Prince Covered Bob Dylan’s Song in 1986 — What Dylan Said When He Heard It Shocked Prince

When Prince died in April 2016, his phone was found at Paisley Park. Inside the contacts, names you’d expect, collaborators, family, friends. But there was one name that surprised everyone who saw it. Bob Dylan with a phone number next to it. Prince had kept Bob Dylan’s personal number in his phone for 30 years from 1986 until the day he died.

Why? because of a 5-minute phone call that changed everything Prince thought he knew about making music. It started when Prince covered Dylan’s song Emotionally Yours in 1986 transformed it completely made it his own and Dylan who almost never called anyone who was famous for his silence picked up the phone and called Prince directly.

What Dylan said during that call had been a secret for three decades until Prince’s death and the people close to Prince finally told the story. This is about a cover that became better than the original. A compliment that came with a challenge and a phone call that pushed Prince to write hundreds of original songs instead of ever covering Bob Dylan again.

If stories about mutual respect between legends move you, hit subscribe right now and drop a comment. Who’s your favorite artist who completely transformed someone else’s song? Because what Dylan told Prince in 1986 will change how you think about covers forever. July 1986, Paisley Park Studios, Minneapolis. Prince had just finished mixing Emotionally Yours.

It was a Bob Dylan song originally released on Dylan’s 1985 album Empire Burlesque, a quiet acoustic ballad about love and longing. Dylan’s version was raw, stripped down, almost whispered. Prince’s version was not that he’d taken Dylan’s gentle acoustic guitar and replaced it with layers of synthesizers, added a thumping baseline, sung it in falsetto, his voice soaring where Dillons had rasped, made it funky, sensual, completely transformed.

His engineer, Susan Rogers, listened to the final mix and smiled. Bob Dylan’s never going to recognize this. Prince didn’t smile back. That’s what I’m afraid of. He was 28 years old at the absolute peak of his career. Purple Rain had made him a global superstar. Kiss was dominating radio. He could do anything he wanted.

But covering Bob Dylan, that was different. Dylan wasn’t just another songwriter. Dylan was the songwriter, the poet who’ changed music. The man Prince had grown up studying, analyzing, worshiping. and Prince had just turned one of Dylan’s songs inside out. “What if he hates it?” Prince asked quietly. Susan shrugged. “Then he hates it.

” “But it’s a great cover.” Prince wasn’t convinced. Two weeks later, Bob Dylan was driving through rural Minnesota. He’d been visiting family, staying off the radar like he always did. The radio was on some local station playing new releases. Then he heard it his song. Emotionally yours, but it wasn’t his voice.

Dylan reached for the volume knob, turned it up, listened. Someone had taken his quiet ballad and exploded it. Falsetto vocals where his rasp had been. Funk bass where his acoustic guitar had gently strummed. Layers of production where he’d kept things simple. It was completely different, completely transformed. And Bob Dylan, the man who’d spent 25 years rarely praising anyone, who’d built a career on silence and mystery, pulled over to the side of the road.

He sat there in his car and listened to the entire song. When it ended, the DJ came on. That was Prince with his cover of Bob Dylan’s Emotionally Yours. Dylan sat there for a long moment. Then he picked up the car phone, a rare luxury he’d recently installed, and called his office. Get me Prince’s number. His assistant was confused.

Prince, the musician? Yeah, get me his number now. Dylan had never done this before, never called an artist directly, never reached out like this. But something about what he just heard demanded a response. Prince was in the studio working on a new track when his assistant knocked on the door. You have a phone call.

I’m busy. It’s Bob Dylan. Prince’s hands froze on the keyboard. What? Bob Dylan is on the phone. Says he wants to talk to you. Prince felt his heart racing. This was it. Dylan had heard the cover and he was calling to what? criticize, complain, tell Prince he’d ruined the song.

Prince walked to the phone like he was walking to his own execution. He picked up the receiver. Hello. A pause. Then that voice, nasal, unmistakable, impossible to forget. This is Bob Dylan. Prince swallowed hard. Hi. Um, yeah. Hello. Another pause. Dylan didn’t do small talk. Never had. That song you did, Dylan said. Prince braced himself. Yeah, emotionally yours.

I know it’s really different from yours. It’s better. Prince blinked. What? It’s better than mine. Prince couldn’t speak. Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan had just said Prince’s version was better than his original. You You think so? Dylan’s voice was matter of fact, like he was stating an obvious truth. You found something in that song I didn’t know was there.

Most people cover songs and make them smaller, safer. You made mine bigger. Prince felt tears forming in his eyes. He was 28 years old, one of the biggest stars in the world, and Bob Dylan had just made him feel like everything he’d ever done mattered. “Thank you,” Prince whispered. “That means I don’t even know what to say.” But Dylan wasn’t finished.

“Write your own, though.” Prince was confused. What? Write your own songs. You don’t need mine. I wasn’t trying to. I was honoring you. Dylan cut him off. Honor yourself. That’s harder. There was a long pause. You’re one of the most talented musicians I’ve heard in 20 years, Dylan continued.

But you don’t need to cover my songs or anyone else’s. You should be writing your own. Prince tried to respond, but Dylan was already talking again. You took my song and made it yours. That’s rare. Most people try to sound like the original. You weren’t afraid to completely transform it. That takes guts. But that same energy, that same fearlessness, put it into your own songs because when you do that, nobody can compare you to anyone else.

You’re just Prince. Prince was silent. Processing. Dylan’s voice softened slightly. You’re at the beginning of something, kid. Don’t waste it doing what other people already did, even me. Okay, Prince said quietly. Okay, Dylan repeated. And then, classic Dylan, he hung up. No goodbye. No talk soon. Just click.

The call had lasted exactly 5 minutes. Prince stood there holding the phone for a long time after the line went dead. Prince never covered another Bob Dylan song. Not one, not ever. He’d planned to do more. Had a list of Dylan songs he wanted to reimagine. But after that phone call, he put the list away. Instead, he wrote and wrote and wrote.

Between 1986 and his death in 2016, Prince wrote over 500 original songs, released hundreds of them, kept hundreds more in the vault. He became known not for covers but for an endless stream of original material. Songs that nobody else could have written. Songs that were purely completely Prince.

And through all those years, through all the albums, all the tours, all the changes in his career, Prince kept Bob Dylan’s number in his phone. Never called it, never needed to, but kept it there like a reminder. When Prince died suddenly in April 2016 at age 57, the world went into mourning. Tributes poured in from everyone, presidents, musicians, fans around the world.

But one tribute stood out for its brevity. Bob Dylan, now 75 years old, issued a short statement. He was a great talent. The world lost a creative force. My condolences to his family. That was it. Classic Dylan. brief, respectful, no elaboration. But people close to Prince knew there was more to the story. When they found Prince’s phone at Paisley Park, they saw it. Bob Dylan’s number saved under BD.

And next to it in Prince’s notes, a single line, “Honor yourself, that’s harder.” The quote from that 1986 phone call, the one that had changed everything. Prince’s longtime engineer, Susan Rogers, told the story publicly for the first time in 2017. Prince never told people about that call, she said, but he lived by what Dylan told him.

He honored himself by creating endlessly, by never playing it safe, by being fearlessly original. That 5-minute conversation was one of the most important moments of his career. Not because Dylan praised him, though that mattered, but because Dylan challenged him to be even better, to be himself. What Bob Dylan taught Prince in 1986 wasn’t just about music.

It was about identity, about courage, about the difference between imitation and innovation. Dylan could have said nothing, could have ignored Prince’s cover, could have been petty or protective of his song. Instead, he gave Prince two gifts. First, the validation that Prince’s transformation of emotionally yours was brilliant.

That taking risks and making something completely your own was not disrespectful. It was the highest form of artistry. Second, the challenge to stop hiding behind other people’s songs and trust his own voice completely. Honor yourself. That’s harder. Those four words became Prince’s creative philosophy for the next 30 years.

and their lesson for anyone who creates anything. You can honor your influences. You can be inspired by the greats. You can even transform their work into something new. But ultimately, the world doesn’t need another version of someone else’s vision. The world needs your vision, the one only you can create. In 2016, after Prince’s death, Bob Dylan was asked in an interview if he had any favorite Prince songs.

His answer was pure Dylan. All of them. He didn’t waste time. Every song was him. That’s rare. The interviewer pressed. What about his cover of Emotionally Yours? Did you ever tell him what you thought? Dylan paused, then gave one of his slight cryptic smiles. I might have mentioned it once. He never elaborated, never confirmed the phone call publicly, but he didn’t need to because Prince had carried Dylan’s words and his phone number for 30 years.

A reminder that sometimes the greatest gift one artist can give another isn’t praise. It’s permission to stop seeking approval and start honoring yourself, even when that’s harder.