I started writing this article with the intention of going to a different club every night for a one week straight, but after a heavy night next to the speakers in Wax on Wednesday I KO’d and couldn’t leave the house again ’til Saturday afternoon.
Fortunately I was a bit of a social indie butterfly in my hayday and like a nu-raver to a philthy base line, for a good three years an intoxicated Karen attended just about every alternative night the city had to offer.
Indie nights in Dublin are pretty much Myspace removed. They’re brimming with the regular ‘cooler-than-thou’ crew, you know the ones with the display names ‘C*C (NEONbliss)’ and ‘Riff_[$NAR£]‘, who you cant figure out for the life of you whether they’re hot or not ’cause all their pictures are 85% hair.
It was only a few years ago indie nights were something of an underground phenomenon, you had a lot of research to do if you didn’t fancy a night out dancing to Christina Milian with a load of ten years olds. Fortunately for us a few studenty types went one too many times to Koko, London and decided to bring the beat back to us diffident Irish folk.
The phreshest alt-fest that’s come on the scene in Dublin is Chemistry, Wednesday nights at Wax. It’s the same indie cidys every week without fail but it serves some of the phattest electro beats downstairs and every second week yer man from Doyles throws up some good chewans in the indie room. The dank basement is a boiling pot (literally, bring a hat for afterwards) of neon-headband-wearing, Mighty Boosh lovin’ DJ types and their pocket sized blond úber stylish girlfriends. Whax (as us regs call it; how cool are we?) has its dedicated followers and I’m not shy to say I’m one of them. It’s going to the venue week in week out that has enabled me to note some pitfalls for any Whax virgins; 1) if you kiss someone in Whax don’t be surprised if your Granny knows by Thursday afternoon, 2) the tables upstairs break fairly easily (don’t ask), 3) the stairs are DARK (yea, I fell on my ear, on more than one occasion), 4) if you hang around for long enough outside you’re bound to convince somebody to throw a gaff party, and 5) even though about 200 of your ex boyfriends are there, they’re bound to be too busy trying to avoid there other 400 ex girlfriends that they won’t even notice you.
Doyles is the great-grandfather of indie nights (It smells like him too). The pub itself is about four-thousand years old and has been pioneering all that is good in grit for many Howard Moons. Since the summer of 2006, Doyles has become synonymous with what is known as SneakyNagginCowsLaneDorans/DoylesThursday, a process whereby you down a sneaky naggin in Cows Lane, hit Dorans for a wee snifter and then stumble into Doyles at about 12 bells to do the no pants trance dance. Nicky Coghlan plays bitchin’ sets upstairs after eleven on Thursdays and Fridays, its free in, the door men are pretty decent (even after they’ve barred you), you’re more than guaranteed to score and the nitelink is across the road.
If Doyles is a great-grandfather, Whelans is its (older, but well aging) half brother. You can’t move for the Indie Biz Mos in Whelans on a Saturday night. It recently underwent a renovation, which saw the rusted shutters down for a good five months in ’07. Old regulars bang on about crusty artists who’ve played there, the décor and other shite like that, but all you need to know is there’s a perving area (balcony) that looks down onto the dance floor. If you need me, I’ll be up there.
If you’re bothered trekking up to Wexford street (its worse than the one to Crawdaddy so get yourself a cheeky can), just make sure you’re armed with a pair of cons, a degree in either English, music tech or philosophy, some sort of interesting story involving you, The Mighty Stef, a guitar and a hamster, and you should get on fine.
Antics, Wednesday night at Crawdaddy has been running since ’05 and until Chemistry poached most of their drainpipes it had secured a mafia-type monopoly over city centre scenesters. It’s still a more than respectable haunt music-wise, and usually has guest DJs (which is of no interest to me cause most of it sounds like noise). Truth be told I’ve had several bad experiences in Antics, most came about because I simply hadn’t put enough effort into my pouting and posing. Antics is notorious for its shape-throwing clientele, however I don’t think I’m in any position to confirm or deny these rumours because I’m usually inside cutting a rug to Blur and not paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else (best keep your head down if you dance anything like me).
What I will say for all of these places (incl. The Hub, Ríra, Kennedys etc…) is that while they do play the best in all that’s indie, and are probably the most student friendly places in all the fair city, it’s the people you choose to spend your nights with that make them so memorable (even if they’re still a little bit hazy).
(Dedicated to the journ-hoes, the cavan bhoys and the philthy WHAXtastic toys ["you know I don't like when you get too fucked BEFORE you go out?"], I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! Hahaha)
pugnacious
peaceful
