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21st May 2017
01:57pm BST
Crawdaddy opened its doors in 2004 with the aim of providing Dublin with a live venue to be truly proud of, and boy, did she do well.
But then, in 2012, music lovers of Dublin collectively felt the large weight of the recession as she closed her doors for the very last time.
Each of the three rooms offered something wholly unique and although they are gone, they are certainly not forgotten. Here are 13 things you'll all remember had you graced the inside of its stone walls.
For those of us under the age of 19 back then, Crawdaddy was our Everest.
With some of the strictest bouncers in Dublin, due to the fact that it was the deadliest spot going, it was a bloody trek trying to get down those long and winding stairs.
If you did, it was usually because some kind soul tossed down their paper driving licence through the railings.
A saviour to some, the last fucking thing needed to others, and gas to all involved.
Hotdogs with enough ketchup to perpetually turn you crimson, and sometimes chips if you were lucky, were eaten, thrown or spewed around the hugest smoking area in Dublin every single weekend without fail.
Large by indoor standards at least, peppered with fairy lights, but not in a Christmassy way.
An obvious choice for photo ops of the night, people became quite attached.
None of this Lost Society Opium shite.
Known for bringing real Dublin 'character' to the table via inflammatory weekly club night names e.g. PUNCH HER IN THE C.U.N.T. (a Katie Taylor-inspired night out, lest we forget) and for tunes that wouldn't be out of place at a 15-year-old's birthday party circa '94.
Notable thanks to that unforgettable comma stamp, Strangeways was the spot for all Dublin kids who genuinely believed they could land a main role in Skins.
Like being trapped in Pan's Labyrinth while listening to filthy dubstep... but still somehow enjoyable.
The original Thursday night out.
It's believed that you couldn't gain entry without Levi shorts and side cut tops.
Mmmm, pre-mixed sugar drinks.
Bonus points if you managed to get a VK Ice Storm (infused with glitter) before they sold out.
Yes, Crawdaddy was indeed the gift that kept on giving.
Rumour had it if you clicked your heels three times whilst in there, your favourite tune would be waiting for you out the other side.
Crawdaddy was a subculture Mecca, and each and every night you could certainly feel the love in the room.
Unfortunately, you could also see it.
100,000% guaranteed to get a shot of you at your most scaldy, fresh for your Facebook the following day.
No ID? No problem!
Just wear your tightest skinnies, your biggest frown (lip ring in tow, obviously) and dose your fringe in hairspray. You'll be absolutely sound.
Dublin kids' favourite place to pose. Full of deck chairs and aforementioned grub, although it did somewhat resemble that of a German bunker. Did anyone even go inside?
Pass through Crawdaddy's first room into the adjoining second, and you'll come across the 'rave cave'. A much more intense dance experience which featured a raised stage and live DJ, and sometimes, just sometimes, it rained balloons.
Where you always bumped into someone you wished you hadn't. And you sweat, you really bloody sweat.
An absolute must for all the converse wearers at the time, which was everyone.
An insurance nightmare, but fucking excellent fun.
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