Futurebirds and the Nude Party took over Houston’s very own White Oak Music Hall.
No matter your temporal circumstances, anyone of any age would have been transported to a time when an “emergency nickel” was a viable get out of jail free card if they were present at this recent White Oak concert. Yes indeed the seventies were alive and well — if only for a short while — in the Bayou City the night these bands made their music.
The journey against the flow of time would begin before the first live notes were played. The Nude Party’s groovy logo was hung high up on a banner behind the dormant instruments. The younger crowd, the median age of which could be estimated to be around 25, were serenaded with classic country tunes interspersed with like sounding modern interpretations of the style. “Killin’ Time” by Clint Black comes to mind, for example. The attendees, of which the women were mainly wearing long, white skirts, western hats, and boots while their beaus wore the standard polo-jean-boot combo, seemed appropriately dressed and willing to country up and buy the world a coke, an act which the first band of the night happily obliged.
Admittedly steeped in and inspired by the decade of shag, the U.K. native Fonteyn took the stage with her five piece band with seemingly one goal: to take the audience on a drive down Sunset Boulevard circa 1974. If that was her goal, she met it exceptionally. With herself on keys she had a second keyboardist adding layers of texture, a guitarist who added licks like Davey Johnstone, a drummer who could have knocked around the Wrecking Crew at its peak, and a bassist who thumped out lines like Carol Kaye, all uplifting a voice like Carol King. They brought class and vintage to a rowdy Houston crowd. The call to action their tunes were demanding was this: The sound we left behind to make the 80s has more to say and more to explore. They explored it well and the songs spoke eloquently.
Leaving Sunset and entering the roadhouse makes way for The Nude Party to thunder their way in. Patton Magee set the mood when he began moving in his fleur-de-lis embroidered jacket to a packed crowd. The swagger exuded by him, Alexander Castillo (bass), and everyone else on stage was as electrifying as it was infectious. To hoots and hollers the band jammed out song after song, even duetting with Fonteyn and her backing vocalists for the song “You’re So Vain.” Magee brought out the best of the early 1970s with his voice that mixed Eric Burdon with Van Morrison, wrapped up in the vibe of a less drug-addled Jim Morrison, keeping the best and leaving the rest of the Vietnam era with a country twist. Kudos, as well, to the percussion player for not just keeping in tight with the band, but for hammering out some tasty djembe playing. That is not seen frequently enough! The Futurebirds also joined them for a song toward the end, replacing, momentarily, one of the most animated lap steel players one can see live with a shirtless one. They ended their set and let Futurebirds fly the venue back in time as well.
The night took these listeners from 1974 to 1971, and now as the last band got ready to play, Futurebirds took them to a dirt road in 1978. Using the entire stage to move around, their purposeful, amazing harmonies and easy yet rocking tunes brought the crowd to a level of energy that made it hard to stand still. The crowd, being a louder one than even Houston is usually known for, ate the country twang with a starved appetite, especially since the air outside was tinged with the smell of rodeo season. Their steel guitar player, the shirtless man from one song of the previous set (Dennis Love), gave the audience much to respond to. Somehow during their slot, between the kneeling, rocking, grooving, and moving, there was enough time for the father of one of the Futurebirds (a Vintagebird?) to take the stage and inject his percussion playing prowess into a song or two. It was after the liquid guitar solos and heartfelt songs of a killer act that the night came to a close, releasing the vocal crowd into the present day after a vacation to another time.
After looking up Fonteyn when they were done playing, someone on the smoking patio made the comment, “You’re really going to dig these guys. Both of the bands!” when asked about the headliners and could not have been more correct.
In one night the musical road-trip one could take would outclass the most well-funded stint down Route 66. Americana was thrust upon the eager faces in a way that left them smiling as the Houstonians made their way to their cars, and would most likely energize them into the next day. All three bands killed it that night, and what did they kill? They killed the monotony of modern life for a handful of hours, meaning, they did more than killin’ time, they took it back.
Currently enrolled in the school of Hard Knox, I play the drums professionally and have been since I graduated High School. My love of writing comes from my grandparents. My Mimi was a voracious reader and my Pawpaw was something of a cowboy story teller (and one can tell from what I call them how country I used to be). I’m an old soul and an appreciator of music and the arts, so I hope my life of being steeped in it will reflect in everything I do!
