A pot-luck gathering with the first family of Minneapolis

written by Razza G

On a cold Sunday night in Sydney it’s an effort to leave the house, and that effort can set you to muttering “This better be worth it.” Or, as the woman standing next to me says, “Tough crowd to warm up.” That unenviable task falls to Professor Groove and the Booty Affair, whose singer, a follower of the Adam Ant school of fashion bricolage (ratty faux fur, yeti-style Uggs, hat atop headscarf) is perched on a chair chanting ”Ram that bass/ up my ass!”. He opened their set with a coughing fit, indicating that if we did not rate his vocal ability we should blame the flu and not his lack of talent. To be fair, the Booty Affair seem to be capable musicians (bonus points for the Keytar), and after a truly terrible James Brown impression The Prof quips, “Classic Aussie rock, we give it a good try,” which got a laugh, so I’m unsure whether to blame Professor Groove’s performance on flu meds or an overdose of irony. But when the Peterson Brothers and Sheila E walk in, my first thought is, “I hope they didn’t see that.” Then Ricky Peterson says, “Can we mention the ‘P’ word?” and it hits me that their reference point is the Mozart of Minneapolis, the original Imp of the Perverse, so there’s not much foolishness they haven’t already seen. And if Prince is Mozart, Professor Groove is someone playing a Mozart melody using the iPhone Farting Piano app. Keep it foolish, Prof.

The rest of the evening unfolded like a Sunday night family gathering. There was a birthday cake, candles and singing. There were some great moments – grooving to Sheila’s hits, marvelling at the improvisational skills on show during several numbers, including Ricky’s Peterson’s, ‘Propostrophy’ (Ricky explained what ‘propostrophy’ meant, but I was distracted by the guy in front of me – I hope that clip turns up on YouTube, dude, because when I could have been watching these amazing musicians interact, your perfectly steady screen filled my line of sight).

There were many daggy moments. Special mention goes to Ilsa, a rather severe woman who, in Sheila E’s words, was ‘chillin’ hard’ at a front table (specifically, sitting stone-faced with her arms crossed, possibly suffering Professor Groove-induced PTSD.) Invited onstage to bust some moves during ‘A Love Bizarre’, Ilsa shrugged her shoulders in a dignified manner while remaining expressionless. Just like your Auntie would. Daggier still was the religious interlude. “Damn, I forgot cousin Sheila was born again, and now she wants to praise the Lord – awkward!” Your reaction may vary, but mine was to head for the bar.

At all the best family gatherings, there’s a moment where it all comes together – where being with this group of people, in this place, at this time, makes sense. On this Sunday night, that moment comes during ‘Nothing Compares to U’. Written by Prince during the Golden Age of Minneapolis Funk, the song was first sung by Paul (St Paul) Peterson on The Family album in 1985. Tonight St Paul sings it (and plays guitar) like he has something to prove. The song does what a great song should – channels the moment, allows it to build, gives it some structure. Great sax solo by Jason Peterson-Delaire. The song is a lament for a lost loved one, but this live version is more than a lament – it salutes present company and absent friends, it invites comparisons but rises above them. I’m glad I was there to share it.