The Groove That Got Him Going

In the snowy streets of Minneapolis, a teenage Morris Day tapped rhythms on school desks, dreaming beyond the gray Midwest winters. Music wasn’t just fun—it was a swagger, a way to stand out in a city buzzing with soul and ambition. Raised on James Brown and Sly Stone, he caught the bug drumming for a high school band, but it was a chance jam with a kid named Prince that lit the fuse. “I wanted to be cool, to make the room move,” Morris has said, and that itch—to strut, to funkify the world—birthed Morris Day and The Time, a crew that turned Minneapolis into a funk mecca with every slick step.

The Man Behind the Mirror

Born December 13, 1956, in Springfield, Illinois, Morris Eugene Day moved to Minneapolis as a kid, raised by a single mom in a working-class home. School bored him—drums didn’t. By his teens, he was gigging with Grand Central, a band with Prince and André Cymone, laying the groundwork for his flashy future. Prince saw star power in Morris’s charm, tapping him in 1981 to front The Time, a side project that outgrew its shadow.

Morris’s life’s been a funky ride. Married twice—first to Lorena Day (1980s, two kids, Oshun and Tionna), then to Judith Jones (1988-2011)—he’s now single, a grandpa splitting time between Vegas and L.A. He’s dodged the bottle and kept his cool, a 67-year-old dandy with a mirror in one hand and a mic in the other.

The Career That Funked Up the Game

Morris Day’s career is tied to The Time (later Morris Day and The Time), a band Prince cooked up to channel his overflow. The original lineup—Morris Day (vocals), Jesse Johnson (guitar), Terry Lewis (bass), Jimmy Jam (keys), Monte Moir (keys), Jellybean Johnson (drums), and Jerome Benton (hype man)—dropped their 1981 self-titled debut, a funk bomb. Prince wrote most tracks, but Morris’s strut stole the show. Hits like What Time Is It? (1982) and Ice Cream Castle (1984) made them stars.

Lewis and Jam split in ’83 for production fame, and the band dissolved by ’91. Morris went solo—Color of Success (1985)—but reunited The Time in ’96, ’08, and beyond, with Jellybean and Jerome as constants. He’s jammed with Prince (duh), Sheila E., and Bruno Mars (a 2017 nod). No big romances—his love’s the stage. Onscreen, he shone in Purple Rain (1984) as Prince’s foil, plus New Attitude (1990) and The Adventures of Ford Fairlane (1990).

Awards? No Grammys—The Time was Prince’s shadow—but Morris nabbed a 2017 Minnesota Music Hall of Fame nod with the band. Their biggest hits?

• Jungle Love (written by Prince, Morris Day, Jesse Johnson) hit No. 20 on the Hot 100 in 1984, pure funk fire.
• The Bird (Prince, Day, Johnson) reached No. 36 in 1984, a dancefloor strut.
• 777-9311 (Prince) peaked at No. 88 in 1982, a bassline beast.
• Cool (Prince) climbed to No. 90 in 1981, slick as Morris’s shades.

Controversy? Light but spicy. Prince firing Lewis and Jam mid-tour in ’83 (they missed a gig) sparked band tension—Morris stayed loyal. A 1990 drug bust rumor (weed, unconfirmed) fizzled fast. And a 2021 Prince estate spat over The Time’s name stalled gigs; Morris won rights, smirking, “It’s mine now.” His drama’s in the funk, not the fights.

The Legacy of a Funky King

Morris Day and The Time’s tale is a Minneapolis groove that turned swagger into a sound, their syncopated steps a funk revolution. With millions of records sold, they’re Prince’s coolest offspring, a legacy of mirrors and moves. At 67, Morris is no throwback—he’s a vibe, still touring, still the coolest cat in the room. Catch him live, and you’ll feel that desk-tap beat, now a funky empire that time can’t tame.