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Robbie Reilly embody the sense among Dubliners th
at their city was pushing them out. That notion was only compounded further when, on 24 March, Richmond Road Studios, a non-profit artistic space was served a notice of eviction. Among the 20 artists to be impacted by the looming closure of the studio in Fairview was Butler herself. During a visit to her studio space on April 1, she remarked that it was unfair. On the day of the release of the album Songs for the Radio, she couldn’t revel in the accomplishment. Instead, she had to stress as her ability to create art was hampered by receivers. “Their presence on the streets represents artists displaced,” says Sunil Sharpe of night-time industry campaign group, Give Us The Night. “We are now in a cultural crisis.” “The disintegration of Dublin’s cultural scene is a palpable presence in many people’s lives both in and outside of the creative industries,” wrote the Richmond Road Studios manager Maeve Brennan in a petition to extend the studios’ eviction notice. “It’s a rental crisis, it’s the cost of living, it’s the disappearance of voices, it’s the endless hustling juggle of trying to keep the disintegration at bay, it’s knowing that there are bigger and constantly unfolding emergencies in our collective daily experience.” At the tail-end of twilight, the trolley ventures into the south inner-city. The quintet weave in-and-out of people on the jammed footpaths. From the speakers, a sluggish drumbeat bounces across Dame Street, accompanied by a dense, metallic bassline. “Trad wife,” Byrne shouts. “A traditional Irish bride. Irish Pride.” Stopping outside the entrance to ‘Gay’ Spar, a homeless man asks if he can rap along with them. “It’s time to raise some soldiers in this town/ Fuckin drug addicts and homeless people lost abound/ their heads are fuckin’ wrecked and they’ve nowhere to go/ Oh no not another disaster, another city lost and it needs a pastor/ Oh no not another disaster, another dead body, we must move faster.” Proudly handing Byrne back the microphone, the group proceed to cross the road, acidgranny.bandcamp.com @instagrannyacid James Ackerman singing, “Holy God is my Daddy.” The shops are closing. Butler does a quick run for cans. A punter steps out of a pub, asking if she can buy them drinks. “I love ye,” she exclaims. “I’ve bopped to ye whenever I’ve seen ye.” In the dark and echoing Dame Court, they carry on performing until after midnight. On they go, the Endymion’s of 21st Century Dublin, the gloriously demented pastors of the precarious city. ● With everything demolished or closed down, there aren’t places where young people – regardless of whether they’re creative or an artist – can meet unless you’re loitering. Alex Moore 21