If you were around in 1985, you probably remember the feeling of the Minneapolis scene fracturing. Prince was off in France filming Under the Cherry Moon, and the greatest funk band on the planet had basically disintegrated at the height of its powers. But while the neon lights of Purple Rain were fading, Morris Day was busy proving he wasn't just a puppet for the Purple One.
That’s where Morris Day and The Time Don't Wait For Me enters the conversation, or rather, the solo era that defined Morris as a standalone icon.
Honestly, the track "Don't Wait For Me" is one of those deep cuts that separates the casual funk fans from the real heads. It appeared on Day’s debut solo album, Color of Success, and it served as a smooth, mid-tempo middle finger to anyone who thought he couldn't survive without the band—or without Prince’s shadow looming over every snare hit.
The Breakup Nobody Wanted
The Time was a monster. They were the only band Prince was actually scared of following on stage. But by the mid-80s, the ego clashes and the "factory" style of Prince’s production meant Jimmy Jam, Terry Lewis, and eventually Morris himself had to walk.
People think Morris Day and The Time Don't Wait For Me is a band track, but it’s really the sound of Morris reclaiming his time.
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He moved to Los Angeles. He got a solo deal with Warner Bros. He kept the swagger, but the music changed. It got a little more polished, a little more "California," yet it kept that sharp-tongued wit. "Don't Wait For Me" isn't a high-energy dance floor burner like "Jungle Love." It’s a slow-burn groove that clocks in at over seven minutes on the extended version.
It feels like a late-night drive through a city that's still cooling off from a heatwave.
Why the Track Matters in the History of Funk
Musically, "Don't Wait For Me" is a masterclass in the "Minneapolis Sound" evolving. You’ve got the heavy LinnDrum beats—a staple of the era—mixed with these lush, almost melancholic synth pads. It’s a breakup song, sure, but it’s also a declaration of independence.
When you listen to the lyrics, it's pretty clear. He’s telling a girl not to wait up, but subtextually, he’s telling the whole music industry that he’s moving at his own pace.
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- The Production: Day produced this himself, along with some help from the folks who stayed in his circle. It proved he understood the mechanics of a hit.
- The Length: Most pop songs in '85 were hitting the 3:30 mark. Morris let this one breathe. The groove is relentless.
- The Vocals: Gone were the "Lord!" and "Somebody bring me a mirror!" ad-libs for a moment. He actually sang. He showed vulnerability.
It’s easy to get lost in the "Jerk Out" or "The Bird" hype because those songs are designed to make you move. But this track? It makes you think. It makes you feel the weight of a guy who just left a legendary group and is trying to figure out if he's still "the baddest" when he's standing alone.
The Legacy of the Solo Era
Looking back from 2026, the solo run Morris had in the late 80s is often overshadowed by the eventual reunions of The Time (or The Original 7ven, depending on which legal battle was happening that week). But Morris Day and The Time Don't Wait For Me represents a pivot point. Without the success of Color of Success, we might not have seen Morris survive as a cultural mainstay in films like Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back or his later collaborations with Snoop Dogg.
He proved that the "Character" of Morris Day was more than just a bit. It was a genuine musical identity.
The track hasn't aged a day, mainly because the funk is built on a solid foundation of real musicianship. Even though it's synth-heavy, it doesn't feel "dated" in that cheesy 80s way. It feels intentional. It feels cool.
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What You Should Do Next
If you haven't heard the song in a while, find the 12-inch extended version. Don't settle for the radio edit. The way the bassline develops in the second half of the track is where the real magic happens.
For those looking to build a definitive funk playlist, put this right between a Prince B-side like "17 Days" and something from the Jam & Lewis era of The S.O.S. Band. It bridges that gap perfectly. It reminds us that even when the band stops, the groove doesn't have to.
Dig into the Color of Success album as a whole. It’s the closest we ever got to seeing what Morris could do when he was truly calling all the shots, and "Don't Wait For Me" remains the emotional anchor of that entire experiment.