art cred: Paul constant
My Plus Ones and I arrive in the midst of a heated argument about the definition of the word "tonsorial." One Plus One assumes that it has something to do with tonsils, but that's because he's already drunk; everybody knows that it's related to barbers or barbering (e.g., "your hairdresser has excellent tonsorial skills"). I fully intend to find a dictionary, but we get distracted: Lady Drama is finishing up a set on the back patio, and we have to catch their show.
This house has a gorgeous backyard, and the way Lady Drama are set up, in a well-lit nook under some grapevines, it seems almost as though we've stumbled out of the woods and come across a concert. There's a little bit of Jack Logan in the lead singers' soulful voice, and their lyrics have real literary heft. It's hopeful, intricate music—perfect for an early-autumn evening. At the end of their set, Lady Drama vow to "play every single backyard in Seattle."
Out on the porch, people are wondering whether NPR reporters have to give phone sex to their bosses in order to climb the corporate ladder. A terrifically high man starts talking about causality and causation, and everyone nods knowingly. Inside, partyers are incorporating a load-bearing beam in the center of the living room into a weird dance routine that's part stripper pole, part square dance. When my Plus Ones sing along to "Only the Good Die Young," I realize that they've had too much to drink, and we head out, resuming our argument about tonsils and hair.
Want to tell The Stranger that "they were such a cute couple that I didn't want to tell them that their romance is doomed" at your house party? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to email@example.com.