At last count, more than 1,000 new people were moving to Denver each month, and a city thatap never hungered much for change is just now chewing over the very visible reasons why being popular can lead to bad things. Unaffordable housing. Crowded roads. Trendy bars that demand you make a reservation just to get a cocktail.
The good things can be harder to see because they can’t be measured in rent prices or traffic counts. Sure, census data can tell us the population is more diverse, but how do we quantify the un-factual truths that we’re better-fed and and more satisfyingly employed, thanks to all the innovative business startups? That itap more inviting to walk and bike around the city and the art and music are more sophisticated? These are things you just know.
A city gets more interesting in ways that sneak up on you. It happens when things come along that push trends just a bit farther than you thought they would go, or when they put a spotlight on just how varied people and their tastes can be.
That is happening more and more in Denver — surprising little evolutions in the urban landscape that make you ask: “Is that really happening here?”
Like the new co-working space in the developing Clayton neighborhood that is devoted to the needs of women. It takes a trend, shared office spaces for small business operators, and adds a layer that acknowledges — and banks on — the fact that we’re not all the same.
Or the new gay bar in Capitol Hill, called Daddy’s, that caters, unabashedly to older gentlemen, giving a subgenre of a subgenre a measure of visibility and respect.
This steady metamorphosis is easiest to spot in the arts. There’s the , which eschews the usual brick-and-mortar art building, instead developing pop-up performances and exhibitions in places like downtown parking lots or, as it did last month, at the Denver Wastewater Management Facility in Valverde.
Or the , which performs concerts of underappreciated songs by Mozart, Bizet and other composers. We’ve always had plenty of full-blown opera productions here, but no one has ever performed classical music’s vocal repertoire apart from it. Again, it takes a specialty and makes it more special.
In the past year, artist Derrick Velasquez opened a gallery in his basement in Athmar Park, local poet Sommer Browning started one in her garage in Lincoln Park, and writer and critic Yasmeen Siddiqui opened yet another one in her own garage in Park Hill.
Diverse people, diverse places, diverse ideas. Interesting.
Denver, of course, has always been an enriching place to live. But like any city that came along later in this country’s progression, itap always been a something of a follower, content simply to catch up. Remember how excited people were when we finally got an IKEA here in 2011? Itap far different than the no-thanks attitude Denverites have in 2017 about becoming Amazon’s second headquarters.
Itap not that we haven’t been proud masters of our domain, itap just that we’ve always been, well, distracted. Those towering mountains a few quick minutes to the West have given us plenty to do, a reason to be proud of our place, and we’ve formed our identity around them.
But the city is changing now, growing rapidly and no one expects that to slow anytime soon. There are more bodies and brains here and, while it could be argued many of them arrived because of our proximity to snowboarding and hiking trails, they’ve also come for our new breweries, our refreshed downtown and a transit system that, finally, makes it possible to live here without a car.
The truth is all of us can’t fit on Interstate 70 west on a Friday evening anymore anyway, itap time we looked inward. That has manifested itself into a new civic pride that sparks experimental restaurants and innovative design firms.
We’ve always been, at worst, flyover country or, at best, a launch pad to other destinations. Now we are the destination — desirable, in-demand, as sexy as a city might get — and that has boosted our egos and inspired us to attempt new things.
All these newcomers bring with them fresh ideas and a sense of possibility. The Denver Art Song Project was started by tenor Eapen Leubner, who moved here with his family two years ago and was looking for a way to make a living in a place where singing jobs are hard to find. He didn’t see the fact that there was no existing market for art songs as a limit, he saw it as an opportunity. The concerts show off unique talents and they’re drawing decent crowds.
There’s also the simple fact that more people mean a bigger market, something that entrepreneurs Virginia Santy and Melanie Ulle had going for them with Women in Kind. They knew they had a solid product — a workplace where the room temperature is set a little warmer, as studies show women prefer, where kids can come along on unexpected sick days and where the plumbing can handle the particular needs women have monthly and after childbirth — and they knew the city had enough mass to make their idea worth the investment.
Itap hard to imagine Denver supporting these new and offbeat things even a few years ago. But the phenomenal growth and the fresh perspective it brings mean there are enough open-minded, risk-taking, adventure-seeking locals to make non-traditional things work. There are more people looking at and buying art, more women in the workforce and, one supposes, more daddies looking for a cocktail.
This is a terrifically insular and self-respecting way for a city to grow. Basement galleries and art song ensembles don’t really add to a city’s wider reputation. They’re small and progressive, not historic or necessarily worthy of national attention. While they are specialized, they are accessible to all. The galleries are open to serious customers, but also to local families and high school students. The female-centered work space has a few male tenants and welcomes more.
In that way, these efforts help our gentrifying city grow inclusively. They give a portion of our culture over to the overlooked and underserved. They give everyone a place to express themselves, see themselves and have fun. They make our days and nights — and our collective self — more interesting.
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