Leon Bridges emerges from the back of Oak Cliff’s Spinster Records and pulls up a seat at the signing table. It’s Sunday at 2 p.m., and Fort Worth’s coolest cat looks the part, with his oversized vintage sunglasses, brown leather jacket and black gloves. “Chill” is the word that comes to mind as he sits in front of a Christmas tree decorated with 45s, the soulful sounds of his latest album, Leon, playing on repeat inside the small store.
“You ready to let them in?” asks an employee, and soon fans start filtering through the front door, the flow controlled by a security guard.
Over the next 90 minutes, about 200 people will get their Leon Bridges album — or poster, or T-shirt — signed. His friends Christopher Hamilton and Brandon Westbrooks stand on either side of him, helping with the logistics of wrappers and bags, though they step out of frame as he poses for one picture after another. In that casual way of stars, he doesn’t smile but occasionally throws up the peace sign.
The laid-back vibe is reflected in the name of the event, “a record store kickback,” one of several album signings Bridges has booked in cities like Atlanta, Austin and Nashville on his recent tour. Spinster owner David Grover tells me this afternoon is the biggest signing in the store’s 10-year history, with more than 250 records sold.
The first person in line, a 79-year-old named Lloyd V. Coleman, arrived at 11 a.m. from Arlington, carrying a huge framed copy of a 2021 Dallas Morning News profile on Bridges. “Leon’s my brother-in-law’s nephew,” says Coleman, who moved to North Texas from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.
By the time the event starts at 2 p.m., the line snakes along the busy sidewalk of Bishop and wraps down the nearby alleyway. The November afternoon is breezy, but warm enough for short sleeves.
“The fact that he’s been rooted in Fort Worth and Dallas and the venues that brought him up is really special,” says Emma Chalott Barron, sipping an iced coffee from Espumoso Caffe as she stands near the back of the line. “It can be disheartening when celebrities forget where they came from.”
Bridges never did. A shy kid who once washed dishes at Del Frisco’s Grille and bused tables at Rosa’s Cafe, hitting the open-mic circuit before getting signed by Columbia Records, he’s worn his Fort Worth hometown like a badge of honor since his 2015 break-out, Coming Home. At his recent sold-out show at Dickies Arena, Mayor Mattie Parker declared Nov. 15 (the day of the concert) to be Leon Bridges Day in Fort Worth.
“It’s not just about me; it’s about all of us, every corner of this city that raised me and shaped me,” Bridges wrote on his social media pages about the evening. “It’s the Southside and Sundance Square, the little pockets of the city where music seeps through the walls and dreams grow wild.”
Leon, his fourth studio album, released in October, radiates with nostalgia for his hometown, Texas summer nights and springtime on the Trinity River. “Panther City” brings his Southside childhood to life: Little Debbies bought from the corner store, a girl on Pinky Street who gave him his “first taste of love,” a warning from his dad to avoid “the crackheads and prostitutes” on Rosedale.
“He feels like part of our community even though he’s huge now,” says Maria Martinez, who lives in Dallas and fell for Bridges the first time she heard “River” from Coming Home.
Bridges may hail from Fort Worth, but he’s spent plenty of time around Dallas. Two years ago, he caused a ruckus in Bishop Arts by busking on a sidewalk not far from the record store. Mallory Ashcraft, who came to the signing from McKinney with her family, has spotted the star at the Kessler Theater, Double D’s Bar and in Deep Ellum. “I was too nervous to say anything,” she says. “But the fact that I’ve seen him around is cool.”
Bridges has been a customer at Spinster Records, according to owner Grover, who tells me he once bought a John Coltrane album for his sister. Leon Bridges is impressive by any definition, but the fact that he kicks around with regular Texans makes him all the more beloved.
Fifteen-year-old Emerson Whiteneck came all the way from Corpus Christi to see Bridges. She even painted a watercolor of the serene pond on the cover of Leon to give him as a gift. She had to convince her dad to make the long drive, though he was sold when he heard the line in “Simplify” about “that girl from Corpus town.”
After she took her turn at the table with Bridges, her cheeks were flushed. “He was really nice and appreciative of the painting,” she says, smiling so big she crinkles her nose. The event may have been laid-back, but she was glowing.
