Dumpstaphunk at Miner Auditorium

Dumpstaphunk
Miner Auditorium
San Francisco, California
October 11, 2025

What if the beat were a social contract? That question lingered over a sold-out Saturday at Miner Auditorium, where Dumpstaphunk approached funk not as escapism but as a shared practice—an agreement to move, listen, and shape tension and release as a community. This thesis emerged in the music, in the crowd and in the way bandleader Ivan Neville framed the evening: a collective body choosing the groove.

The setup fostered that pact. The venue created a limited-capacity dance floor—about 150 bodies swaying in near-club darkness—while a giant screen displayed "NOLA" and a fleur-de-lis, stamping the social contract with New Orleans' seal. Ushers danced in the rafters, and on the floor, people moved freely. Spotlights illuminated each soloist briefly, then faded, focusing attention on the collective rather than the individual.

The organism assembled piece by piece. Drummer Raymond Weber ignited the groove, guitarists Ari Teitel and Ian Neville layered rhythm and color, Tony Hall anchored the low end, then Ivan entered with Hammond runs that both sweetened and sharpened the mix. "Deeper" set both the pulse and the pact—a reminder that Dumpstaphunk's energy comes from control: lines locked in the pocket, accents landing like handclaps in a second line.

Early in the set, "Let's Do It" became the emotional core. Neville dedicated it to the late Nick Daniels III, the band's longtime co-bassist and the spirit behind their two-bass aesthetic. Daniels is the voice behind the line, "I'm good together, we're great," a lyric that reads like a mission statement. That creed resonated in Hall's authority—just one bass tonight, but a legacy of double-bass dialogue still haunted the arrangement, the line serving as anchor and commentary.

That ethos shapes Dumpstaphunk's improvisation. The band values conversation over showmanship: keyboard feints answered by guitar filigree, horns entering as punctuation, dynamics built like a street parade—from low simmer to whistle-blown peak. Even when individual players stretched out, the rhythm stayed constant— freedom above, commitment below—keeping the room danceable and the narrative clear.

The moments that resonated most fused memory and motion. "Fire & Brimstone" reached into the Neville Brothers canon with a charge that felt commemorative and immediate. "Hot Fun in the Summertime," offered up to Bay Area legend Sly Stone, drew a local roar: Tony Hall channeling Larry Graham's baritone grit, Rebekah Todd responding with Rose Stone's lift. The band balanced celebration with precision—the pocket never blurred, the backbeat never overwhelmed. An overheard listener's summary after the song—"worth the price of admission"—felt more like consensus than hyperbole.

Stagecraft reinforced the music's communal logic. The horns—Mike Olmos on trumpet and Alex Wasily on trombone—did not just brighten choruses; they tightened transitions and pulled the groove forward. Teitel and Ian Neville stood shoulder to shoulder, one anchoring rhythm, the other painting above it—both eschewing guitar-hero clichés. Wasily stepped away from his instrument to dance mid-tune; the floor belonged to the band, too.

 The night's most tender moment arrived in the encore, "Street Parade." Original vocalist Vivica Hawkins, recovering from a serious stroke earlier this year, emerged to shake a tambourine and move with the band. The crowd responded instantly and warmly: joy tinged with gratitude. Neville's explanation of the song's appeal— music as a push toward peace and togetherness—suddenly felt less rhetorical and more like method..

Taken as a whole, the 90-minute set resembled a neighborhood block party engineered by master builders. The pacing was nearly seamless; slow numbers never appeared because the room did not require them. What it needed—and received—was ongoing proof that groove can hold complexity: memory and mourning within celebration, virtuosity within service, the family history of New Orleans in a present tense shaped by horns, Hammond, and a rhythm team that knows when to lean and when to float.

Conclusion: Dumpstaphunk demonstrated how funk thrives when it keeps faith with its roots and its people. The band honored the Neville lineage without placing it behind velvet ropes, pushed its own catalog forward ("Let's Do It" now serves as both tribute and thesis), and treated the audience as collaborators in time. If the beat is a social contract, this band upholds it—generously, tightly, and with a sense of duty to the culture that birthed it. The future of this tradition will belong to artists who can convene a room as Dumpstaphunk did here: through trust in the pocket and belief in the "we."

Setlist: "Deeper," "Let's Do It," "Make It After All," "Justice," "Itchy Boo," "Sheez Music," "Where Do We Go," "No More Okey Doke," "Hot Fun in the Summertime," "I Get High on You," and "Fire & Brimstone." Encore: "Street Parade."

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