1999. This was supposed to be Prince’s year. The Crystal Ball set was a heavy stroke on the portrait of The Artist as an injudicious man. The culture’s horizon had returned to Europe: glorious and disposable pop and dance riddled the charts, and while Prince had only recently become disposable, he knew glory. But two labels helped to scotch his year. Less than three months before Rave, Warner Bros., dropped The Vault: Old Friends 4 Sale, a smash-and-grab compilation heavy on soul and absent of anything recorded in a half-decade. (Somehow, someone at Warner managed to get three singles greenlighted; a fourth, the sub-two minute piano rave-up “The Rest Of My Life,” was released in Japan.) And Prince’s current partner, Arista, was in thrall to a strategy that could be summarized as “…and friends.” “Smooth,” the leadoff single from Santana’s Supernatural, was in its third of twelve weeks at #1 when Rave was released. Industry legend Clive “Meat Loaf just didn’t look like a star” Davis whispered into Prince’s ear, and poof! Sheryl Crow, Ani DiFranco, Maceo Parker, Chuck D, Eve, and Gwen Stefani appeared.

To add to the intrigue, The Artist intimated that this would be his first record with someone else manning the console. It turns out he meant the record would be credited to the Love Symbol, but “Prince” was the producer, but if any of his post-dominance pop efforts could use some distancing, this is the one. The guests, generally, don’t intrude — DiFranco is consigned to acoustic duty on the ballad “I Love U, But I Don’t Trust U Anymore,” and while Crow gets to blow the harp on “Baby Knows,” her vocals could have been duplicated by any Paisley Park hanger-on — but the list of names reinforces the sense of bloat. Even the best cuts loiter instead of linger. Instead of a vintage spoken-word interlude, the slow-jam surrender “Man’O’War” rehashes the same lines over and over. The mincing “Undisputed” nods to the alley-cat growl of “When Doves Cry,” and it boasts a baroque breakdown and a solo that sounds like George Harrison in a NASA training tank, but its trendsetting boasts are undone by the same old Chuck D tags. The less said about his free-associative rap, etc. “The Greatest Romance Ever Sold” was a minor chart hit, but it seems to have been written from the seemingly-cynical title outward: a winning chorus surrounded by Latin/rococo mush.

Things are so bizarre, in fact, that for the only time in his discography, a cover is the highlight. Crow’s “Everyday Is A Winding Road” is converted from rootsy delight to coolly existential funk. The refrain becomes a high-stepping celebration; you can practically hear church bells. And the rewrites are absolutely precious. (Sample: “I’ve been living on compliments and herbal tea.”) “Hot Wit U” is summer-soaked, maybe a little bog-standard, but Eve’s guest turn marks the first time Prince allowed a thematic equal on record who wasn’t Morris Day. “I’m supposed 2 tremble cuz they call U ‘The Artist’?” she asks. “Treat U like a freak of the week and have U hiding from me.” Rave didn’t send Prince into hiding as such, but there was no tour to support the record. While Larry Graham preached the gospel of the Witnesses, 2000’s Hit N Run tour offered classic cuts only. Five years would pass before Prince chose to re-establish his pop bonafides.