The Universe Rewards the De Lu Lu
Sofar Sounds Semi- Holy in Seattle, So Far?
I wasn’t supposed to go to a show last night? …..But like…Yea. HEHEHE.
The OG plan was a just a casual meeting—me and the La Fonda crew, sitting down at a local spot in Ballard, potential curatative booking dates, mostly talking about building. I love a good post dinner drink-n-chatty chat, so I was happy to meet up—but if you really know me, I was there to listen more than pitch. Vibes alone rule the calendar on first meet.
But a few hours before our scheduled time, I texted to confirm and got this:
“Hi Emily! We’re so sorry but we do have to cancel… our friends needed us to host a last-minute Sofar Sounds show that was supposed to be on a rooftop but it started raining.”
I message the twins, Valerie and Veronica, in reply, “Uhm.. WHAT.. literal raincheck. Let’s go. I’ll swing through anyway, excited to see y’all in your own space.”
PLOT TWIST: I am thriving. I am always down. Heart on my sleeve. Universe, take me. Boom. First Sofar Sounds show for me (Sofar Seattle to be exact). (muhaha).
In this line of work, plans mutate. The universe reroutes you; who cares—you go. Seriously, it’s cliche but some of the best nights aren’t even on the agenda. Honestly, I’m probably more inclined to go when shit hits the fan—or just normal Seattle weather.
Gathering Space. Delusional Bird—Delulu if you’re speaking Sofar—has the right bones before you even step inside. Smack downtown. Vintage sign, corner-ish spot, doors open to let people drift in from the street. They do it on purpose—let the sound leak, let the sidewalk eavesdrop. I asked, obviously. Cause vibes. The front room is big, open, almost too inviting. But the layout gently funnels you back and up, to a space you wouldn’t know was there from the street. Tonight, the shop is humming after hours.
Enter: Emily, stage right/front door, whatever. Valerie and Veronica from La Fonda spot me immediately—a spark flies. It’s mutual hype. I turn down a shot of tequila. SoFar MC takes the mic.
The Bus and the Hush. During Among Authors’ set, the real hush lands. Outside, a city bus glides past the doors—swooshing—a gentle reminder of exactly how locked in the audience is. No one closes the doors. The song carries on, the room holds, and when the final note fades, someone quietly swings the doors shut. Respect. Now the music is ours, the moment contained. Privacy, not exclusivity—letting the night in as long as needed. I perch near the front desk, neon cube chair under me, people-watching, listening.
And there’s this feeling—a kind of shared investment in the moment, in the sound, in the memory you’re all making together. I’ve written about this in my Seeking Survival and Finding Sound series. There’s always this point when the audience just… surrenders.
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding in, and think, “Yeah. We’re in this together”; moments following the audience shifts in sequence hits, and I realize the connection. It gets me every time though all the same.
To my right, there’s a white lace nightgown—French tulle—just hanging there. I mean, it lives here.
Underneath it, there’s this makeup light, kind of flat, kind of wide, cycling through soft pastel colors—blue, pink, then violet—back and forth, like a metronome. It’s not staged. You know how sometimes a vanity light just glows in exactly the right way? It’s that. Nobody meant for it to be perfect. It just is. It’s like… it exists.
Delusional Bird does this kind of self made curation without even trying. The whole place is just pure. Honestly, it outshines most venues that are actually trying. I can’t put my finger on why—I just love it.
YUP. 0 TO 100 REAL QUICK. That familiar giggle bubbled up again just as the second act took the stage—a private little laugh that always signals something good is about to happen, and I’m always embarrassed by it.
Suddenly, the whole room felt like it was tuned to the same frequency.
Bless that, because Manisha's set changes the energy in a milk-and-honey way—her voice living between soul and jazz, unforced and clear. Jon Butler on piano, J Shuang on sax—nothing showy, just present. The sax converses, the keys float, the room expands. La Fonda closes the night not by winding down, but by opening it up. Sisters, chemistry, calm authority—yeah. Holding the space without effort. Presence and poise, even when the set wasn’t planned that morning. Like a breath of fresh air.
Curation, But Unscripted. What stands out isn’t just the music or the crowd—it’s how little control anyone needs.
Rain, no problem. Reroute, no problem. Delusional Bird becomes an escape. Artists trust the room, the room trusts the music, and everyone lets the weather decide what’s next.
The universe rewards the reckless. Always has. (50/50, LOL.)
But a simple “No worries, I’ll swing by anyway, drop a pin” can change your whole universe in which you’re receiving the reward homie. So drive slow homie. You never know homie.
As I hit publish tonight, I’m considering lacing up to catch tonight’s set at unpoetry—same sax guy, different flavor of Seattle weird. This time, it’s a curated avant-garde jazz night for the kind of listeners who appreciate a little chaos in their chords (present company included). So if you find yourself giggling in the dark, walking through doors you didn’t plan to open, or following the hint of music down the street—trust it. That’s usually where the good stuff happens. Come say hi if you see me there.
If you liked this story, stick around. The universe rewards the De Lu Lu—and so do I.
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About the Author Emily Steinhilber is an award-winning cultural strategist, live music curator, and critical music writer based in Seattle. She’s the founder of For Emily, By Emily, a curatorial project recognized for immersive, genre-spanning sessions and its innovative approach to audience engagement. Her professional roots run from artist relations and venue strategy in Nashville (The OGB Nashville, The Beast, Musicians Corner) to in-depth program development and audience research in Seattle. Emily’s work has been published across academic and industry platforms, blending ethnographic observation with sharp cultural analysis and a distinct, poetic lens. A summa cum laude graduate of Washington State University’s Edward R. Murrow College of Communication, she specializes in the architecture of listening—how space, sound, and people transform a performance into communal memory. She’s collaborated with artists ranging from local upstarts to Grammy winners and is trusted for her ability to turn any room into a live experiment in what music can mean.
Share below but, if you’re looking for her at a show, check the edge of the crowd—always watching, always taking notes, forever listening for the shift when a night turns electric.