Jellybean Johnson and the Beat of the Minneapolis Sound: Remembering a Quiet Architect of Pop
Jellybean Johnson, the original drummer for The Time and one of the quiet architects of the Minneapolis Sound, has died at 69. For a musician who rarely hogged the spotlight, his fingerprints are everywhere: in the snap of ’80s funk, the swing of early hip‑hop‑infused R&B, and the guitar crunch that helped Prince’s musical universe feel so gloriously unruly.
Remembering Jellybean Johnson: The Time’s Pulse, Minneapolis’ Backbeat
News of Johnson’s passing on November 21, 2025, hit especially hard for fans of Prince, The Time, and anyone who grew up on tightly choreographed funk with drums that cracked like snares in a marching band and guitars that flirted with heavy rock. As tributes pour in from across the music world, it’s worth pausing to trace how a drummer from Minneapolis helped bend pop history.
From North Minneapolis to Global Stages: How the Minneapolis Sound Took Shape
Long before “Minneapolis Sound” became a marketing tag, it was just a set of neighborhood collisions: Black church music, bar‑band rock, Parliament‑style funk, and the cold precision of drum machines. Johnson came up inside that stew, gigging in local bands before Prince consolidated the city’s talent into a small but lethal creative ecosystem.
The Time, formed in 1981 with Prince’s involvement and fronted by Morris Day, became the most visible outgrowth of that scene. While Prince was the mad scientist, Johnson was one of the steady engineers—someone who could lock a groove live, then translate that energy into the studio with surgical timing. The band’s interplay on songs like “Get It Up” and “The Bird” helped define what the Minneapolis Sound actually felt like: synthetic but sweaty, machine‑tight yet mischievous.
By the time the rest of the world caught up—through artists like Sheila E., Janet Jackson, and later New Jack Swing producers—the Minneapolis blueprint was firmly in place. Johnson wasn’t always in the press shots, but he was very much in the sound.
Not Just a Drummer: Jellybean as Guitarist, Producer, and Studio Secret Weapon
Though he’s most often introduced as “the drummer from The Time,” Johnson’s career quickly pushed far beyond the kit. He became an in‑demand guitarist and producer, part of a small Minneapolis circle that included producers Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis—two other Time alumni who helped redefine pop and R&B in the late ’80s and ’90s.
Johnson’s guitar work embraced fuzz, sustain, and a rock edge that made funk feel dangerous. Listen closely to the Minneapolis‑adjacent productions of that era and you’ll hear those wiry lines cutting through glossy synth beds, a reminder that this sound was never just about slickness. It was about tension.
“Jellybean could sit at the back of the stage keeping time or step up front with a guitar and set the whole room on fire. He was the definition of a utility player who still had his own voice.”
In the studio, he brought a drummer’s discipline to production. Tempos were tight, arrangements economical, but there was always a live spark—a sense that these machines might just jump off the table and start dancing.
Beyond Prince’s Orbit: Jellybean’s Quiet Impact on Pop and R&B
It’s impossible to talk about Johnson without talking about Prince, but reducing his legacy to “Prince adjacent” misses the point. The Minneapolis Sound didn’t stay in Minneapolis. It slipped into the DNA of mainstream R&B, the evolution of New Jack Swing, and even the rhythmic sensibilities of pop‑rap.
Johnson’s collaborations and session work fed into that pipeline. Even when his name wasn’t on the marquee, the feel he helped pioneer—crisp snare hits, shuffled hi‑hats, syncopated funk guitar, and synth bass that seemed to talk—became part of how producers built dance‑floor‑ready tracks.
- Live performance standard: The Time’s shows, powered by Johnson, set a template for high‑energy, band‑driven R&B performances.
- Studio precision: His sense of groove translated into drum programming and guitar tones that producers chased for decades.
- Genre fusion: By leaning into rock‑influenced guitar in a funk context, he opened doors for later artists to blend genres without apology.
In a streaming era where younger artists cite Prince, Janet, and Jam & Lewis as influences, Johnson’s work is baked into the background—a kind of stylistic ancestor heard even when he isn’t named.
Legacy Check: What Jellybean Johnson Gave Music—And Where History Fell Short
Looking at Johnson’s career through a critical lens means acknowledging both the depth of his contributions and the frustrating limits of how we credit musicians. On the one hand, he enjoyed the kind of longevity most players dream about: a spot in a beloved band, steady session work, and a role in shaping a sound that still gets referenced today.
On the other hand, his story highlights how session musicians and band members too often get filed under “supporting cast,” even when their parts are structurally essential. The industry has slowly improved—metadata, credits, and social media all help—but the gap remains. You can feel that in the way many obituaries are now hurriedly reconstructing his résumé, as if the work had been hiding in plain sight the whole time.
- Strengths: Versatility across drums, guitar, and production; deep rhythmic feel; a knack for balancing live looseness with machine‑like precision.
- Influence: Integral to making the Minneapolis Sound feel arena‑ready and exportable; helped bridge funk and rock for later generations.
- Underrated factor: Public recognition never quite matched his behind‑the‑scenes impact, a common fate for band lifers.
If there is a “critique” to be made, it has less to do with Johnson’s choices and more to do with the industry structures around him. Artists like him remind us that our canon is still incomplete, tilted toward solo auteurs while the band members and producers who sustain them remain under‑celebrated.
Where to Start: Listening to Jellybean Johnson’s Legacy Today
If you’re coming to Jellybean Johnson’s work for the first time, the best entry point is to follow the drums and then chase the guitar. Start with The Time’s albums, then branch out into the broader Minneapolis family tree and the pop records that borrowed its swagger.
- The Time – Self‑titled (1981): Raw, lean funk; listen for how the grooves lock even when the band sounds like it’s clowning around.
- What Time Is It? (1982): The band growing into its myth, with drums and guitar carving out more distinct personalities.
- Live performances and reunions: Concert footage showcases Johnson’s stage charisma as both drummer and guitarist.
For a deeper dive into context, pairing those records with Prince’s early‑’80s output and Janet Jackson’s Jam & Lewis‑produced albums creates a kind of informal syllabus. Johnson is in that conversation even when he’s offscreen.
Watch live clips and official videos to see the Minneapolis Sound in motion:
A Beat That Outlives the Spotlight
Jellybean Johnson’s death closes a chapter in Minneapolis music history, but it doesn’t silence the beat he helped invent. Every time a new artist leans into a tight drum machine groove, spikes a funk track with a distorted guitar riff, or treats R&B like a playground for rock and pop experiments, they’re walking a path he helped clear.
As fans revisit The Time and the broader Minneapolis catalog in the wake of his passing, the challenge—and the opportunity—is to remember the names behind the curtain as much as the stars under the marquee. The story of the Minneapolis Sound isn’t complete without Jellybean Johnson, and neither is the story of how pop learned to dance in 4/4 with a sly, sideways grin.
