Something must be done to eradicate Ireland’s plague of sentimental, self-indulgent, sexually-frustrated singer-songwriters. They’re everywhere: dominating open mic nights, irritating defenceless pedestrians and ruining excellent house parties. Worst of all, they take Bob Dylan’s name in vain, and croon endlessly about the girl who broke their heart when they were fourteen. It has to stop.

Of course, the ‘bloke with guitar’ epidemic is not limited to Ireland. But it is particularly bad here. Our nation’s capital now combines a cocktail of factors which is creating the worst crisis since the Greenwich Village outbreak of the early sixties.

Free third-level education couldn’t have come at a worse time. Combined with the economic confidence of the Celtic Tiger, it spawned unprecedented numbers of feckless arts students who regard unemployment and emigration as exotic lifestyle choices.

It’s no surprise that from the ranks of this generation have arisen record numbers of bearded amateur musicians. But that’s only half the story. These same social conditions have also created hordes of attractive, articulate young women. Scientific testing has confirmed that nothing gets guys reaching for a guitar faster.

The calculation is simple. Smart women want men who are funny, attractive and caring. Unfortunately, most men suffer from acute alcoholism/manic-depression/autism/egomania (delete as applicable) and the remainder are hardcore football fans with commitment issues. Playing the guitar and writing songs is one of the only ways in which guys can publicly present themselves as artistic, talented and emotional, without their mates assuming their gay.

The upshot of all this is that if we want to cleanse the Dublin music scene of sentimental singer-songwriters, free fees have to go. As an added bonus, this will start to clear out some of the middle-class do-gooders who plan to save the world via song-writing. Judging by the sincerity of their lyrics, these people honestly believe that the GDP of impoverished African nations increases for every punter who hears their new song ‘Debt Sentence’.

Unfortunately, there are major political forces conspiring to maintain this delusion. In the same week that Bertie ‘last of the socialists’ Ahern declared his commitment to helping the poor, his government radically reduced its target for aid to the developing world. Why waste money on people who haven’t got votes you can buy? Meanwhile Bono and Bob Geldof were selflessly giving away their artistic credibility to promote the latest Live Aid remix. The lesson for middle-class do-gooders was simple – stop voting, start strumming.

Reversing this message requires radical action. Step two in our programme to clean up the Dublin music scene is to put U2 and Bob Geldof into Government and re-launch Fianna Fáil as a stadium rock band – The Warriors of Destiny. We then install Mary McAleese in the first ever cross-border, 32-county Abba tribute band – alongside Daniel O’Donnell, Brian Kennedy and Dana – it’s about time we did something spectacular for the nation’s gay community. The new band could even pretend that their name – Dancing Queen – was chosen as a sign of their respect for Loyalist culture.

Moving on, the third step in cleansing the Dublin music scene is to make it as inhospitable as possible to up-and-coming singer/songwriters. The good news is that many venue managers and audiences have already started moving in this direction.

In order to fully research this article, I have been working undercover for the past six months, posing as an aspiring singer/songwriter (expenses to follow). I approached venue managers all over the city, gave out demos like confetti and was tireless in my quest for gigs. But the managers’ resistance was admirable. No matter how charming, talented or successful I proved myself to be, they refused to listen. I was a bloke with a guitar. Encouraging me would only make things worse.

In one particularly noble case, I persisted for two months: dropping in, phoning ahead, texting. In all that time, a simple ‘you’re not what we’re looking for’ would have got me off their case. But these fine people knew that if they were going make Dublin’s music scene beautiful again, they had to break my spirit. Clueless staff, calls unreturned, attendance rotes that changed constantly – all meticulously planned to deter persistent songwriters. When I finally found the manager – after a blitzkrieg three visits in one day – she refused to acknowledge my presence and ordered one of her minions to tell me that I wasn’t wanted.

But venue managers cannot take all the credit. Dublin also has a determined network of plainclothes gig-disrupters. They work in crack teams, entering a gig incognito, and then talking persistently through the entire set. They are skilled at blending into a crowd, but their conversation always gives them away. No ordinary member of the public could be stupid or ignorant enough to come all out the way to a gig, pay good money in, and then talk incessantly over the music.

The fourth and final step in eradicating self-indulgent singer-songwriters is perhaps the most important. As so often happens in undercover journalism, I have grown to love my new life. I get to harass venue managers, impress smart girls and (hopefully) never leave college. I started this assignment hating singer-songwriters, and I still do. But now, I also am one. In an attempt to resolve this apparent contradiction I have written a ballad about a singing eejit just like me, who murders Bob Dylan songs at parties. It’s called ‘Villain Killin’ Dylan’, and it’s available in Road Records of Fade Street. Step four involves you, along with every other reader of JMI, buying a copy, and presenting it to the most excruciating singer-songwriter you know. Together we can beat this thing.

Abie’s web-site is www.freewebs.com/AbieMusic