Place: SeaMonster Lounge, 2202 N 45th St

Time: 10:45 pm

Most people connect Wallingford with its preponderance of upper-class, white, liberal families--usually with young kids or a well-groomed dog in tow--having brunch or shopping for organic produce. That's a fair assessment, but having lived in the area for nearly four years, I can assure you there are hidden streaks of diversity and delightfully decrepit dive bars among all that whitewashed domesticity. After a few preparatory cocktails at my beloved Moon Temple (one of the neighborhood's more notably trashy bars), we head a block west to the SeaMonster, a tiny, nonsmoking lounge and former breakfast joint that was transformed into an oceanic-themed, live-music venue last year. Passing by the tightly packed rows of red velvet booths, we grab the two remaining seats directly next to the stage where an impressive collection of musicians are belting out what the flyer accurately describes as "dirty soul music." The cramped quarters can't mask the enthusiasm of our entertainers or the appreciation of the crowd, many of whom are clad in shiny club gear or logo-emblazoned bomber jackets. One of my companions asks me to "feel her lemon"--not a lascivious request, but an unfortunate revelation that her drink has been garnished with a slimy slice of lemon well past its prime. I fare better by sticking with Maker's on the rocks, swirling my ice around, and finding myself increasingly charmed by the band's drummer, who laughs robustly between songs and is methodically thwacking the cardboard box beside his kit. The guitar player notices and begins clinking his beer bottle against the drummer's cymbal stand at contrary intervals, a heart-warming little touch that makes me guess that they're friends who have been playing together for years. HANNAH LEVIN