USA Today: New Interview With The Time

color=darkblue]It's time again for The Time[/color]

June 22
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Even after its rollicking Jungle Love flashback at February's 50th annual Grammy Awards, few fans believed this funk-rocking, sass-talking, prude-mocking septet would rally for a comeback. Set your clocks to oh-wee-oh-wee-oh. The Time is now.

The Minneapolis funk group that Prince assembled in 1981 is kicking off its reunion with a 15-show live run that starts Tuesday at Flamingo Las Vegas. A fifth album is nearly complete and wider dates may follow.


Isn't Vegas a perfect match for us? Showtime!" says a beaming Jerome Benton, 45, backup vocalist and foil for singer Morris Day. They're rehearsing here at Cascade Studios with drummer Jellybean Johnson, keyboardists Jimmy Jam and Monte Moir, guitarist Jesse Johnson and bassist Terry Lewis.

"We all have kids, and it's tough to get our schedules to mesh," says Jimmy, 49. "Vegas felt like the right place for a comeback. We could be in one place to try it out. If it was good enough for Elvis, it's good enough for us."


And even better for fans craving authentic funk with the accent on F-U-N, says Gail Mitchell, Billboard's R&B/hip-hop correspondent.

"Based on the reaction at the Grammys, there's an appetite out there for The Time's energy and vibe," she says. "And people miss all-inclusive bands like Earth, Wind & Fire. It's a great chance for another generation to discover these guys. The silly lyrics and Morris Day's suave Mr. Smooth act put a fun veneer on music, but it was a veil. They're serious musicians."

The Parliament-steeped ensemble's humble start as a superstar's pet project suggested a 15-minute shelf life. Fate and fame intervened.




The Timeline

The band was a popular opening act for Prince, who oversaw the first three albums of ribald danceable funk: 1981's The Time, 1982's What Time Is It? and 1984's Ice Cream Castle.

Jimmy and Terry began writing and producing outside The Time and in 1983 were fired by Prince after a snowstorm caused them to miss a show in San Antonio. They soon became the era's top production duo, working with Janet Jackson, New Edition, Mariah Carey and Mary J. Blige. Monte also departed, and an altered lineup appeared in the movie Purple Rain, which yielded hits Jungle Love and The Bird. Morris left to pursue acting in 1985. Jesse embarked on a successful solo career. The others carried on as The Family.

The Time reconvened in 1990 for Prince's Graffiti Bridge film and critically hailed fourth album Pandemonium, which sent single Jerk Out to the top 10.

The Time soon disbanded amid friction after a final gig on Saturday Night Live, where "Morris was cussing and eating chicken dinner on stage," Jimmy says as the others howl. "We've all been successful on our own, but this is where we want to be now. It's not some sacrifice or Svengali thing. It's the roots of what we do.

"Whether we became actors or producers or songwriters, it all started with The Time. Fans stuck with us, and they want to see this."

He's now eager to rejoin, but Jesse spent years fleeing his Time served. "I used to get upset when I had a solo album that went platinum and an article would start, 'The former Time guitarist,' " he says. "It took 20 years to accept the fact that, dude, everything you do is a satellite from The Time."

The band had mulled reconnecting for a few years, "but let's just say the Grammys rekindled the catalyst," says Morris, 50.

"The rehearsal solidified what I was feeling," Jesse, 48, says. "Before then, I was apprehensive. Terry stayed on us like a cheap suit until everyone committed. He raised our confidence."

Says Terry, 51: "I don't accept no. We had to alleviate some of the demons that float in everyone's minds."

No old wounds have reopened.

"As you get older, you move on, and those things just aren't important," says Monte, 49. "Since Day One, we've had a strong, unique bond. That carried us through and still does."

Jellybean, 51, says his initial concerns faded in the security "that these guys are my friends first, and they will be until I'm in the ground."

Terry says he persisted because "it's just time, especially in a marketplace where hardly anybody's playing R&B. Kids aren't seeing the fun and musicality, and that's terrible. We're the perfect fuel for what music needs."

When Jesse attempts to define The Time's appeal, Morris interrupts. "He's trying to explain it!" he blurts. "It's unexplainable. It's the Frankenstein monster. It just got up and started walking."

But then Morris takes a stab at why the time is ripe for The Time: "All the sexiness is gone. I'm not hatin', but you go to a rap show to see some guys holding their crotch so their pants stay up. It's not sexy. We're clean, we look good, we sound good, we're putting down some real music."

One topic, call it The Time bomb, is a minefield these veterans tread gingerly. "Ooooh!" is the collective response at the mention of absentee Prince, whose legal ties to the band are cloudy.

"It's like a big sandbag over our head, and the rope's unraveling," Morris says. Pressed to reveal details about a rumored fifth Time album recorded in the '90s, he adds with a grin: "There's unreleased stuff. There's a vault. We just don't have the key. There's some technicalities. But we've decided to move full steam ahead. You can't stop this locomotive."

Terry's diplomatic take: "Prince was always the superior power. At this point, we're on the same level. It's like when the children grow up. That sandbag will always be in the room, but there's no dictatorship."

And there are no hard feelings about getting axed, Jimmy says. "We wouldn't have changed a thing. On our second tour, Morris told all of us, 'This isn't going to last forever, so figure out what you're going to do.' He took acting lessons. We went into production."

Jesse jumps in, "Looking at how your career went, I would have fired myself."

Big two-tone shoes to fill

Morris says he was devastated by the departure of Jimmy and Terry. "When we started switching musicians, it wasn't my favorite band anymore," he says. "I wasn't happy from that day."

It's a rare sour note in an upbeat history, where "there was a laugh around every corner," Terry says. The Time had the time of its life as court jesters in a regal shadow.

Jimmy recalls, "Prince's show was very above the crowd: 'I'm Prince and I'm big!' We were with the crowd. At our first gig in Pittsburgh, we walked the streets, and people said, 'You ain't got no bodyguards?' We'd get to a town and go, 'Where's the mall, and where's the club?' And when they'd say, 'Whatever you do, don't go to that club,' that's the club we'd hit."

The Time partied hard and paid the consequences, often literally. Prince imposed $5 fines for curfew violations. Despite his own naughty nature, he forbade misconduct.

Jesse delights in relating a Pittsburgh incident that began with The Time playing Pac-Man until they discovered a sex shop next door.

"They had booths we'd never seen in Minneapolis," Jesse says. "You put in money, and a woman starts dancing. Morris tried to climb through. When we walked outside, there were lights and cameras. People were picketing to shut the place down!"

Rather than slink away, they lingered as Morris flirted with a pretty reporter. At the hotel, a solemn Prince cracked, "I saw you guys on TV."

To avoid fines, most bashes took place in hotels.

"My birthday party in Fayetteville (N.C.), the first tour!" Morris says of his peak memory. "I got a solo room and the tour bus, too!"

Trapped by a blizzard in Boston, the band broke into the hotel kitchen and cooked up a party feast.

"That was off the chain," Morris says. "We had the dopest parties."

Now the stories are rolling furiously. Prince's tattooed biker bodyguard fires a blank gun after too many beers. Prince leaves his guarded floor for The Time's raucous party, then throws up all night in Jesse's room. Tooling down Sunset Strip in a station wagon, they're stopped by hookers who aren't buying the famous-R&B-band story. Jerome mimics one of them: "Ooh, you got a white man in the car. He your manager?"

Monte shakes his head as the others hoot. The group is finally silenced by a request to list inspiring new artists.

"I'm out," Jesse says.

Jimmy chimes in, "I only hear new stuff because my kids play it. It takes Sly Stone or James Brown to inspire me."

Terry admires Kanye West but says most modern music lacks distinction. "When you play instruments, everyone puts his own personality into it. When you sit at home with a computer, it's very one-dimensional. Music has funneled itself into that little pit and it can't get out."

Proudly old-school (the band's earliest releases were on 45s and 8-track), The Time promises its next album "will sound like the year after Pandemonium, only with 18 years of experience in between," Jimmy says. "It's going to be fresh but it's going to fit."

In one 21st-century concession, the band isn't shopping for a label.

"More than a label, we're trying to find a home," Terry says. "We have some great songwriters, producers, actors, entertainers and business people in this group. Jesse has a banging album in the can. We need to do a blues album with Bean, because he's ridiculous. Monte has albums. Jerome writes and produces plays and films."

Time will tell how long The Time will last. Nobody's sweating the fine cracks in the hourglass.

"Oh, we fight every single day," Jesse says.

Says Terry, "At the end of the day, the best idea wins."

Dapper Brand of 'Cool' Still Suits Time

June 22
link


In the '80s, when backdated attire turned a handful of street-wise musicians into sartorial hipsters, fans nationwide struggled to keep up with The Time.

Inspired by zoot suits, bygone Hollywood glamour and underworld cool, the band scoured hand-me-down shops for designer castoffs to enhance their image as swaggering funk kingpins.

Porkpie hats, pleated trousers, wide-shouldered long coats, Morris Day's gold jacket with the tiger-print lapels. OK, not every outfit screamed panache. Some just screamed.

Little has changed, except now they can afford new threads.

"Our first clothing budget was $100," Jesse Johnson remembers. "For all of us."

Sporting flashy suits, shades and fedoras, The Time continues to pride itself on fashion sense. And in typical Time fashion, the band is still behind the times, opting for a Godfather vibe over today's sloppy chic.

It all started with sprees at Minneapolis vintage shops Ragstock and Tatters Clothing.

"We were interested in being cool," Jimmy Jam says. "It was about attitude and feeling good about ourselves, even though we didn't have the money."

Morris had to overcome his retail snobbery. "I ain't going to lie: I was a little apprehensive about going into a used-clothing store," he says. "But that original Presley (suit) came out of Tatters, and I wore it till it fell off."

No designers or stylists played a role in The Time's flamboyant early press photos or videos.

At concerts during the first tour, "every kid was dressed like us, because they could do it cheap," Jesse says. "The prices at Ragstock went way up."

The Time's dapper-duds scheme soon backfired.

Says Jerome Benton, "By the end of the tour, used suits at Aardvark's (in L.A.) were $300."

Copycat said:

Dapper Brand of 'Cool' Still Suits Time

June 22
link


In the '80s, when backdated attire turned a handful of street-wise musicians into sartorial hipsters, fans nationwide struggled to keep up with The Time.

Inspired by zoot suits, bygone Hollywood glamour and underworld cool, the band scoured hand-me-down shops for designer castoffs to enhance their image as swaggering funk kingpins.

Porkpie hats, pleated trousers, wide-shouldered long coats, Morris Day's gold jacket with the tiger-print lapels. OK, not every outfit screamed panache. Some just screamed.

Little has changed, except now they can afford new threads.

"Our first clothing budget was $100," Jesse Johnson remembers. "For all of us."

Sporting flashy suits, shades and fedoras, The Time continues to pride itself on fashion sense. And in typical Time fashion, the band is still behind the times, opting for a Godfather vibe over today's sloppy chic.

It all started with sprees at Minneapolis vintage shops Ragstock and Tatters Clothing.

"We were interested in being cool," Jimmy Jam says. "It was about attitude and feeling good about ourselves, even though we didn't have the money."

Morris had to overcome his retail snobbery. "I ain't going to lie: I was a little apprehensive about going into a used-clothing store," he says. "But that original Presley (suit) came out of Tatters, and I wore it till it fell off."

No designers or stylists played a role in The Time's flamboyant early press photos or videos.

At concerts during the first tour, "every kid was dressed like us, because they could do it cheap," Jesse says. "The prices at Ragstock went way up."

The Time's dapper-duds scheme soon backfired.

Says Jerome Benton, "By the end of the tour, used suits at Aardvark's (in L.A.) were $300."

Copycat said:

"That was off the chain," Morris says. "We had the dopest parties."

Now the stories are rolling furiously. Prince's tattooed biker bodyguard fires a blank gun after too many beers. Prince leaves his guarded floor for The Time's raucous party, then throws up all night in Jesse's room.

simm0061 said:

Copycat said:

"That was off the chain," Morris says. "We had the dopest parties."

Now the stories are rolling furiously. Prince's tattooed biker bodyguard fires a blank gun after too many beers. Prince leaves his guarded floor for The Time's raucous party, then throws up all night in Jesse's room.

For some reason I find it comforting that Prince partied with The Time and puked his guts out!

This is the kinda stuff I want to read more of. Actually I would love a REAL Jesse Johnson interview

laurarichardson said:

wonder505 said:

jdcxc said:

This is STUFF legends are made...The Time will ALWAYS be my fav band.....I hope the new stuff gets released...Looking forward to it. The Time ROCKS and NOW WE KNOW WHAT TIME IS IT??

Copycat said:

The boys are back in town!

Timmy84 is so dreamy!

http://www.last.fm/user/somebodyunot

YOUNT!!