Jurassic 5

At 13 years old I garnered a soft spot for a certain hip-hop collective named Jurassic 5, mainly because a boy I had a school-girl crush on introduced me to them and from the first aural experience of What’s Golden and Quality Control I was hooked. That’s why the moment I saw a comeback tour was underway I jumped to buy tickets instantly from the desk of my dorm in Massachusetts. I’ve never known 3 months of my life to fly as quickly as the next did. The 16th of July hovered to the present as quickly at lightning speed. After attending my brother's graduation (which I'll post about later) I ran, sweat cascading down my made-up face, boarded a train to Leeds for the gig, then headed to my friend Ralf's house to herd the troops in Headingley. 

I have to say it's always good after a stressful voyage to be met by a double shot of Sambuca. 

We drank, dressed, dabbled, and hopped in taxis to the o2 arena in Leeds city centre. 

Ralf's housemate borrowed my sunglasses to emulate the persona of a ticket touter. Needless to say, the bigshots on the block were not enthralled by this Stoke lad encroaching their possible customers, even if he was devoid of any tickets, just finding it hilarious to shout "tickets buy or sell" to the winding queue. 

Inside the arena, and the sweltering heat was immediately apparently. I was extremely happy that I'd worn easy breezy dungarees, ready to unbuckle if the warmth became too much. Which it soon did. 

After paying an extortionate amount for vodka and lemonades, we headed forward to stake a claim at the front. 

One of our friends partied slightly too hard and spent most of the set being held up by the boys. 

J5 blew my mind. Drunk and ecstatic, I sang along to every word, surrounded by some lovely people. It was the best night in ages.

After the gig we wandered back to Ralf's. Vodka flowed, cigarette ash simmered on the side surfaces, and Jack peddled on the exercise bike wearing five pairs of sunglasses. At 5am a few of us made a meal of spaghetti, chorizo and cheese that was fit for Kings and for curing hangovers. Although that was somewhat dispelled by subsequent wine and cider drinking before bed. As light spilled through the curtains into the room, male synchornised snores echoed through the household, and bodies lay sprinkled in beds, on sofas and on floors. 

The next day I was heading elsewhere in Headingley to stay with other friends until Friday. However, after they informed of their adventurous plans to head to town, I figured I'd stay and revel in my dismal state until later on in the day when I'd managed to have a bite to eat, and potentially a nap. The boys of the house and I decided to lift our spirits somewhat by watching 'Sharknado'. Yup, a film about, wait for it... sharks in a tornado. A hilarious effort with a hammy cast, appalling script, and even worse special effects. Yet, somehow it was so bad, it was great. It managed to make us laugh anyway. After the film, we moved to outside, onto their curb, basking in the sun, eating ice lollies, and starting on the beers. Hair of the dog and all that. As the evening fell upon us, I left the curb and the boys and heading forth for a barbecque and reunions at Steph's house. 

Denton, TX

Texas is a state you usually don’t associate with liberalism, except for the sparkling hipster hub of Austin. Yet, there is a city in the north that replicates the ‘weird’ charm of the state’s capital. Denton, Texas. A stone’s throw from Dallas, the college town sets itself apart from the rugged conservative terrain of the rest of the state through its dazzling personality that has helped to attract the coolest of cool.

The square acts as the pulsating heart of Denton’s aesthetic appeal. With coffee shops, candy meccas, a cinema and thrift stores, the square holds everything one could need, illuminated by the fairy lights around the gothic cathedral of a courthouse.

Pascales, sitting above Andy’s Bar, is where the Denton hotshots come to get crunk. With a sophisticated aura, the place, owned by Denton natives Midlake, is ablaze with fancy cocktails among the humdrum of chess playing patrons, majestic bookshelves and quirky paintings.

Down on Fry Street a string of drinking palaces glow invitingly, intermixed with late-night food joints for post-bars replenishing. Lucky Lous is the perfect venue for Sunday fun. You can guzzle a $2 luminous green frozen margarita while throwing a beanbag. And if that doesn’t satisfy, you can always try a “cheap fuck” with a “red headed slut” from their eclectic shots menu.

 Other bars include Cool Beans, with $4 double Jim Bean and mixer and a big outdoor space complete with American flag decorated chairs to help turn binge drinking into a patriotic sport. If $4 is looking too pricey, Side Bar and Public House offer cheap drinks and a chance to get low to 90s jamz. Grind trains are inevitable.

 But it’s not all just watering holes and fishbowls. Pops of colour sprout from inbetween bungalowed cafes, under bridges and on the side of coffee shops through graffiti and murals hammered onto surfaces by fledgling artists.  Denton is an urban canvas with a certain je ne sais quois.

Where else can you head to a house party and find yourself in the middle of a showcase of local music? In a dude’s converted garage, three bands from the area sing to the swarms of people. It’s unbearably humid inside, and you find yourself rubbing up with strangers in the sweat-soaked euphoria of arrogant drunkenness. You don’t understand what vibe the opening guy is going for with his experimental approach, making odd sounds and pausing halfway through his set to venture outside and get himself another beer. But you don’t care. With long dirty blonde hair sitting upon his bare torso, he epitomises the effortlessly hip attitudes of the Denton elite. Caught in a web of mason jars, marijuana and maki, Denton kids could be at home in the borough of Brooklyn.

Despite the plethora of deadbeats, cruising couches and skipping rent, Denton provides a merging of arts. It’s the college town where North Texans, shying away from the conservative pretentiousness of Dallas, come to get creative.

In the Rocky Horror Picture Show, during the song “Damnit Janet,” a sign stands behind the duo as they sing to each other. “Denton. The home of happiness.” And aesthetically, its true.