Perhaps it is illusory but it seems that in some ways the venue on Curved Street, either as the Button Factory or Temple Bar Music Centre as it was way back, has always been somewhat uncomfortable with how it presents itself, and spatial arrangements (as well as names) have shifted over the years. The present design, with the fourth wall of the black box venue reinstated closing the performance space off, brings me back for a second – spookily – to a Bran’do gig (remember them?) that’s probably my oldest memory of the TBMC.
The outcome of all of this is the arrival of Crowbar as a separate bar with a street level entrance that is distinct from the venue itself, and through which patrons can enter the gig venue directly. In a very direct sense, it solves the problem of where to go for a pint before going to the Button Factory, which will no doubt be its enduring success. With options at the periphery of Temple Bar on either Dame Street or the quays being just a little bit further away than you’d like (that sounds lazy, but you know what we mean), Crowbar is likely to mop up an abundance of pre-gig time-killers. There’s also an element of shit-or-get-off-the-pot about the place too, as it probably allows those who might have gaggled around the back of Button Factory, disengaged from the performance area, to not bother entering in the first place.
The bar itself is functionally rectangular, as to be expected given its location. Décor-wise, it has made the most inoffensive hints at modern chic. There are some wonky chairs and leather couches but nothing as outré as say Garage Bar’s sawdust scattered floor or Bison Bar’s bronco saddle seats or taxidermy fetish. It feels a bit like it is wearing skinny jeans because everyone else is, but isn’t really that pushed about whether it does or not. On tap, Hever Lee and Metal Man Ale are the pick of a small selection of non-standards. Again, enough of an effort made.
On our visit, prior to Ben Frost’s sense-wobbling show, the bar again shows itself functionality. “He’s on!” we hear across the room and within seconds, pint in tow, we are attending a gig. On our second visit, post-gig and feeling appropriately eviscerated, the venue again proves its worth as a place to spill directly into, where we can pick up the conversation without opportunity to splinter and where post-mortems turn (too) quickly to “What do you mean by post-modern?” and similarly wonderful and farcical conversations.
Ultimately, Crowbar is a pragmatic place; a tidy rearrangement of constituent elements of the Curved Street empire; a utilitarian success of form following function. That said, ask me again when it’s absolutely wedged before Todd Terje.
Crowbar
Curved Street, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
01-6709105
Words: Ian Lamont
