You can only fire fuck-you’s so often before you start amassing collateral damage. This would’ve screamed “contractual obligation” even before he wrote “Originally intended for private use only, this compilation serves as the last original material…” in the liner notes. There was one single, and it was awful: “Dinner With Dolores,” a crude chanson, a shameful shaming. How bad is this? A blues-rock song makes its stylistic debut. The record is smeared with negativity and torpor, one rote, stuffed rock tune after another.

There is a gem here: “Right The Wrong,” a clopping pop-soul number that finds Prince dipping into a Texan accent while narrating the death of a wronged Native American man. He goes on: “Didja hear the one about the boy, just 17/Three years’ hard time for stealing ice cream?” It sounds like a joke, but that was the sentence Dehundra Caldwell initially got for a first offense. Then he segues into a high-stepping New Orleans-style passage and closes with a punk rock chant of the title. The chorus could’ve been sung by the Monkees! Folks inclined to goofiness may go for “I Like It There,” a sleazy rocker that cops from Wreckless Eric, compares his love to an abortion that dare not be performed, and uses the phrase “emotional ejaculate” right before a budding generation of indie-rock critics could get to it. So rude.