Dallas the cable reboot got the boot this year after just two seasons, but dang, it had some dandy moments, even if the scripts about Alaskan fracking contracts and Mexican drug cartels were dumb. The addition of Emmy and Tony-winning actress Judith Light gave the TNT series a temporary boost of high drama. Playing evil brothel owner Judith Ryland, Light found the creamy nougat center of every scene she chewed up. The best single moment of the new Dallas had her sidling up to a handsome cowboy, sniffing a fat line of coke off his meaty hand and pausing to let it burn down her throat before she growled, "Mama like." Oh, Judith, you were the new J.R. and we liked you, Mama.

Say this much for Mark Cuban: He has a sense of humor. Or maybe he just doesn't give a damn. When the Free Loaders perform each week at the Standard Pour, band leader John Jay Myers makes the same joke: "If you like what you heard, put $100 in the tip jar," he says. "Unless you're Mark Cuban. Then put in $1,000." Lo and behold, one night last winter, Cuban — of Dancing With the Stars fame — was there, swing dancing his ass off for all the world to see. It may not have been a cash contribution, but it sure was priceless.

Three Links is punk to the core. Having an owner who's a world-class tattoo artist is a good start, as are the one-of-a-kind, hand-drawn show posters. But everything about this club smacks of a no-bullshit approach that places the emphasis on the music, man. More important, Three Links is a venue that consistently punches above its weight, bringing in punk icons such as Sham 69 and Cheetah Chrome on such a regular basis you'd think they have a non-compete clause with the rest of North Texas. Maybe they do, because even though everyone is welcome, there's no one who can hang.

Every once in awhile, a concert winds up being more notable as an event than as a pure live-music experience. Case in point: J. Cole's secret concert at House of Blues. The North Carolina rapper announced the latest round of his ongoing Dollar and a Dream tour would kick off in Dallas at a location to be disclosed the day of the show. Sure enough, on Sunday, June 21, about 4,000 people converged on downtown in hopes of getting in. Police showed up, unaware of what was happening, and social media was flooded with photos and videos. How's that for inspired promotion?

Dallas Medianale is the experimental film festival you didn't know you wanted to go to until you did. In February, the Video Association of Dallas took over The McKinney Avenue Contemporary to curate a month of film screenings, video art installations and intermedia performances, which included internationally renowned video artists such as Bruce Nauman. Chicago-based duo Cracked Ray Tube gave a performance in which they manipulated video and audio on stacks of old TVs and computer monitors. We're all so accustomed to screens these days that video art seems more accessible than ever, and the diversity and enthusiasm of attendees throughout the festival confirmed it. Dallas Medianale will return biennially, so put it on your calendar for Spring 2017.

Local rappers have gotten their fair share of shine in 2015, thanks to collaborations with Dr. Dre and shout-outs in Noisey. But the most unexpected success story was that of unknown Grapevine ex-pat Post Malone, whose clever song "White Iverson" had Complex and XXL singing his praises. An ode to Allen Iverson's notoriously careless spending habits ($40,000 at a strip club was no big deal), the track was a left-field hit and an inadvertently perfect anthem for Dallas, the city of $30,000 millionaires.

"I'll take 'Rhett Miller's White Jeans' for $100, Alex.'" OK, that wasn't the category that got everybody's favorite cow punk — uh, alt-country — band from Dallas onto Jeopardy!, but we can dream, can't we? The real $64,000 question (or, in this case, $800 question) asked, "The Old 97's are a part of the musical genre known as this-country." It was a fun 15 minutes of fame (well, 10 seconds) for Miller and the boys, who found out about it thanks to "book-smart fans." No word on whether Trebek rocks out to Old 97's, but Jeopardy! is Jeopardy! — even your grandparents can tell you that's a big deal.

To some, the Texas Theatre is best remembered as the place where Lee Harvey Oswald tried to hide out after assassinating President Kennedy. But since its revitalization a few years ago, and thanks to creative and thoughtful programming, the landmark with a dark history is enjoying a second life as a key player in Oak Cliff's cultural renaissance. Occasionally it shows a big hit, but more often it's the place to catch a documentary or cult classic that's not showing on the big screen anywhere else. The theater frequently pairs its movie screenings with burlesque shows, stand-up comedy and performances from Dallas' coolest local bands behind the screen. The retro vibe of the building and its orange velvet couches add to the air of swank. It's the only movie theater bar that people visit even when there's nothing playing. There's also a gallery space upstairs, The Safe Room, where emerging artists show work.

Texas country is somewhat different from red dirt country, quite different from alt-country and a whole hell of a lot different from bro-country. Texas country is real; it's not full of glitz and glitter, and it's not about trucks or bass fishing or taking shots or dancing. It's about living in this nation's greatest state and all that entails. That's why Love and War in Texas is Dallas' best country bar. It ignores everything else and just gives you the best in Texas country on as many nights of the week as possible.

Write a book about experiences you don't remember. It's a riddle of a premise, but Dallas native Sarah Hepola wasn't afraid of a challenge. Her relationship with alcohol, which continued despite crippling blackouts, is the subject of her memoir, Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget. It's a tale of recovery that will move anyone who's struggled with substances or knows someone who has, but it's relatable on other levels. It's a beautifully and often humorously written exploration of memory and the pain of reconciling big dreams with bigger doubts. Hepola dedicates the book to "anyone who needs it." If you ask us, that's everyone.