Published: 02 August ‘2025. The English Chronicle Online
What should have been a celebratory year for fans of Oasis has turned into a financial nightmare for many performers at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. As the legendary Britpop band prepares for a highly anticipated three-night reunion in the city, local accommodation prices have surged to staggering new heights—placing added strain on artists already struggling with costs.
For years, performers at the world’s largest arts festival have voiced concerns over the unaffordable nature of spending August in Edinburgh. But this year, the arrival of Oasis has created what comedian Marc Borrows calls “a catastrophic effect” on the Fringe economy.
Borrows, whose act this year fittingly pays homage to the band with a show titled The Britpop Hour, says the timing of the tour changed everything. “I had this idea in my back pocket for ages, but when I saw Oasis were playing Edinburgh, I thought—this is the year. Sadly, it’s cost me an extra thousand pounds just to rent the same student flat I’ve had for the past two Fringes.”
He’s far from alone. Rising costs have pushed many emerging performers to make difficult decisions. Comedian Amy Albright has chosen to sleep in her red Volkswagen for her two-week stint at the Fringe, unable to afford traditional lodging. She’s turned her car into a makeshift home, equipped with blackout blinds and a coffee maker, parking outside the city and using a gym for showers.
“It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way I can afford to perform,” she says. “The costs this year are even worse.”
Holly Spillar, whose show Tall Child explores themes of class and personal history, is one of 180 artists to receive a £2,500 bursary from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe Society, part of a £1 million government-funded initiative to help artists cope. But even with the grant, she still needed a loan to cover the full £5,000 cost of taking part. “I live month to month on minimum wage. This festival is an incredible opportunity, but it comes at a big financial risk,” she explains.
For many, the issue runs deeper than one band’s reunion. Chloe Petts, now a rising name on the comedy circuit, argues that the Oasis effect is merely highlighting a long-standing crisis. “Accommodation is just totally out of control,” she says. “It’s a conversation we need to have—not just about this year, but about the systemic inaccessibility of the Fringe. There are talented people who can’t afford to come, and that’s a real loss.”
Still, not everyone sees the band’s arrival as the root of the problem. Scottish comedian Susan McCabe, a self-professed Oasis superfan, urges balance. “They’re the greatest rock band of the ’90s. Just let them be. Besides, the Gallagher brothers might not even make it to the gigs. They fall out every other week,” she laughs.
But humor aside, the pressure facing Fringe performers this year is no joke. As Edinburgh fills with fans, artists are left fighting for space—not only on stage, but in a city whose soaring costs threaten the very diversity and accessibility the Fringe was built to celebrate.
