Rolling Stones Fans Drove Prince Offstage Before 94,000 People — One Bandmate’s Phone Call Forced Him Back Toward the Crowd He Had Fled began with one of the most punishing nights of Prince’s early career.
On October 9, 1981, the rising star walked onto the stage at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum as an opening act for the Rolling Stones. Nearly 94,000 people filled the massive venue, but a hostile section of the audience had little interest in welcoming his daring performance.
Prince arrived wearing the provocative stage clothing that had already become part of his fearless image, refusing to reshape himself for a rock crowd. Instead of admiration, he was met with loud booing, cruel shouting, and objects reportedly thrown toward the stage.
The pressure quickly became overwhelming, and Prince ended his set before it was finished. He left the Coliseum shaken, escaped the hostility surrounding the performance, and soon returned to Minneapolis rather than face the same audience again.
The humiliation followed him home, turning what should have been a major opportunity into an experience he wanted to leave behind. Even Mick Jagger reportedly tried to persuade him to return, but Prince initially refused to reconsider.
Then guitarist Dez Dickerson made the phone call that changed the band’s decision. He did not pretend the crowd had been fair, and he did not promise that the second appearance would suddenly become easier.
“We can’t let them run us off like this. We’ll never live it down,” Dickerson told him. The message transformed the situation from a painful concert disaster into a challenge that Prince and his musicians could not escape without carrying the regret afterward.
Dickerson’s words struck at something deeper than pride because the band’s future identity was suddenly at stake. Returning would not erase the abuse, but staying away could allow one hostile crowd to decide where they were permitted to perform.
Prince finally agreed to go back for the second scheduled show on October 11. The decision meant voluntarily walking toward the same stadium, the same enormous audience, and the same possibility of public rejection he had fled only two days earlier.
The atmosphere did not magically become welcoming when Prince returned. Hostility continued, and the performance remained difficult, but this time he stayed onstage and completed the set rather than allowing the crowd to drive him away again.
That choice became more important than winning over every person inside the Coliseum. Prince proved that fear could force him out once, but it would not permanently control his direction or determine how the story ended.
Years later, the image of Prince as an untouchable musical icon could make such an early defeat seem almost impossible. Yet before the fame, stadium tours, and legendary performances, he endured a night when thousands openly rejected everything he represented.
The turning point was not a record executive, a glowing review, or a sudden wave of applause. It was one bandmate’s blunt phone call reminding Prince that retreating forever would hurt more than facing the crowd again.