It's been a minute since we went to a good house party. Maybe the absence of available houses in NYC (not counting your tiny apartment) has something, if not everything, to do with that. We can't help but romanticize the notion of a bunch of people getting together in an expansive-yet-disheveled home for the promise of live music, free beer and wrecking shit. And so, at some point during the madness of South by Southwest, we explored a town that appeared to be brimming with dirty shindigs and stumbled upon one of our favorite local bands headlining an emptied-out living room somewhere near the intersection of Nueces and West 21st. The kids were watching college basketball on a giant projector, but they didn't seem to mind when Harlem interrupted to play some loud jams. And though we felt more like their parents, calculating where to stand to best avoid death by mosh pit, we didn't mind either.