This isn't really a house party—the house itself is dark and silent—so much as a weird-garage/hangar/shed-in-the-backyard party. It's an impressive setup, with a built-in stage and lighting rig (the hosts explain that the stage and lights were all here when the current residents moved in). Onstage is Tacoma band the Drug Purse, a retro garage psych rock act in the vein of the Black Lips' "flower punk." One of their number wears a robe (a dashiki, perhaps?) whose vintage and psychedelic properties match their sound perfectly; another wears a leather vest. They sound great—fuzzy and loud and simply catchy, even over all the drunken chatter.

We're at a record-release party for fledgling label GGNZLA's new sampler, a limited-run double CD featuring a shit-ton of local bands, including Herr Jazz, Partman Parthorse, Pleasureboaters, Seahouse, and dozens of others. Between bands, GGNZLA proprietor T. V. Coahran hawks copies of the compilation.

In the far corner, none other than iconic Capitol Hill shambling heap Slats is tending a well-stocked bar (presumably mixing pain cocktails). He is perhaps not the strictest bartender—a bottle of liqueur has somehow made its way out of Slats's hands and into the crowd.

Outside, people drink and smoke on the cold, damp lawn. One metal dude pit-stomps around sullenly, while some brave souls intermittently avail themselves of a porta-potty. The Greatest Hits take the stage, and Party Crasher is torn between the uncomfortable cold outside and the band's unappealing glammy punk racket within (the songs on their MySpace page actually sound like good, dumb fun, though). Nobody wins, and Party Crasher leaves to catch a cab just as the cops pull up out front. recommended

Want The Stranger to watch someone gobble a handful of mushrooms at your house party? Send the date, place, time, and party details to partycrasher@