The script began after most of the songs, which isn’t an indictment of either per se, but the germ for Purple Rain the film sprouted in ’82. According to Terry Lewis, the movie was conceived as a Time piece, then morphed into a Purple Rain sequel. Music From Graffiti Bridge, then, is a true soundtrack, one that hangs well sonically without a worldbeating single. The sound’s beefy, which works well for guests like the Time (whose gigolo routines tended to be more entertaining and closely-worn than Prince’s) and George Clinton. “Release It” is basically a JB bridge stretched to full-length, with “Funky Drummer” replaced by the also-fearsome “Squib Cakes” by Tower Of Power. “Love Machine” is a Morris Day/Elisa Fiorillo duet. Fiorillo, an old Jellybean Benitez cohort, plays her part like an R-rated Paula Abdul; she lacks heft, but there’s a direct playfulness that no amount of Princely pitchshifting could duplicate. (Although the sampled guffaws are plenty goofy.) The laughter continues on “The Latest Fashion,” a Prince/Time collab that finds the master ceding graciously to his friend’s cockeyed magnetism. At times it’s so frantic it could be a Shocklee production.

Though the record’s by and large about the funk, it kicks off with a rock’n’roll tune — “Can’t Stop This Feeling” — that could’ve been some Kenny Loggins nonsense but for a masterful transition through the bridge and Prince’s transcendent falsetto. Oh, and there’s some guitar arpeggios to further kick up some dust. “Elephants & Flowers” is a jagged hard rock/psych combo; Prince sounds a bit rough, at least until the multi-part shoutout to the Father. On “Melody Cool,” he finally pairs himself with a singer of sainted reputation; Mavis Staples, who plays the song’s title character in the film. Before, his guests could pass muster in the Warehouse; Staples rocks the churchhouse. It’s still not a great cut. Neither is the title track, which plays like a Christmas single from Prince and Jim Steinman. His guitar soars along the inspiro melody line, longtime arranger Clare Fischer detonates orchestral land mines, and his backing singers (including Staples, Sheila E. and protégé Tevin Campbell) struggle to make any sense of the message.