Last Thursday and Friday, I attended two house parties on the Hill. While both were "casual dress-up" affairs, attended predominantly by college-educated Caucasians, they occurred under far different circumstances, revealing where Capitol Hill has been and where it might be going.
The first event was a going-away affair, a sort of house-cooling. The host, a dapper yet flamboyant gent long active in the retro-cocktail and home-tiki-bar circuits, has decided to move from his small but exquisitely decorated apartment, rather than pay its new owners' exorbitantly hiked rents.
The second event was a private art sale and soiree on behalf of painter Sean Hurley. He also might be leaving his current home, but under far different circumstances-at press time, he was waiting to hear about getting into grad school in New York.
Hurley's party occurred at the home of a couple who've long supported his work. It's a large, retro-modern home equipped with all modern conveniences, that's been photographed and written up in homes-to-die-for magazines. It's situated in a tree-lined block, near a luxury-townhome construction site.
The gentleman of this particular house is, as you might have guessed, a high-tech executive. He and his wife have been able to collect art, to patronize artists and to generally live the upscale Seattle Good Life.
Our apartment-residing Thursday host has a decent-enough job, within a local-government bureaucracy. It's allowed him to travel, to collect books and to amass an elegant vintage wardrobe. It just hasn't allowed him to escape the precarious fate of a renter during an inflated housing market. He won't be forced on the streets or to move in with relatives. He'll find a new place he can afford; though it might be in another neighborhood, farther from his work and farther from his favorite nightspots.
And this new apartment, wherever it turns out to be, might not be as ideal a site for a home bar. It might not have the particular blend of spaciousness and intimacy that graced his old apartment. Its landlords might not look as kindly toward hordes of nonresidents traipsing through the building.
Thursday's farewell bash alone attracted over 70 people and went on well past 3 a.m. It was by no means a sad occasion, even though some of the same regulars had been attending this host's parties for as long as 10 years, and might not all again gather so regularly. It didn't even feel like a "wake," a bittersweet celebration of someone's or something's end.
Rather, it was a typical night at the home bar, like the triumphant final performance of a long-running play. A laptop-equipped DJ "spun" a buoyant mix of retro-lounge and '80s synth-pop. Later on in the evening, an unrehearsed trio pounded out similar tuneage on an electric guitar, a vintage synthisizer, and a tiny drum kit. What these gentleman musicians lacked in spit and polish (and, surprisingly, they didn't lack much), they made up for in joyful enthusiasm. There was even a modicum of dancing, despite the limited floor space.
And the drinks flowed. Our host mixed a menu of a few highly selective specialty cocktails. (Anybody who wanted beer or wine had to bring their own.)
Friday's gala embodied a somewhat tamer approach to conviviality. Decent wines, good beers and mineral waters were accompanied by a buffet table of
crackers, cheeses and salami slices. Everyone checked their shoes at the front door, to help preserve a fancy floor's good looks. A home PC network dutifully piped forth a pre-selected sequence of KMTT-like grownup pop. The closest thing to dancing at this event was the prancing about of a couple of impeccably-dressed children. Everyone, including the children, carried themselves with un-stuffy grace and quiet dignity.
Thursday's party celebrated what had been. It honored the music, art, and styles of the mid-to-late 20th century. It concluded a long-running series of fab shindigs in a lovingly-appointed jewel of a space.
Friday's party looked to the present and future-to an artist's promising future, to growing families, to winning the ever-dicier game of home ownership.
Clark Humphrey's column appears in the first issue of each month. His photo-history book "Vanishing Seattle" is still available from Arcadia Publishing at a store near you. Reach him at editor @capitolhilltimes.com.[[In-content Ad]]
