So we’re dealing with a shaky-handed cinematographer here (in all fairness, he was probably out in the sun all day), and his decision to focus on Prince’s preening face on the Jumbotron instead of the tiny stick figure onstage is a good one that he abandons too early. But you get the point here anyway, the point being that along with everything else, Prince shows an excellent acumen for taking sheepishly anthemic alt.rock songs, draining the sheepishness, and upping the anthemia. His seven-minute version of “Creep” is shamelessly preposterous: He drags out the verses like a half-in-the-bag jazz warbler, pours on what sounds like the faux-choral synths Radiohead will fall in love with a few albums later, inserts some falsetto vamping before the final chorus, and, Prince being Prince, loads up that final chorus with ecstatic guitar shredding so joyous and monolithic our shaky-handed cinematographer very nearly points his camera straight at the ground, because the sky is suddenly way too intimidating. This is almost enough to make you wish you’d been there. Almost.