Zombie Ball 2016: Morris Day & The Time

Once again, I enticed a friend to go to the Zombie Ball with me. I didn’t realize until we got there, she’d never heard of the headliner although she vaguely remembered the antagonist from the movie “Purple Rain.”  As an added bonus, I saw another friend walking by himself in the crowd, grabbed him, so he could hang with us.

The opening band made a point of getting the crowd to remember that they were The Suffers from Houston. With their funkalicious grooves, the band got the crowd hyped to hear Morris Day and the Time.

Speaking of funky, we all enjoyed this guy’s “Tyrone” costume–a throwback to Dave Chapelle’s infamous crack addict character.

I’d taken a picture of this woman’s costume before I even realized that she was a big wad of bubble gum the shoe had stepped on.

I’d dressed up as Medusa before, but not quite as elaborately as this woman had done. Her rubber snakes added such texture, and apparently a little too much weight, to her costume.

The Fat Bottom Burlesque troupe lived up to their name. Not only that, but the DJ had tech issues with their music, but these women handled themselves quite professionally.

Next came the Parade of the Undead, complete with aerial dancers.

I’m not quite sure why the zombies ate bits of the mummy in the beginning of this choreography, but who cares about plot when watching such a thing?

After the opening number, they did solos that reminded me of capoeira, especially the last guy.

Then, the most touching montage of Prince photos graced the screen along with his music.

Took me a few moments to whip out my camera and capture the last bits of it.

I remembered this album. My older sisters had it and we nearly wore it out.

Morris Day came out with his usual pimp-style, comedic conceitedness.

Many times during the concert, Day combed his hair in the mirror that one of his band members held.

He crooned out hit after hit, some I’d even forgotten about.

Ever so theatrical, at one point, Day stated he was cold, so the guy standing in the background draped him in his white coat.

Nonetheless, he kept dabbing himself with handkerchiefs.

Day explained to the audience that he wasn’t wiping sweat off himself because he was hot, but because he was so cool.

Then he proceeded to give us a mini physics lesson. Day gave the analogy that a chilled bottle of champagne, when taken out of the refrigerator, starts to condensate. 

So, Day concluded that he wasn’t sweating, he was “condensating.”  

After the penultimate song, Day left the stage. The hype man got the crowd going to bring Day out on stage for an encore. I was worried. Sometimes, the encore song wasn’t worth waiting for.

Yet, he came out and did “Jungle Love.” Totally worth the wait.  His final act was to throw two of his “condensation-drenched” handkerchiefs into the audience. As my friend and I waited in the women’s line after the show, another Black woman came up to us and asked if we wanted to smell Morris Day’s scent. She held up his handkerchief with both hands for us to get a whiff. I couldn’t name the sweet, yet manly cologne, but I’m sure she’s going to treasure it for a long time.