I went to a concert this weekend, live... in someone's living room. A last minute invite to break the Sabbath couldn't be wasted on too many people. A random Seattle hipster (the kind that keeps up on living room shows of obscure artists, see photo to see for yourself) invited a friend from the East side who invited me. The show was in an old Wallingford house (think old Provo houses with better stewards than 50 years of dirty student tenants). The homeowner was barefoot, of course, sporting a fedora and manpris. Wine and pepper popcorn were offered to all 40-50 guests (even latecomers who had to sit on the stairs). This is the kind of event where I'm glad I accidentally wore boots and chunky belt so I feel like I can roll with indie, hipster, urban cool scene I barely fit in with. My family apparently thinks I'm all about the hippie counter-culture, btw, and I'm still trying to figure out how right they are.
Anyway, I first heard the lady of the night, Rosie Thomas, crooning from my laptop speakers, recommended by Pandora on my A Fine Frenzy radio station. The song, Guess It May, talked about stumbling through a relationship and struck a chord with me at a time when I felt like I was doing just that. I've heard a few Rosie songs since then, mostly in passing, and have appreciated the balance she strikes between a full voice full of emotion and an innocent sweetness of someone still figuring out those same emotions. Her seafoam green cardigan and self-proclaimed Rod Stewart haircut should have tipped me off to her real self the second she walked into the house.
I'll tell you what, Rosie Thomas sounds like she is twelve years old. Quite the opposite of a powerhouse opera singer who orders coffee in full baritone, Rosie cheeped her song intros and hilarious commentary about her life in a baby voice that seemed almost cartoonish. With the strum of her sweet husband's guitar, she aged immediately into the record-quality voice I heard on Pandora. Very strange, very fun, very Seattle.