious conference room. Nearby, four white doves fluttering in their cages are reminders of one of their keeper's larger hits, "When Doves Cry," from the 1984 Oscar-winning song score Purple Rain. Right now the birds are bawling—no doubt because the palace cat, Saya, has once again jumped on a cage to peer longingly inside. Fortunately, chances are slim The Artist's Yorkshire terrier, Mia, would join in the hijinks. After the two had a "talk," he says, "I looked her in the eyes and I could tell: She understands me."

That few people understand his peculiar declarations matters little to The Artist, who told Larry King that he intended his apocalyptic "1999" to be "something that gave hope." Whatever his reasons for writing the tune, which has since become an end-of-century anthem, he promises that his New Year's show will be "the last time I play this song. After this party, there's no need to play it again."

Still, he won't have trouble filling a playlist. A prolific pop-music renaissance man (he writes, performs and produces his songs, and often plays each instrument on the track), Prince signed with Warner Bros. Records in 1978. The relationship unraveled in 1993 when he began feeling neglected by the company. The following year, he began performing with the word "slave" scrawled on his face. "The predicament was draining me," he says now. "I never felt I went overboard writing 'slave' on my face. I got physically sick."

He rebounded in 1996 when he fulfilled his Warner Bros, contract and married Mayte Garcia, now 26, a Puerto Rican-born dancer. But they suffered a life-changing tragedy when, that October, their only child, Boy Gregory, died seven days after his birth from Pfeiffer Syndrome Type II, a rare skeletal disorder. "That was a very painful period," says The Artist's close friend and business partner L. Londell McMillan. "We were all very prayerful through it. It taught him a lot about how vulnerable we are."

Another seismic shift followed in January 1999, when the couple decided to end their formal union. "We annulled our marriage contract, not our bond," The Artist says, adding that the two remain very much in love. "Mayte is gorgeous, and after we got married, if a guy put his arm around her, I got jealous and tense. And she was taken aback. All this because of the word 'wife.' I would tell myself, 'I don't need to be tripping. She's not your "wife." She's a child of God.' "

Now, while Mayte spends much, of her time at the couple's palatial home in Marbella, Spain, where she is starting a dance school, the two see one another often. The annulment "has improved our relationship immensely," says The Artist, who enjoys his single-guy time in Minnesota, where he rehearses his band daily and unwinds by shooting baskets on his home hoop. "He's got a great jump shot," Graham says. "I've seen him whoop up on tall guys."

Steve Dougherty
Karen Schneider in Chanhassen

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