Despite the shoddy output we've seen from Prince during the past decade, nothing can erase the fact that the man's an absolute genius. Early in his hit-making career, he found himself in the extremely rare position of being allowed to innovate while still receiving massive airplay. With "When Doves Cry," he removed the bassline and redefined funk in inimitable terms. Songs like "Dirty Mind," "Kiss," and "1999" contributed a completely alien sound to our Top 40 catalog-- one that incorporated elements of countless genres while defying classification. And, if "Little Red Corvette" isn't the most clever, subversive, and popular song about pussy ever, I'll be goddamned.

Prince was so ahead the 80's-- such a beguiling and often downright frightening persona-- that he should have never been embraced by anything even remotely resembling the masses. But he was. Alternately media shy and voracious for press, Prince was the picture of arrogance; even Morris Day's on-stage ritual of having women hold up mirrors so he could fix his hair had nothing on the man. Prince is the type of guy who, instead of grinning and bearing the ludicrous scene, sucked a lollipop and rolled his eyes through a USA for Africa reunion at the Grammys a few years ago. He may have been justified for his silent protest of the nauseating rendition of "We Are The World," but that didn't make him seem like any less of a cock.

And though he has occasionally made fun of himself in the past, one gets the impression that he'd hate Dump's tribute to him, the 12-song That Skinny Motherfucker with the High Voice? The title comes from the Black Album track "Bob George," in which Prince took the role of a bad-ass, altered his voice so it was decidedly lower, and asked, "U seeing that rich motherfucker again/ What's his name? Bob?/ Bob, ain't that a bitch?/ What's he do for a living?/ Manage rock stars?/ Who?/ Prince?/ Ain't that a bitch?/ That skinny motherfucker with the high voice?" This kind of mocking should generally be reserved only for oneself and one's closest friends. There's no doubt that James McNew of Yo La Tengo (aka Dump) doesn't know Prince personally, but the fact that he chose to reiterate such an epithet in the title, to poke light fun at Prince, is fine.

It's acceptable because the album's 12 tracks aren't making fun of Prince at all; they're revering him. One's reservations about hearing 12 Prince renditions done by a white guy on an eight-track are dispelled during the first track, a sedate take on "1999." It's an understated, quiet revamp that features only a drum track and Farfisa (courtesy of Stereolab's Morgane Lhote). If Prince was dreaming when he wrote "1999," McNew's delivery suggests that he hasn't yet woken up.

McNew finds similar success on "Raspberry Beret," which retains the tempo of the original but turns the guitar reverb way up. Though he's not quite the spaz that Prince is, McNew is convincing nonetheless, with his sincere aw-shucks delivery. "Pop Life" is wistfully strummed on the guitar, and McNew sounds like he's admitting, rather than proclaiming the lines, "Everybody can't be on top/ Life it ain't real funky/ Unless it's got that pop."

James McNew strays from solely covering hits to obscure territory, once again reinforcing a genuine admiration. "How Come U Don't Call Me Anymore" (originally the b-side of "1999") is no longer a bluesy, piano ballad; it's a lighthearted solo acoustic number that finds even more sadness in its irony. Purple Rain's non-single, "The Beautiful Ones," bares similar drum programming and hazy guitar, and even finds McNew switching into a falsetto register. McNew usually doesn't attempt to mimic Prince's squeals and yelps, but this particular ballad could be done no other way. McNew was smart enough to realize this, and even smarter to pull it off.

The album's best track is McNew's take on an early Prince single, "When U Were Mine." McNew sings in his lowest possible register over more fuzzy guitars and shimmery, chiming keyboards (that sound a lot like the Bangles' Prince-penned hit, "Manic Monday"). It's full and dulcet, making McNew's downtrodden take on the lyrics, "I know that u're going with another guy/ I don't care, 'cause I love u, baby/ That's no lie/ I love u more than I did when u were mine," even more heartbreaking than Prince's originally delivery.

There's no doubt that the album works so well because of its brilliantly conceived source material. When McNew veers to far from Prince's original vision, though, the disaster that could have been That Skinny Motherfucker with the High Voice? is realized. McNew's take on "Erotic City" is jarring lo-fi indie thrash that aims for obtuseness and goes overboard. Additionally, McNew doesn't have the swagger to pull off lines like, "We could fuck until the dawn/ Making love till cherry's gone/ Erotic City, can't you see?/ Fuck so pretty u and me," a tenth as effectively as Prince did.

Even so, That Skinny Motherfucker with the High Voice? is impossibly successful overall, with eminent arrangements and usually flawless execution. Previously available in cassette form with five fewer tracks, it sold out soon after it was initially released in 1998. Luckily, Shrimper decided to release it to a (slightly) wider audience. If it were up to Prince, himself, though, it would likely have never been made; he's now petitioning for a law that would stop artists from recording already copyrighted material. In a recent post on his official website, Prince even wrote, "I have a problem with people who had nothing 2 do with the creation of my life's work making $ from it." Perhaps, then, McNew should have not directly quoted the man for the title, but settled on something more honest: The Crotchety Motherfucker with the Waning Fanbase.

-Richard M. Juzwiak