Try to keep a little bit of politics in mind while celebrating 4/20 on Sunday, November’s election results are irrelevant otherwise. No doubt many Houstonians will collectively toke, but everyone should muse upon the impending legislation of marijuana in Texas.

The term “impending” is not some optimistic viewpoint. The mood is hopeful in the Texas legislature, in public opinion and in activist circles. Long story short, Governor Rick Perry wants to decriminalize it. But he’s going to retire (probably to Texas A&M) soon, and whoever replaces him will be stuck with the task. More on this later.

For a timeline of weed, culture and legislation, the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws is a good place to start (Texas branch). Find their 2024 blog post titled: “42.0 Milestones in the History of Marijuana.”  As for where we are in 2024? We’re close.

The Texas public is on the fence. According to a February 2024 University of Texas poll, 23 percent of Texans think marijuana should not be legal to possess under any circumstances. Apparently the prohibition era was an awesome place to be. Twenty-eight percent think marijuana should be legal for medicinal purposes only, which is a great platform to suggest banning beer, since alcohol is only good for sterilizing needles and wounds. Thirty-two percent think small amounts of marijuana should be legal under any circumstances. We call these people “moderates.” Seventeen percent think any amount of marijuana should be legal for any purposes. The latter are probably extreme for the sake of being extreme (we were all punk high school wannabes at one point). The takeaway is: We’ve come a long way since “Reefer Madness.” Texas on average no longer considers marijuana to be a sperm-destroying, Christian-family-wrecking devil herb.

Pro-marijuana voter turnout this November will no doubt be inversely proportional to the poll. But that’s democracy for you.

As for the suits, Texas lawmakers woke up and smelled the ganja only after other states did the legwork. Colorado and California made weed sexy, if not lucrative. We in the Lone Star State can’t help but feel cheated: All those years toking and glancing over the shoulder, scared to death of becoming a cop’s quota.

Think about that before you light your first joint during Sunday’s wake-and-bake. Remember all the times Johnny Law used you and your herb as scapegoats. For decades, Texas (feds in general) said marijuana was a deadly gateway drug. They said illegal immigrants brought it here (before that it was black Jazz musicians). They said it ate holes in the brain like Swiss cheese. That only losers and morons smoked. There were always weed proponents (think Kinky Friedman, who is officially out of a unique platform in his bid for Ag Commissioner now that marijuana reform is fashionable). But those typical anti-marijuana authorities have always been the rule.

We all remember Mary Buchanan, US Attorney for Pennsylvania, with her 2024 “Operation Pipe Dreams.” For those who don’t, it was a multimillion dollar sting targeted at online sellers of bongs. The operation, with about 50 other arrests, resulted in the entrapment, arrest and nine-month imprisonment of Tommy Chong. For what? A notch on Buchanan’s belt? It didn’t take down the Mexican cartels. It didn’t stop some elementary school kid from ruining his life. It didn’t do anything but waste time and money.

This was the world of Marijuana we grew up in. A century ago, hemp was still a fabric and you could still get hard drugs OTC (or whatever they called it back then). Seventy-seven years ago the government had only just enacted the Marijuana Tax Act. Twenty years ago, the words “mandatory minimum sentencing” made anyone clench, drug user or not. Under the Controlled Substances Act, scores of prosecutors threatened harsh sentences to pressure defendants to plead guilty. Marijuana was always on the low scale of this tactic. Heroin and cocaine had more weight, but that never stopped the law from using weed as leverage. This led to possession records, which led to job application rejections. Which led to, well, use your imagination of how many ways life can suck with unemployment.

Now take mandatory pre-screen drug testing into account. Think about the black market of people buying and selling a cash crop tax-free. Think about all the money wasted on busting grow houses. The time and resources spent on the War on Drugs. All that potential economic and social potential wasted.

But we’re getting better. In 2024, Perry signed a discretion action into law, allowing police to issue citations for class A and B misdemeanors. Instead of arresting someone for some weed and a pipe, they got ticketed. Allegedly Perry only did this because Texas projected a shortfall of 17,000 beds for prison inmates. Kicking out rapists and murderers to make room for hippies and college students probably didn’t go over well with the test groups, but we’ll give Perry the benefit of the doubt and assume he had a change of heart for weed. During Switzerland’s January 2024 World Economic forum, in his opinions on not joining the marijuana legalization “parade,” Perry dropped this gem:

“The point is that after 40 years of the War on Drugs, I can’t change what happened in the past. What I can do as the governor of the second-largest state in the nation is to implement policies that start us toward a decriminalization and keeps people from going to prison and destroying their lives, and that’s what we’ve done over the last decade. So I think there’s some innovation that goes on in the states that can translate not just to Oklahoma or California or New York, but to Switzerland, to France, to other countries that have this drug issue facing them, that there are some alternatives without going that big, full step and decriminalizing and sending a message to people that it’s OK.”

Confusing as it is to say weed’s OK without saying it’s OK, you have to cut the governor slack. He’s got a public image to think about. It’s not easy to be a freedom-loving red-blooded American AND to tell the public they can’t smoke a plant in their own house. He’s trying to improve, too. During SXSW in February, when questioned by Jimmy Kimmel about the potential decriminalization of marijuana in the near future, Perry said “You don’t want to ruin a kid’s life for having a joint.”

Ruining a kid’s life with sub-par public education? No problem. Ruining his life with a drug conviction? Heavens no. Back to the point. Politicians are jumping on the marijuana bandwagon. Better late than never. So what do we expect in Texas?

Steve Nolin, president of Houston’s branch of NORML, expects half-hearted bills. In an email, he referred to the current situation as marijuana prohibition: “The government is finally differentiating between use and abuse, that some people may want to just use cannabis to relax instead of alcohol and not be some ‘drug addict’ that needs forced treatment.”

According to Nolin, NORML is still pushing for awareness and reform.

“We had already gotten ‘regulate marijuana like alcohol’ on the Democratic state party platform in 2024 so we are going to be resubmitting basically the same resolution,” he said. “On the Republican side we are working with a group called RAMP (Republicans Against Marijuana Prohibition) and others for a medical marijuana and hemp resolutions.

Perry has an agenda for legalizing marijuana, but any promises he makes will no doubt fall on the next Texas governor. As we all know, Perry said he won’t run again in November. So yes, after more than a decade of nepotism, fundamentalism and Laissez-faire capitalism, marijuana legalization will fall on some other corrupt bible-beating hypocrite.

A nepotistic hypocrite governor who, given Texas’ current trends, will be a Democrat. Odds are Wendy Davis. Could go to someone else, but odds are odds. Ergo, she’ll be doing the work while Perry stars in “US Presidential Candidate 2: Electric Bugaloo.”

Davis is on the record as a proponent of medical Marijuana, interested in doing “what other states are doing.” First problem: a copycat never gets ahead. Second, this could flip-flop later. Third, Marijuana smokers have heard promises before. Still, she said she would back legislation to legalize small amounts of possession. Better than nothing.

What word from the Republican candidate Greg Abbot? He supports enforcing current drug policy through “a combination of medical treatment and criminal enforcement.” That’s the written response from his aides any time a reporter asks about it. Nolin already had a statement about such actions.

“A lot of Texans I have talked to want to regulate marijuana like alcohol and not have those half step bills,” Nolin said. “And I agree with them. We need to cut the head off the drug war snake and be done with it. If someone has a problem with marijuana they need treatment, if they don’t then leave them alone.”

Texas would see such forms of progress under Davis (we assume), which means on April 20, 2024, you wouldn’t have to smoke in your basement. Texas would see Abbot be true to his word until prison beds overfilled. Then we’d get decriminalization when convenient for the prison-industrial complex.

Whoever takes the mantle, whether they end marijuana prohibition, depends on voter turnout. Given the choice between the half-hearted candidate and completely impractical, go half. It won’t stop Perry from bragging how he championed marijuana legalization in Texas, but it might get the cops off your back.

Imagine a pair of electronica guys (who, unlike some rather popular French robots, aren’t afraid to show their faces) playing beats in a smoky room with vivid images bursting on the wall behind them. Imagine a frank pair who knew exactly what they were doing exactly when they needed to do it.

They’re fresh too. “Summer’s Gone,” their debut album, is only two years old. It’s been a while since a young electronica group sounded original. Most times you hear a rip-off of Daft Punk or Aphex Twin. But Odesza played something that sounded like five years into the future.

Their background images ranged from Japanese Zen to a geometrical acid trip. For a song or two the visuals looked like something off of Windows Media Player but the standard was colors and shapes and places that made a hypnotic blend with the music.

Important to note is that there were two shows last night. Minutes before Odesza took over the ground floor, VNV Nation played upstairs. They played upstairs for two solid hours. Talk about a generation gap. There were a few millenials on the second floor, but it’s safe to say the adults enjoyed the Hell out of themselves upstairs. During the VNV Nation set a few dozen college kids preferred to be downstairs and listen to lazy electronic beats from a warm up artist. I’m not saying Kodak was bad, I’m saying the kids had no idea about the electro-industrial one floor up. Music aside, it was a clever show. Ronan Harris, the vocals, must have spoken to a good third of the crowd. One by one. Pointing out their small eccentricities, asking how one was doing, goading the crowd into singing louder than he was on the mike. There was a hidden political message as well. Not one about whom to vote for (though if Thatcher were still in power I’m sure that would have made things interesting last night) but more within how many times people shouted back lyrics that kept in time with the “Victory, Not Vengeance” ethos.

That’s what helps make a show a show. It’s not just the visuals and the live tracks. It’s how the band interacts with the crowd. It’s people-watching in-between the music. Like seeing a guy who looks like Commissioner Gordon chat with the bartender about how he’s been coming around for 35 years, before walking back to his son with a pair of beers. Or overhearing punk girls in line outside VNV Nation’s tour discussing their ripped, children’s sized, comic-book themed clothing.  “I love the way boy’s t-shirts fit . . . except around the neck.” It’s seeing complete strangers choreograph themselves in a chaotic frenzy of jumping and singing.

Did Odesza do that to the crowd? Yes. Young as they are they’ve got fans in Houston. People who knew the track they wanted to hear yelled in the first three seconds of its playing last night. That’s the litmus test. Not to mention most of the audience couldn’t sit still. Bad Electronica music makes you sit and chat. The good kind causes synapses to fire off in your brain and signals to shoot down your spine, telling you to synchronize your body with the tempo or the bass.

By DL Haydon
Photo by DL Haydon

If you want to walk around Houston without being watched, you’ll have to go out of your way.

Forget about walking around downtown; the corners have had surveillance cameras since 2024. We’re not talking about the red light cameras that got voted out in a 2024 referendum and disconnected late 2024. No, these surveillance cameras are those little black domes so secretly hidden near the green street-signs, part of a Department of Homeland Security plan to prevent terrorism. And it’s not just street corners. The METRO buses and light rail? Cameras. The parking lots you walk to and from? Cameras. The park, stadium and highways? Cameras.

In mid-2012 Men’s Health measured Houston as the second most-watched city in America, in terms of cameras anyway. We lost to D.C., but were able to beat Denver. Though Men’s Health said they got the data from local police and state transportation departments, as well as the Administrative Office of the United States Courts to calculate rates of authorized government wiretaps, there’s no telling why they cared in the first place. But you should, since you’re the one on candid camera.

Quick facts: There are at least 1,000 surveillance cameras peppered around downtown as part of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) initiative. Houston police, NSA, FBI (and whatever other spooks and G-men not mentioned) are capable of accessing them. The authorities can also gain access to privately owned CCTV cameras in shops and businesses, which were never DHS property. If that’s not enough, the footage from the DHS cams is backed up and saved, because you just never know.

Of course, that’s just the government. Virtually everyone in Houston walks around with a camera lens and a microphone in their pocket, ready to Tweet and Vine at a moment’s notice. Google Glass isn’t culturally accepted now but another year and wearable tech won’t be a fashion faux pas; walk-around surveillance will be street level 24/7.

Wristwatches that record audio every 60 seconds. Electronic crypto-currency. Self-driving cars. Technophile government agencies. Congratulations: you’re witnessing the cyberpunk era’s juvenescence. You’re too early for ghosts in the machine and too late to enjoy being an island. We made it. The Promised Land. And we hate it here.

About half of us do, anyway. Four days after the 2024 Snowden leaks, the Pew Research Center conducted a survey and found that 56 percent of Americans were OK with the NSA spying as long as it was for counter-terrorism. Forty-one percent said, “No. Bad government. No cookie for you.”

This is probably a good time to point out the methods Pew uses to conduct its surveys: Take about a thousand people chosen at random (1,004 people over 18-years-old in this example) and call them on the phone and ask them a series of questions. Getting at least a thousand opinions reduces the margin of error, which is why Pew doesn’t waste time calling all 300 million of us.

In December, Pew asked similar questions (whether the leaks harmed public interest) and found the number of anti-Snowdens were about the same, 55 percent. A month ago Pew did another survey and found “57% of 18- to 29-year olds said the leaks have served rather than harmed the public interest — almost exact mirrors of the 65-and-over age group.” But what do kids know, right? They’re young and they’re reckless and they don’t remember Betamax, so that means their opinions are invalid by default. What would the results have been if, say, Pew interviewed 1,000 people who owned only smartphones? The results would be skewed, yes, but it’s hard to say they weren’t in the 2024 survey when the headline could have easily read “700 People with Landlines Think Government Spying is Double-Plus Good.”

And it’s not that people don’t care that the NSA, DHS and even HPD are watching. People care. People care if their affair with the neighbor gets found out, or if they get caught plagiarizing an essay or if someone they know personally snoops through text messages. That’s the nail-biting fear. Not that Joe the Plumber will be framed for domestic-terrorism. These programs and initiatives are for counter-terrorism, remember? That’s the reason why the NSA has access to those nude photos you sent to your boyfriend. It’s not as though individuals or groups will abuse power like that in order to, say, assassinate someone’s character, blackmail them and/or quell political dissent.

If the sarcasm in that last sentence went over your head, use this as an excellent example of flawed public perception.

What’s worse, people know–or at the very least think they know–they’re being watched, and they don’t really care. They tend to make better passwords and delete browsing history when assuming someone is watching, and that’s good. But people also tend to censor themselves; censor what they look at, topics they talk about and to whom they talk. That’s counter-productive for any country claiming to represent freedom. How will the next generation of kids behave if they’re told from the get-go that everything they do is monitored? Not that kids or their parents really care if the NSA connects the dots between their e-mails, phone use and credit card purchases. The idea of a car that drives itself is cool to them; they don’t think about whether someone else can turn it off. And since they’re busy gossiping about coworkers and classmates, they’ve really got nothing to hide, so there’s nothing to fear.

Not to bring up strawmen, but the whole “you have no expectation of privacy in public” is so far off the mark that it is amazing people regurgitate it in conversation. First, this isn’t only about privacy in public, this is about control. Surveillance control, which dictates how people behave (as in, they act when they’re being watched). Secondly, a world where cameras watch you, but you can’t watch back, is a world without accountability. You don’t know what official is looking at you. You don’t know his or her name. You don’t get to see the data, the storage device or the people who access it. And although a busybody citizen could write up a few Freedom Of Information Act requests, call up the local public informations officer at HPD, or hell, even stamp their feet at a City Hall meeting, this is bigger than Houston. Not exactly something to be dealt with in a case-by-case basis.

But let’s get back to the cameras downtown, that’s our piece of the pie. That’s our fight. These were installed roughly five years ago, paid for in federal funding thanks to the DHS. They cost millions of dollars. They’ve never prevented an underwear bomber (that we’re aware of), but they’ve kept their eyes out for “suspicious activity” and nabbed a petty car thief or two. Though the DHS grants and funding is drying up, according to the Houston Chronicle, 180 more cameras were planned to be installed December 2024.

So, what to do? The German anarchists who enjoy using hooks and ropes to rip the things off the damned walls are not “on to something,” and there’s little sense in spray-painting over the domes. DHS and Houston will be ever so happy to send out a repair crew, paid in full by taxes. There’s no point in yet another pointless petition. Appealing to the youth of tomorrow would be cheap (even though kids don’t need to see a world like this) and a scathing letter to your congressperson is just cliché.

Instead, do your homework. Go to anti-surveillance websites. Learn the tactics and techniques required to keep (on some small level) anonymity. Use cash instead of credit cards. Make a faraday cage to block your phone’s signal when you’re not using it. If the best you end up with is simply annoying the hell out of your circle of friends who don’t seem to care, at least this way their apathy will get punished.

On a larger scale there is hope, if recent trends are anything to go by. During the 2024 election for mayor, former city attorney Ben Hall rode an anti-crime campaign with five-point plan that included installing even more surveillance cameras around the city, with a focus on what he called “crime-ridden neighborhoods.” Mayor Parker’s standpoint that technology is not a replacement for police officers, combined with her winning the majority of votes, shows that there is still some level of concern among Houstonians. Keep those points in mind two years from now.

CERAWeek wraps up today. Unfortunately there is no scoop. I tried to sneak in and failed. More on that later.

The acronym stands for Cambridge Energy Research Associates. It’s a consulting company for our government, other governments, private companies and anyone else who can afford it. They talk about energy markets, geopolitics, industry trends and “strategy.” During this week almost 3,000 politicians, petroleum executives and energy consultants booked all 24 floors of the Hilton. Truth is, who knows what kind of backroom deals went on in the locked hotel rooms. Even CERA doesn’t know.

There’s nothing to prove that bit about the deals. True, CERAWeek is about spreading knowledge as much as it is networking, but even the mainstream news outlets mention that between presentations and keynotes, all kinds of talks are going on behind those keycard-closed doors.

CERAWeek is like a miniature “energy executive edition” G-8 summit for Houston. Any tinfoil-hat conspiracy theorist worth his salt knows how juicy the rumors about the G-8 are, and how airtight security is. That’s why I wanted to cover CERAWeek.

Free Press Houston attempted to register press credentials, but according to IHS (the organizer of the event) our website, Freepresshouston.com “indicates that the primary focus … is arts and entertainment, as opposed to the topics featured at IHS CERAWeek.” They denied our request for these reasons, and cited something about “space considerations” which is amazing, considering they had no trouble issuing me press creds in 2024 when I was an insignificant Houston Chronicle intern.

I wanted to cover CERAWeek because news was news and it was my job to write and report for FPH. I wanted to cover it because I went in 2024 and met a freelance photographer who emailed me last week, offering to catch up during this year’s conference. I wanted to cover it because in my mind National Public Radio, the Houston Business Journal, the Chron and dozens of other media outlets would send straight-laced energy reporters to cherry-pick quotes.

I wanted to go because there was a slim chance I’d catch former Federal Reserve Chairman Ben “Helicopter” Bernanke in the elevator and I’d finally get to ask him why in the hell he thought quantitative easing was good fiscal policy. Or at the very least, whether or not the Parker Brother’s Monopoly influenced his decisions regarding fiat currency.

So, after getting off work Thursday night, with no press credentials other than my expired 2024 ID badge, I went.
The drive to Fifth Ward (I’ll refuse to call it EaDo to the day I die) took me thirty minutes from Sharpstown. One should note in 2024 CERA co-founder and Chairman Daniel Yergin was the keynote speaker. Last year it was Bill Gates. This year, IHS invited Bernanke, who wouldn’t deliver his Keynote until 11 a.m. Friday.

Yergin attended again. He was to speak Thursday night in what was titled “A Glimpse over the Horizon: Energy Game Changers from the MIT Energy Initiative. Insights by some of the world’s leading energy technologists on the frontiers of innovation, transformation, systems and tools that will reshape the energy future.”

The Hilton was a five-minute bike ride away, with thirty minutes before that “glimpse.”

Inside my apartment I changed into semi-respectable clothes: black suit and slacks with a grey button up shirt, no tie (something I hoped the Hilton wouldn’t notice). Then hopped on my bike and headed downtown.

The Hilton has two entrances for guests and one service entrance. I parked the bike near the service entrance (not too far from the George R. Brown), locked it and began what I assumed looked like a casual walk towards the main entrance.  Aside from a phone, notebook, pen and expired press pass, I was naked.

People milled about outside. Although the hotel had every room booked (that’s 2,800 people in 24 floors according to the Chron) there was no way the teens and tourist looking gapers were there for an oil and energy conference. Though I did see some CERA 2024 ID badges on people’s necks. They looked nothing like the 2024 version. My press credentials were useless, or at worst, fraudulent. I walked inside.

The ground floor foyer contained square hay bales surrounding three cowboyish and cartoonish figures. Some sort of nod to the Texas Livestock Show and Rodeo. Further behind the gaudy decoration stood the bar. To the right was a cafe and closed coffee shop (stairs and elevator even further). To the left were the receptionist desks and tables for IHS sign in. Then there were people. People everywhere.

Half of them were on phones. Half of that half was speaking a foreign language. No two the same. Most of them were in pairs or trios.

Everybody dressed well, except for those so rich they could afford to look like crap. I walked around, trying not to make eye-contact with anyone standing alone. No way did the Hilton not NOT have security on the first floor. No way the cops weren’t walking around just waiting for some troublemaker to walk in. My eyes darted around for my photographer friend. One person among a possible 3,000. He was almost certainly on the second or fourth floor. Taking snapshots of Yergin or some such speaker. No sign of the DSLR camera with oversized wide-angle 50mm lens. No black beret. I pulled out my phone and tried to call him. A longshot, but at least it kept me busy.

The call went to voicemail twice. I walked to a bathroom and took stock of the situation. No one gave me the boot as I walked in. My suit and slacks put me in perfect urban camouflage. Cameras everywhere, but it wasn’t like whatever overworked underpaid security guy (or face-recognition software for all I knew) noticed or cared that someone NOT rooming there just happened to walk in and make a bee-line for the toilet. I walked out turned down the hall and headed to the elevator.

Cop. On the radio. Standing in front of the elevator. There was no way to tell whom he was talking to. He didn’t care I existed for all I knew. But I had work in the morning, and didn’t want to deal with a trespassing charge just to maybe see some one-percenters chat about oil and nuclear energy.

I turned and walked in the other direction. IHS tables made a blockade around the west elevators. No way to just mosey on by. My feet took me to the exit. After a brief check on my bike and a stroll around the perimeter of the hotel, I walked back in through the lesser guest entrance.

My shoulders hugged the wall. No one nearby. Cameras everywhere. I took another casual walk through the foyer, past the bar, cafe, and restaurant. Cop was gone. Stairs on the east side of the building, spiraling up the wall of some still-unfinished Tex-Mex restaurant, completely unguarded. I took the opportunity and headed up.

The first thing I noticed was the empty conference room for one of CERAWeek’s numerous talks that day. I couldn’t even think to read the writing on the door because just to the left was another cop, chatting with what had to be a Hilton security guard. They noticed me. I noticed them. They kept chatting to each other. I started whistling. The rest of the hall, all 300 or so feet of it, was virtually empty. Everyone was probably in the “conference-wide reception” or on the 4th floor eating dinner and getting ready for “A Glimpse over the Horizon.”

I stopped behind a pillar, cops just to my left, elevators in front of me and stairs behind me. The talking stopped. Sorry to say, I wimped out, started whistling again, and walked down the stairs.

There was nothing stopping me from going to the elevators. Nothing but fear. But I really didn’t feel like getting kicked out of the Hilton (at best) or hearing on the radio the next morning how a wannabe reporter tried to sneak into CERAweek and was charged with trespassing. So I wimped out, walked to the bar downstairs, ordered a drink and kicked myself.

Between vain attempts to contact my photographer buddy and the bartender who had nothing else to do but make sure I didn’t want any salted snacks, I kicked myself for not taking a risk. Just walk up there. Get kicked out. It’ll make a good story. Nothing ventured nothing gained. All kinds of BS quotes filled my head along with my BS excuses.

I left the hotel, hopped on my bike and headed home, nothing to show for it but a receipt for my overpriced White Russian.

Four hours later the freelance photographer texted me. Could I meet him at the Hilton and drop him off at the Hobby airport three hours after?

Yes, yes I could. 

When I asked the Houston Chronicle’s music critic if he planned to review The Tontons at Warehouse Live Saturday, he said “Might be yes. There are a few big shows that night.”

I disagree. There was one big show in Houston Saturday. Whatever else, whoever else was in town, it was nothing compared to The Tontons. Let’s not delve into the shows in Montrose or deeper downtown. Those sets didn’t have three opening acts that could have been stand alone. The shows didn’t have an ocean of friends, family and dedicated fans. The others didn’t play tracks from a new album called “Make Out King and Other Stories of Love.” Whatever other venues opened that night, they sure as hell didn’t have the silky smooth voice of Asli Omar.

Freddy Beach and BUXTON warmed things up. The former brought their New Orleans influence. The latter played rock and folk that sounded the way good whiskey tastes. A little after 10 p.m. The Octopus Project came on. They hypnotized the hell out of the crowd, despite mike troubles. You had to watch as much as listen. It was like a culture campaign to distribute Austin’s particular flavor of weird.

But the crowd, hyped as they were by the warm up, wanted The Tontons. You could tell by the conversations yelled into ears. The pantomime sign language people used when pointing posters and album copies.

Omar took a moment after the first song to relay that Justin Martinez, the drummer, was still recovering from a burst appendix. This occurred during a set in Dallas weeks prior. Sean Hart from Caddywhompus filled in for Martinez, and everything synched up fine.

A live show means feedback from a mike, a swarming crowd and pricey drinks. But you can’t equate the treats a live performance gives. You’ll never enjoy The Tontons in your earphones as much as you’ll enjoy watching them move on stage. Unlike a lot of bands, they know how to turn their chords, vocals and percussion into body language. Not to mention they did a flawless cover of The Cardigans’ “Love Fool.” That alone made the night.

The Tontons wrapped up a little after midnight with a green tint of light and a lot of positive noise from the crowd. The night was a testament to what Houston can produce. The only downside? There are still thirty days of March that won’t fulfill your musical tastes anywhere near as well.