Drink? How could I not? After all, it was "For the Music."

It seems everyone in the Emerald City are of the same mind when summer officially begins; all we want to do is go out and play (i.e. imbibe.) With the arrival of the warmer weather, my email inbox has been inundated with seemingly endless invitations. At times forcing me to double-book myself on some nights. It was such a night on a not-so-random Thursday two weeks ago.

I received an email from the vitaminwater social club asking me to join them for their "secret show volume one... with the duchess and the duke." Having enjoyed myself at their successful launch party and harboring exclusivity as a sweet spot of mine, I RSVP'd, plus one and was confirmed by the event producer himself.

I also was invited to "Drink for the Music," by a friend of mine. The event was a "Kickstarter" fundraiser for a local band, The Thoughts: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/thethoughts/musicartmovement. The free show was to be held at Liberty, (Libs,) a casual, neighborhood cocktail bar on Capitol Hill proper: http://www.libertybars.com, with a portion of the night's sushi (yes, a bar that serves sushi, exclusively) and bar proceeds slated towards supporting The Thoughts upcoming multi-media record, "I Won't Keep You Here."

For once, I chose not to fret about my outfit and went wearing the clothes I wore to work. A simple, fitted, short sleeve, button-down shirt (Levi's,) that I've owned for over 10 years and one of my more pedestrian pairs of jeans I tend to fall back on during the work week.

I figured since The Duchess and The Duke were headlining, they wouldn't go on stage until about 10:00pm or so and with The Thoughts first set starting at 8:00pm, my friend and I strategized to start our evening at Liberty and work our way from there. Another bonus to beginning the evening at Libs is that the attractive 'tenders there (and there are quite a number of them,) who all make pretty tasty beverages, much more satisfying than the vodka + vitaminwater concoctions offered at the Hipster-esque social club.

I beat my friend to the bar by about 20 minutes, but I didn't mind in the least bit, it gave me a chance to catch up with a friend of mine who not only works behind the bar, but happens to be one of the owners as well, and I was also able to become a bit familiar with some of the other gents tending the bar. For my first drink I ordered a Devi Rose, a crisp, gin-based, slightly herbal, alpine-esque cocktail. I felt a bit high maintenance (or "HM," as I found out on a subsequent visit) as the bartender kept having to search for a variety of ingredients not commonly used (pine liqueur, orange flower water,) and one ingredient in particular which was on the top shelf (Ramazotti, an Italian amaro,) which a taller (also handsome,) gent had to reach for him.

By the time I ordered my second drink, The Continental, (I'm a sucker for anything with St. Germain,) my friend was able to secure a parking space and finally meet up with me. Having fought traffic and arriving a bit flustered she ordered herself a pint (of Guinness.) We then, made our way through a slight hallway to the newly expanded back room where the band was playing. We nestled ourselves (sunk in, is more like it,) on a over-sized, leather couch, betwixt two patrons. My friend waved 'hello,' to several people she knew scattered about on various couches, chairs and ottomans that filled the perimeter of the dimly lit room.

It was quite the intimate setting; the lead vocalist and guitarist, Ian, reminded me of a more polished Rufus Wainwright (who's voice I'm not particularly fond of;) Ian's honest and melodic voice was accompanied by a darling violinist, Katie and dexterous drummer, Jon. The trio have a spellbinding ability to tug at your heartstrings and tell a rich story through their music and all-too-heartfelt lyrics. Within the room's rich, deep red walls, with it's corners softly lit by four, free-standing, floor-length, paper lanterns, listening and feeling these three young, bright talents give so much of their soul, I couldn't help but allow the tears to well up in my eyes.

Back to the bar, before anyone noticed my moist eyes, I ordered another cocktail for myself and a French 75 for my friend. My heart and insides were just gushing with emotion. Live music, live art, live feelings. Every time I'm around creative people who live their passion (even if it's only part-time,) I find myself relishing in the deliciousness of that particular, unique moment and experience. Awe, admiration, and inspiration abound. Even the bartenders themselves, are artist, artist who paint with spirits, bitters, juices and other assorted liquids, glasses replacing canvases, and taste-buds serving as eyes or ears.

I made back to the show in time for a few more songs and then the house lights went up (Quick! Where's the tissue?). My friend introduced me to everyone present that she knew, one of whom was acquainted with the violinist, Katie. Many of my friend's connections that night, stemmed from her involvement with CityClub, an organization that aims to cultivate a more educated and informed populace by engaging them in community and civic involvement. One of her friends who serves as an integral figure at CityClub felt like kin to me. We talked of the Emerald City's legacy families and back-door dealings at former Fortune 500 companies, current politics, how she met her beau (of course, I had to ask,) how she knew the band, how long she had been residing in the Emerald City, how she knew of Liberty; the two of us could probably talk all night but, being quite the social butterfly, she was constantly being ushered in multiple directions and our conversations kept needing to be put on hold.

My friend and I ordered a few sushi rolls and another round of drinks; the sushi was good, for being a bar, honestly I was a bit surprised, pleasantly so. The fish was fresh, the only thing I was in want of is more ginger, but the staff at Libs was so busy I didn't want to bother with such a trifling request (I wouldn't want them to think of me as HM, now would I?) After our little, happy meal, I purchased a raffle ticket which also entitled me to a copy of the band's last CD, "Consider the Bear," and I was able to get all three of the band members to autograph it for me (Yay!.)

We left Libs before the second set started and made our way down to the vitaminwater social club. Luckily, we were able to find "Princess Parking" (read: HM) and stumbled into the social club, after being verified as on the list (am I really HM?,) and I began to give my friend the tour of Capitol Hill's newest, fleeting, Hipster hangout. My friend works in public relations and I am pretty sure she could appreciate the thorough, yet appropriate job Antarctic Creative did with the space and the branding of vitaminwater. I introduced my friend to the person I knew involved with Antarctic and let them talk shop a bit. We seemed to have perfect timing, as shortly after our tour and chat, The Duchess and The Duke took the stage and, quite honestly, the rest of the night was a blur. A warm, fuzzy, feel-good blur.

Sights from last night...

vitaminwater social club kick off

When I first was invited to the opening reception for the vitaminwater social club I was a bit hesitant in confirming my attendance. The fact that this new, though temporary space, dedicated to local "music, fashion, fitness, art, literature, technology and more..." on Capitol Hill had "vitaminwater" at the forefront of its name had me a bit on the skeptical side of how genuine to indie-ness it could be. After cross-referencing an email address from the invite, I realized who was involved with the launch party and thought, "Hey, it's Thursday and I've done Art Walk how many times? Why not check it out?" I am most certainly glad I did.

I donned a wildly orange, cyan and azure, East-meets-West print, collared shirt and accented it with an equally busy, triangular-geometric print Pucci tie (in coordinating colors, of course, [thank you Finerie]) squeezed into my tiniest pair of Hugo Boss jeans (thanks again to The Finerie,) dug out my old clunky brown leather Sketchers (circa 1998,) a vintage leather belt covered with over-sized studs and my super slim, Yanuk denim-blue corduroy jacket (thanks CC) and to complete my hipster-inspired ensemble, a pair of faux horn-rim glasses which I picked up as a party favor at a past gala. With my recent haircut, I felt quite incognito.

I departed my Midtown flat right when the party was scheduled to start and arrived about half an hour later. Yes, I was on the list. Once inside the newly transformed Sole Repair space I spotted some familiar faces in the crowd; some local media folks, dining industry peeps and a few others I've encountered at past fashion shows. After declining a vodka+viatminwater cocktail (apparently I'm an honorary member of the Cocktail Geek Club according to TV) and choosing an IPA (higher alcohol content, beer-wise [thanks for the tip SW]) instead, I wove my way through, as I predicted, a throng of hipsters in tightly clad denim and awkward eyeglass-ware and clunked my way up the metal staircase to the lounge.

I past an attractive crew sipping on Stoli and reclining decadently while doing so, and headed toward the food. To my surprise (not really,) betwixt a secondary bar and trays of quite tasty hors d'oeuvres (crab cakes, meatballs in Marinara, cheese and charcuterie cuts, etc.) I ran into some more media peeps. While noshing and chatting we discovered it is not six degrees that separate us but only two. That is one thing I will always love about the Emerald City, it is, and always will be, a big, small town.

In addition to talking about who we knew and how, we of course, continued on about food, cocktails, our favorite venues and bartenders, parties past and on the horizon. We also spoke of the "Emerald City Chill or Freeze," inter-office dating, long-distance relationships, short-term flings, and of course, more about food and booze.

From our perch, we had the perfect vantage to view all of the party's going-ons; the guy at the downstairs bar stealing a $1 out of the tip jar to re-tip the bartender with for his already free Stoli cocktail; the trio of undulating girls clearly enjoying DJ Colby's cuts; the staff running around in their black t-shirts doing whatever tasks necessary to keep the party going, including schmoozing; the latest photos projected on the wall from the user-friendly photo booth; the semi-autonomous cliques (all wearing cloned copies of each other's outfits) that rarely interacted with their neighboring gaggles (much reminiscent of high school.)

From our little lookout we also were able to take in the well-executed aesthetics of the venue. Sporting a fresh coat of paint, our surroundings gleamed iPod-white, from the tree stump stools on which we sat, to the walls which doubled as a projector screen in places, to our acrylic case coffee-table containing a collage of various computer components-all white, save for a few working monitors, (there was an all black version of this downstairs,) behind the bar a grid of black blocks interrupted with glowing rows of blocks, containing back-lit bottles of vitaminwater in corresponding candy colors, echoing the invite graphic. It was quite clever and quite cute. Branding was everywhere, and even the one responsible was concerned it might be a little overkill, but it was tastefully done, suited the venue and didn't take away from the vibe of the party. What kept catching my eye was, directly across from where we sat, a white wall (surprise, surprise) covered in computer accessory cables and wires each painstakingly placed and pinned to the wall. The effect, continuous movement and candy for the eye; only from afar did I realize it was another not-so-subtle branding placement, this time white space was left to spell out "vitaminwater zero."

By the time I made my way back downstairs and grabbed a third beer, I was able to jockey for a prime position near the front of the stage (not that the venue is that big) just in time for Champagne, Champagne to perform. I felt so... Emerald City, (and so in the know... having just read about the trio in the last issue of CityArts magazine.) Something tells me that no more than three degrees of separation exists between me and them (just sayin'...) By the second song, most of the freeloaders seemed to have moved on to greener pastures and the crowd remaining had a genuine fondness for the band. Many of use were movin', shakin' and droppin' down low and we didn't stop when DJ Colby resumed her throne.

I ended my night, after one more IPA, at the hotdog stand across from the Comet and Quinn's gorging myself on a Beef Polish with cream cheese (thanks for introducing that combo to me SK) and gleefully staggered home, movin' and shakin' the whole way.