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The Cheesebrokers had just launched into a cover of U2's "Angel of Harlem" when the guy they'd hired to take up door-money called singer/guitarist Paul Milazzo to the side of the stage and said, "He's here."

"What are you talking about?" Milazzo replied.

"Prince," the door-money dude said.

Milazzo looked over to the side of stage right and there was Prince - the superstar musician and singer of "Purple Rain," "When Doves Cry" and countless other super-sexy hits, bobbing head and tapping foot to the faux-R&B U2 tune Cheesebrokers were playing.

Prince was wearing sunglasses, a long camel-colored coat, animal print scarf, black pants and tall heels. He wore futuristic-looking gold clips on his ears. He looked like he could've been at the Grammys.

The five members of the Cheesebrokers were all wearing matching, power-blue industrial cleaning suits. They looked like the cheesy '80s cover band they proudly were.

Realizing Prince was standing just feet away watching, "you feel like a shock," says Cheesebrokers guitarist Matt Mathis. "Like you're caught doing something you're not supposed to, playing guitar in front of that guy, to the degree that he can play."

This all was happening around 1:15 a.m. or so the night of Saturday, Jan. 19, 1997, inside Birmingham's Five Points Music Hall. Prince had played a concert at Boutwell Auditorium earlier that evening.

Right before the first verse of "Angel of Harlem," Milazzo walked over to Cheesebrokers keyboardist Tim Tucker, who was about to start his lead vocals on the song, learned into Tucker's ear and said, "Sing this one good, man. Look who just showed up."

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From behind his Korg 1 synthesizer, Tucker turned to the right and saw Prince nonchalantly grooving, with Prince's entire band standing behind him. "Pure adrenaline took over," Tucker recalls now. "But I ended up singing that song really, really well. I was hitting those Bono high notes like there was no tomorrow. And I would glance over occasionally, Prince had his hands in his pockets, head bobbing and I was like, 'This is pretty cool.'"

Some revelers in the Five Points Music Hall crowd had noticed Prince on the side of the stage and began to get excited. Very excited.

The Cheesebrokers, which also featured guitarist Matt Mathis, bassist Michael Green and drummer John Harford, finished their U2 cover. Milazzo asked a friend offstage to ask Prince to come out and play a song with the band. Prince declined.

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Then Milazzo called out for The Cheesebrokers to play Prince's flirty 1985 smash "Raspberry Beret" next, even though they'd already played the song earlier that night. "The plan was to butcher his songs until he came out to join us," Milazzo says.

Milazzo, who was playing a Gibson Les Paul guitar, kept waving to Prince to join them onstage. Prince kept shaking his head no, even though musicians in Prince's band were by now nudging him on the shoulder to go out there.

Then, in exaggerated pleading, Milazzo got on his knees.

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Finally, Prince walked onstage, lowered the mic stand, grabbed the microphone and started singing.

The 300 or so people remaining in Five Points Music Hall from the maybe 600 or so there earlier that night, went completely bonkers. Screaming. Rushing towards the stage. Trying to reach over the barrier. "And for that brief span of time I felt, on a much smaller scale of course, this was what The Beatles had to put up with all the time," Tucker says.

The venue quickly mobilized extra security guards, clad in black T-shirts, to the front of the stage.

Prince sang a verse or so of "Raspberry Beret" with The Cheesebrokers - Tucker remembers him singing "really high and loud, he might have been joking around, him singing his song in that setting."

While Prince being there definitely charged the air, The Cheesebrokers got over any nerves within a half song or so Mathis says. "We kept it pretty light-hearted and our band was not a high-pressure environment."

That night there were more than a few empty beer bottles on the Five Points Music Hall drum riser. While onstage with Cheesebrokers, Prince picked up one of those bottles and "started like stumbling around the stage like he was drunk and just kind of laughing and that kind of stuff," Tucker says. Not long after that Prince strode offstage as the crowd went mad again.

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After Cheesebrokers finished out "Raspberry Beret," the group realized there was no way they were going to top what just happened. They walked offstage. Mathis, Milazzo, Green and Harford then hung out with Prince and his band for a several minutes.

Backstage at Five Points Music Hall, Mathis says, "Prince came through and individually thanked each of us, albeit very briefly but he was very gracious in that way. Obviously, we were just banging around in a cover band and he didn't have to be that decent."

During this phase of Prince's career he was mired in contractual tangle with Warner Brothers Records. He'd changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. People who write and talk about music for a living started referring to him The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, or sometimes just The Artist, for short. One thing's for sure, Prince didn't want to be called Prince anymore.

During their backstage pleasantries Mathis recalls Tucker getting about half the word "Prince" out of his mouth before catching himself, "and Prince kind of laughed about it."

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Tucker had long been into Prince's music, particularly 1987 double-album masterpiece "Sign o' The Times," so "seeing him in person that close up was like meeting some mythical creature."

Mathis was also a fan. His favorite Prince cut was 1981 dance hit "Controversy." He'd attended the Boutwell show earlier that night, which opened with recent song "Jam of the Year," and included performances of "Purple Rain," "Take Me With U," a cover of James Brown's "Talkin' Loud and Sayin' Nothing" and, yes, "Raspberry Beret."

Someone asked The Cheesebrokers if they'd mind if Prince and his backing band, The New Power Generation, got onstage and jammed a little bit. The cover dudes happily obliged. They walked back onstage with The NPG to help familiarize Prince's band with their gear. For example, Mathis handed his Hamer DuoTone, a guitar with both acoustic and electric pickups, to New Power Generation's Kay Dyson, and gave her a quick tutorial on his Johnson Millennium amp, which could emulate sounds from various vintage and modern amplifiers. The NPG's keyboardist, (probably Morris Hayes during this era) only wanted to know the Hammond B3 setting on Tucker's synth.

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AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill

After The Cheesebrokers left the stage, the New Power Generation erupted into a 30 or 45 minute performance Milazzo describes as "kind of a funk version of the Allman Brothers. Just a long jam of stuff. And our equipment sounded a whole lot better."

Mathis was pretty familiar with Prince's catalog, including his most recent record, 1996 triple-disc "Emancipation." But what the NPG was laying down on the Five Points Music Hall stage "was nothing I recognized. It was outstanding, of course."

Prince is known for his multi-instrumental prowess, having played many of the instruments on his early recordings. However, this night at Five Points, he mostly just sang and danced, even jumping off the drum-riser in his heels. A manager who'd accompanied Prince and the NPG to the music hall, rushed onstage to remove The Cheesebrokers' empty bottles from the stage, no doubt to prevent a nightmare situation of Prince tripping over one and breaking his neck.

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Courtesy photo of Tim Tucker in 2018 and his old Korg M1

During one moment of his band's Five Points jam, Prince strutted over to the Korg synthesizer near the front of the stage. The NPG's keyboardist deferred and Prince played keys for a minute or so. Decades later, that synth now sits quietly in Tucker's home studio and needs a new motherboard. But even though the Korg no longer works and isn't worth repairing, Tucker has held onto it just because Prince played it. "Like, I'm not getting rid of that," he says.

During Prince and The NPG's jam, the crowd continued to lather, until the musicians bid adieu for a final time that night. After Prince and his band walked offstage they sought out each Cheesebroker and thanked them individually again. The the star and his crew "left in a motorcade that looked like a president coming out of a place," Tucker says.

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In 1997, cellphones and camera phones had yet to become an omnipresent thing. Funnily enough, The Cheesebrokers had brought six or so disposable cameras to that gig, and handed them out to the audience, Tucker says, like some couples used to do at wedding receptions, to see what crazy photos their audience would take. But by the time Prince showed up, all the disposable cameras' film had been used up.

Luckily, a friend of Green's happened to have a camera there and took a few photos. If not for this documentation, Those snapshots appear to be the only artifact. No grainy VHS video footage on YouTube. Nothing.

The one audience member there I was able to track down (with Tucker's help) for this article was a college student back then. She now works as a government contractor. Some 21 years after the show, she remembers extremely little about Prince's performance - hey, it was after 1 a.m. on a weekend night - besides her observation Prince was "a very small person." (For his part, Mathis estimates the famed singer was no taller than 5-foot-6 even in those heels.)

After Prince left, Tucker found a pay phone outside and called musician buddy (and Brother Cane guitarist) Dave Anderson to tell him about the gig. He got voice-mail instead and left what was surely a crazy-sounding message. Tucker then went out to Birmingham late-night spot Marty's for some celebratory beverages. (He thinks the married members of Cheesebrokers called it a night.)

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It was not entirely uncommon for Prince to show up after his concerts to jam at a local club. How his appearance at Five Points Music Hall was arranged is a story unto itself.

Earlier that day, Prince's manager had called Five Points Music Hall, telling general manager Sam Smithwick on the phone, "I have a certain artist in town who is interested in playing your venue later." Smithwick knew Prince had a concert in Birmingham that night. But he kept the possibility of Prince showing up at Five Points "somewhat secret." He even used the same language, "a certain artist," in talking things over with The Cheesebrokers.

Smithwick had several more phone conversations with management and arranged for Prince to be dropped off at the venue's back door.

He then found a quiet space inside Five Point Music Hall for Prince to relax. "I was taken by how polite he was," Smithwick says. Between his Boutwell show and Five Points appearance, Prince's entourage dined at Highland Avenue restaurant Botega, Smithwick says.

As Prince and the New Power Generation were taken care of backstage at Five Points, Smithwich walked the room to make sure his staff, from security to sound, was ready. "I worked hard to maintain a solid security team and knew that we could pull this off professionally," he says.

Earlier during The Cheesebrokers' set, a "tech" from Prince's tour showed up. He was a hulking figure with a model-esque woman on one arm and carrying a gold top Les Paul with his other arm. He wanted to sit-in on a few songs. The Cheesebrokers asked if the tech wanted to play a Prince number, in addition to "Raspberry Beret" they covered "1999" and "I Could Never Take The Place of Your Man." "Nah, man," the tech replied. "I got to listen to that every night. Let's do something else." He then proceeded to jam with The Cheesebrokers on songs including "Theme from 'The Dukes of Hazzard,'" with the tech playing funk solos over Waylon Jennings' country tune.

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After playing a few songs with The Cheesebrokers, the tech took his gold-top and hottie and left into the night. "We thought it was over after that," Tucker says.

Then 30 or 45 minutes later, Prince showed up. "Everyone knew that this was a special moment, seeing an artist of Prince's caliber, raw, in such an intimate setting," Smithwick says. Once Prince was onstage, Smithwick walked outside and started bringing more people off the sidewalk into the music hall.

"In retrospect, we figured out they'd planned this thing well," Mathis says. "The guy that had come early to play with guitar with us was obviously scouting everything, the location, gear and whether we were decent enough people where it would be OK for Prince to show up."

The Cheesebrokers formed in 1991, originally as a quartet. Milazzo, Green and Harford had all gone to the University of Alabama together, and Milazzo and Mathis, who'd attended University of Florida, had been friends since high school. At the time, most bands playing in Tuscaloosa were either jammy Grateful Dead-style groups or Seattle-influenced alternative combos. Now in 2018, there seems to be at least one '80s cover band in every town. But in the early-90s, Milazzo was ahead of the curve when he wanted to start a group playing Duran Duran, Men at Work, Rick Springfield, Flock of Seagulls and Poison covers. "We would purposely dress ridiculously just because we played a lot of goofy music and didn't want to be taken seriously," Milazzo says. Mathis adds, "We started with a great idea but weren't even particular talented or worked that hard at it. We just had a great time."

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Still, this then-novel idea of a live band playing "Come On Eileen" or "Electric Avenue" was fun for college-aged people to dance and party to. The Cheesebrokers became a strong draw, particularly at venues like Tuscaloosa's Ivory Tusk and Auburn's War Eagle Supper Club. Tucker, a full-time North Alabama musician whose best friend in Tuscaloosa roomed with Milazzo, was brought in to add keyboards and provide another lead vocalist. The Cheesebrokers sold-out the now-shuttered Ivory Tusk for years. "I remember at one point," Mathis says, "the sound guy at the Tusk telling us, 'You guys have been dethroned. There's a band that outdraws you here now.' It was the Dave Matthews Band."

The Cheesebrokers deal with Five Points Music Hall was 90 percent of the door with a guarantee of around $3,500, Milazzo says. The 1997 Saturday night Prince showed up to, the cover was probably eight bucks or so.

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While Milazzo certainly enjoyed some of Prince's songs, he was much more into acts like, Van Morrison, Elvis Costello and Rolling Stones. But that night at Five Points with The New Power Generation gave him a new perspective: "Just watching what they were doing I kind of became a fan. It a whole other level of expertise I hadn't really been close to before."

Maybe seven or so years into the band, Green moved to Portland, Ore., where he's now an attorney and continues to play in bands. Mathis switched to bass and then he left the group a couple years later. Milazzo carried on with a new version of The Cheesebrokers for a few more years. Ten or more years after the core band had last performed together they began reuniting for shows at Birmingham venues like WorkPlay and Iron City. "We've kind of packed it all up again," says Mathis, who's lived in Atlanta since 1996 and now works in the technology business. Milazzo is a Mobile, Ala. based insurance agent, while Harford resides in Columbus, Ga. Tucker remains a full-time musician and resides in Decatur.

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File photo of Cornelius Bennet

Although Prince was the only famous musician The Cheesebrokers recall sitting-in with them, they'd occasionally have celebrity athletes, like former Bama and later NFL linebacker Cornelius Bennett hop onstage with them to hype the crowd. And they'd shared many misadventures. Like seeking shelter in a venue's walk-in cooler during a tornado scare. Or pushing school teacher desks together to form a makeshift stage at a college gig.

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File photo of Fiona Apple at Five Points Music Hall

Five Points Music Hall, maximum capacity around 1,200, was at 1016 20th St. South in a space previously home to a Piggy Wiggly grocery. The venue hosted acts ranging from Cheap Trick to Fiona Apple before shuttering in 2003. A short-lived reboot went kaput around 2010. There's now a Homewood Suites hotel on the site.

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Chris Pizzello/Invision/AP, File

On April 21, 2016, Prince was found on an elevator inside his Chanhassen, Minn. compound Paisley Park, dead from an accidental fentanyl overdose. Tucker "was just crushed. I'd always been a Prince fan - how could you not? A lot of people sent me messages that night."

Milazzo, Mathis and Tucker can't recall now what the very next Cheesebrokers show was after the Prince gig, but agreed it was likely a Tuscaloosa or Auburn bar gig.

Understandably, their Prince experience took on a bit of a legend. "We'd go to the next club and people would ask, 'How do you know Prince?'" Mathis says. "A lot of people didn't understand that he just kind of randomly showed up."

Sometimes it seems more people claim to have been there that night when Prince showed up than were actually there at the time.

And that's just fine with Milazzo. "Everybody that was there got a rare, close-up experience with a very groundbreaking musician. There's very few like him around anymore."

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