Behind an unassuming door on Railroad Avenue lies The Ballroom: a venue that doubles as an apartment, sewing studio, and home to a cat named Bones. Run almost entirely by musician and venue operator Lilith — who also goes by Rose — the 5,000 square foot space is a tucked-away gem unlike anything else in Bellingham.
Like so many others who have set foot in the venue, Lilith remembers their first time walking up the steep stairs into the sprawling, lofted ballroom vividly.
“I just remember coming in here and being like, ‘What is this? Where am I? This is so cool,” they recall, smiling. “It’s a special place. It’s kind of magical.”
The magic is obvious to me, too — the room feels like a time capsule, added to and passed down from tenant to tenant over the years. A swing sways absently in the center, two upright pianos sit against the wall, drum parts are sprinkled across the front. “There’s always surprises here,” Lilith adds. “Hidden doors. Keyboards, drumheads. All kinds of stuff just left behind.”
Lilith wants The Ballroom to be something different than Bellingham has offered in the past, especially in DIY spaces — and, if the Halloween show is any indication, they are already accomplishing just that. Beautiful Freaks, Actionesse, GLITCHLETTE, and Carlee were the first artists to be hosted by Lilith.
“We wanted a four-band bill, because it was Halloween and we wanted to go big,” Lilith says. And go big they did: after offering presale tickets, the show was sold out before Halloween even came around. “I was running around the entire time – I was never in one place,” they laugh, listing the seemingly endless number of people they had to coordinate with and rally to make the show successful.
A BREAKOUT Q&A WITH LILITH
What’s your favorite show that you’ve attended in Bellingham?
Ooh, that’s a hard one. Probably one at the Mind Palace, which is called Grandma’s House now. We would go, like, every weekend. It was Sailor Poon that was playing, and it was one of the only times I’d seen a lot of femme people in a band yelling. I remember seeing the guy that lived there standing in the corner and singing along to the lyrics, and I just thought it was so cool that someone had set up this show. I could tell that it was going to be impactful and memorable.
This is obviously a very quirky space. What’s something someone wouldn’t realize about living here just from attending a show?
It leaks everywhere! We don’t have any big bowls in our kitchen to make big dishes anymore because they’re all occupied catching rainwater. There are four bedrooms, but three of them are tiny and don’t have windows. So they’re not technically bedrooms —more like theoretically. There are so many amazing pluses and so many big negatives that they kind of balance each other out to be a normal housing situation.
What kind of music do you like to make?
Somewhere in between the lines of Deli Girls and Portishead. Noise, electronic elements, yelling about some silly, ridiculous stuff. I like the juxtaposition between harder music and softer vocals, too. I play a little bit of everything but I love doing vocals so, so much. I also write indie singer-songwriter songs on my acoustic guitar when I’m sad, so I have a billion of those. I hate most of them. But some are pretty good.
What makes a good DIY venue?
Keeping that balance between DIY and professionalism. You have to pay everyone and pay them fairly. And making sure you’re a safe place. Venues create a space that, you know, people are drinking in, and there’s a history of sexual violence in these environments. And we have a really important responsibility to make sure it’s safe and respectful for people, and keep an eye out for people doing fuckshit.
What’s your favorite part of living here?
It has allowed me to connect with so many people in the music community, and hear so many more artists than I would have. Standing on this bench during the show and looking out, watching people that are making a memory. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. That is so wonderful.