Brighton. A bastion of bohemia since powdered wigs were the thing. The city where twenty-somethings come to retire.
We don't come from here. It's rare to find someone who does. We migrated from Newcastle a few years back for the music scene, and its closeness, yet breathing space, from the big smog of London.
As we're in a band and have been stereotypically skint throughout our time here we can't and wouldn't give you a guide to restaurants simply to die for or sexy cocktail bars to lubricate your Tinder date. More likely we'd invite you for a can of Tyskie in the Pavilion Gardens from North St Food & Wine, or a Gin-in-a-tin stashed in an inside coat pocket on the cobbled dance floor of the Green Door Store.
OK, so what to do here for nowt. The Palace Pier is fun for about ten minutes of your life, between sugar rush screams and pension-eating 5p coin droppers there's a decent Japanese racing simulator or three. After that, take a wander into the Lanes and pretend that consumerism hasn't gotten so wildly out of hand while perusing independent stores and cake shops that can only thrive in middle class affluence, or take a break with a cold ale outside one of the estimated 30 million pubs and bars that Brighton boasts.
Loaded up on hops and feeling a bit fuzzy, walk it off along Brighton's expanse of shingle beach and let the smell of the sea air, BBQs and hash joints mull your mind while beholding the towering development of the i360 observation pole. A 162 metre phallus of the future, the erection of which cost us honourable tax lovers £36,000000. Never mind that homelessness crisis, eh Green Party? From its summit the tower will command striking views of the ocean that couldn't possibly be viewed with equal awe from the promenade below. Good spend.
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We migrated from Newcastle a few years back…
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If you get peckish after your stroll and don't wanna risk weighing Taste the Difference sandwiches in as carrots at the self-service tills then try Pompoko, cheap and cheerful Japanese Bento for less than a Lady Godiva. Or step it up further with Nowhere Man on Upper North Street – the place Demob Happy call home. Get the best stack of pancakes this side of the pond, a supreme cup of Joe and maybe even hear the dulcet distorted tones of us rehearsing in the basement.
Brighton has more music than you could ever even watch. You can see local bands at venues everywhere you turn. Some of the best venues are the mysterious London road gem that is 'Bleach' or Sticky Mike's Frog Bar – a late night hangout of bands in Brighton to come together and get crunked up. “All roads lead to Sticky's”, as some say. Plus it's long been home to Late Night Lingerie, the soon to be no more monthly party, and Brighton institution, featuring the scuzziest bands around. Between 12 and 3am you’ll find them getting down and dirty amongst a throbbing, sweat-drenched crowd, way past their first pint and never seen standing at the back with their arms folded.
Like any city, there are shit holes to avoid. West Street is one of them. Expect sticky bars, crap takeaways and a walkabout with which an unspoken agreement exists with the rest of Brighton – that the weekend warriors can have that one road to themselves and kick each other’s heads in along to Jai Paul as much as they want – and we'll have the rest of town. Oh and avoid Pav Tav, a bar which once only had cheap drinks going for it, beyond its vacuous atmosphere and violent bouncers, but now doesn't even have that.
Other than that it's hard to go dangerously wrong. Aimless wanderlust reveals all manner of colourful freaks and things to see and do. Whether you’re a drag queen or a scruffy guy used to being asked if he's banned from the barbers, Brighton will welcome you to its economically cosy bossom.
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Catch Demob Happy live around Great Escape Festival and for a basement party show at their own Nowhere Man cafe on Thursday (May 19th). Facebook event HERE.
