Morris Day and the Time at the Birchmere

At a certain point in the career of Morris Day and the Time, the ’80s Minneapolis funk scene co-catalysts transcended band status and became ritual. As their third decade wraps up, this ritual is as rowdy and infectious as ever, if a bit codified.

For an artist with many years in the game, the ritual of staying in character can be confining or a source of pride. By the measure of a wildly appreciative, packed crowd at the Birchmere on Sunday, Morris Day not only still enjoys being Morris Day to the fullest, but he also still delivers.

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While the intro featuring teasers of the Time’s hits brought the room to its feet before a single musician appeared, it was Day’s entrance tailed by his valet, Jerome, that set off a flood of adoration. Suited, booted, slickly coiffed and quick with his trademark cackle, Day’s bawdy shout-outs had women from their mid-20s to grandmothers imagining themselves as members of Vanity 6.

Featuring two original Time members other than Jerome — drummer Jellybean Johnson and keyboardist Monte Moir — the band’s signature poppy dance funk hummed along like the Maserati that Day brags about in “Cool.” And once they se­gued into that hit early in the set, every choreographed step was locked in, as well as Day’s cues to each band member. The party bounded forth with bangers in quick succession: “Get It Up,” “Wild and Loose” and nasty slap work on “The Stick” from a tight bassist who happened to not be Terry Lewis, despite a resemblance.

Once they got around to “Fishnet,” Day paused only to make sure he was well groomed using Jerome’s ever-
present mirror, using his comb as a conductor’s baton before taking care of any stray locks. There were only two breaks in 90 minutes, one to bask in applause after 1990’s career-reviving hit “Jerk Out” and a slow jam medley that served as time for a costume change. Day duly apologized for singing from backstage as he was “half nekkit getting ready for the next song.” Quite the considerate lothario he is.

The party peaked with an uproarious pairing of “The Bird” with “Jungle Love” as an encore, but not before Day reminded the room that despite the moisture on his brow, he’s too cool to sweat. Rather, he “condensates,” likening himself to a bottle of bubbly that’s cool at its core.

Anderson is a freelance writer.