Leon Bridges and Hermanos Gutiérrez packed the Majestic Theatre Thursday, delivering a night of grooves that were both seductive and tender.
There was something in the air. Both acts seemed to cast a spell in tandem, though their styles were wildly different.
Hermanos Gutiérrez specialize in sparse, instrumental desert grooves that draw on the influence of Ecuadorian music. Meanwhile, neo-soul singer-songwriter Bridges delivers buttery-soft vocals over a big band that lands somewhere between soul, folk, funk, country and indie rock.
It’s hard to imagine who put these two acts together, but somehow it all made sense.
A delicate sensuality was a through line of the evening. True to his soul forebears, Bridges showed himself to be a hopeless romantic whose lyrics center on the soaring highs and crushing lows of falling deeply in love. And even though there are no words in the songs of Hermanos Gutiérrez, the feeling they evoked was incredibly romantic. Maybe not love, but certainly the slow-burning intensity of a dizzying infatuation.
The crowd felt it too. As the music played, a nearby woman sat in her man’s lap.
Bridges was the night’s headliner, but with all the buzz around Hermanos Gutiérrez lately, the show felt more like a double-header.
Though it was just the two of them, the brothers switched between instruments, going from Les Paul to lap steel, and from Gretch to bongos. These were then looped, effectively multiplying the number of band members with layers of textures.
Estevan Gutiérrez, the brother who always wears a hat, trained himself to play classical guitar in a Spanish style with an interesting twist: he’s a big Jack Johnson fan. That coffee-shop surfer influence came through not only in his tone but also in the percussive application of dead notes as an added rhythm element woven throughout the melody.
Between songs, Alejandro Gutiérrez engaged with the audience. Naturally, he spoke of the desert, calling it their “favorite place.” They even played what they referred to as a “desert medley.”
“Why does this sound like the desert?” I pondered as I listened. Could it be the desolation of the music’s sparseness, perhaps? Like a romanticized vast emptiness in every direction. Or maybe it was the lap steel, which lended a decidedly Western patina. But it also came down to the layered textures of percussion, like prickly pear needles set against delicate grains of sand. There were no scorpions or rattlesnakes in this desert. No real danger. Just beauty, and maybe some longing.
Bridges’ stage design was nothing short of sumptuous. The gold fringe of the singer’s jacket mirrored the cascading gold panels behind him. Bridges, known for his exceptional personal style, was dressed for the 1970s. But the set was more reminiscent of the Cab Calloway era, offering a polished sense of old-world glamor.
Seven band members backed up Bridges, who was front and center. Four of the musicians were guitarists, and the number increased to five when Bridges picked up his starburst acoustic. The backing band was tighter than tight with elaborate transitions and jazzy interludes allowing one song to melt seamlessly into the next.
When Bridges finally let the “Texas Sun” shine, the crowd swayed and sang along to this signature tune. This is what they had been waiting for, though the Houston-based band Khruangbin wasn’t present to play their part of the collaborative track.
The people finally got what they wanted. But along the way, even slow jams like “That’s What I Love” and the jazzy funk track “Bad, Bad News” hit just right.
Thursday’s concert wasn’t a night of intense peaks and valleys. Instead, it delivered a mellow groove that got into the bones, leaving the audience thoroughly entertained and imbued with an overwhelming sense of wellbeing.
Bridges’ world is beautiful, and true love still exists there. Why would anyone ever want to leave?
