SUMMIT IN THE AIR

Terri You join us in the bar of Jury's Hotel in Belfast. The company around the table amounts to a rock and roll convention, with delegates from the punk, longhair and rockabilly tribes. Terri Hooley, a one man anarchy party is also due, but he's still in a taxi somewhere on the Ormeau Road. Well, we already knew that you should never hurry a Hooley.
To the business at hand. A brief but illuminating round table review of issues as they stand in Belfast. With reference to ambition, civic pride, the influence of dance music and our ambivalent relationship to Dublin. At this stage, I guess you should meet the panel. First off is the fresh-faced Johnny Dixon, frontman with Oops. The newest signing to Terri Hooley's Good Vibrations label, he is beamingly optimistic about sales of his 'Home Alone' single and the busy prospects for this year. "Everybody's happy," he says, and you can't argue with that.
Or can you? Phil McCarroll is the singer with the rocktastic Payola, who also have a record out on Good Vibes, "a quadruple A side" titled Stick Two Fingers Up. A shameless hustler, Phil has just been filmed by a BBC TV crew, who followed his band's journey by ferry to London for a special showcase gig. Phil happily claims that "I do live the rock and roll lifestyle . . . on an extremely tight budget." He also wants to further his career, ASAP.
Brian Young sings with the Sabrejets and hails the evergreen power of Link Wray (70-ish) and The Cramps' Lux Interior (50-ish). Brian has a similar vocation to these people. He fronted Rudi in the punk days, a completely great act, and he's still inflamed by music. He's a recent convert to the internet, and talks about Johnny Thunders' websites with considerable passion. Brian may live a stone's throw from Stormont, but his heart lies somewhere in Memphis, Tennessee. "This is the first band I've been in where it's like a dream," he claims, waving a heavily tattooed arm. "There's no arguing and no carrying on."
So let's start off by talking about Belfast and geography. Does it matter where you're from, or even where you're at?
Phil: "It does matter. I never used to believe it made a difference, but all you have to do is read your magazines and see how many bands have come out of scenes like the Camden thing in London. A&R people are scared of going outside their little areas."
Johnny: "I was watching a homemade Offspring video the other day and you see them playing together back in 1983. It's only now that they're a force to be reckoned with. That's 17 years they've been at it, from a small place in Orange County. It's all about perserverance"
Brian: "There isn't the infrastructure here and stuff, but if people don't get their act together and do it, you'll always have people going off to London and signing dreadful deals and then splitting up. We've got stuff coming out all over the world, over 20 releases, in Japan and America. But you shouldn't go near major labels. They have nothing to do with integrity. All the great music in history has come from the small labels."
Phil: "But why not go to London? It's good steam. Still you can be cynical about Belfast, but imagine if you were the greatest rock and roll band and you came from Romania. You'd be fucked. Irish and British music in fashionable worldwide and we can derive interest from the best of both worlds."
So let's talk about Terri Hooley since he's not here yet. He put out the first Rudi single, 'Big Time', (which he recently recorded himself, with Brian on guitar), a landmark in Irish punk history, followed by The Undertones 'Teenage Kicks'. Fair play to the old goat for past achievements, but is he really that special a few decades later?
Johnny: "He's definitely helped us. Over here, there's no great book to follow. We hooked up with Terri, and since then we've got the single out, had radio airplay, we've played in the Limelight and the Empire. Bigger things have happened for us."
Phil: "Terri is unique. A Jekyll And Hyde character. I was just happy to get the Good Vibrations name onto our CD. It means it's a little bit of history. Terri noticed us and something excited him, and I appreciate that."
Brian: "Terri is always the fly in the ointment and I wish there were more people like him. The bottom line is that he's an enthusiast. He's really obsessed and he does it from the right reasons. I find it reassuring that there's people out there like him."
(With a lovely piece of syncronicity, Terri Hooley comes in, muttering about his chaotic journey. At this point you may be interested to know that he's just become a father at the age of 51. His face is also a bit swollen after a nasty incident near his shop two weeks ago. Terri is never too far away from a dramatic incident).
Now it's time to talk about positivity, about moving things on.
Brian: "You have to admire anyone for getting up and doing something, because nowadays, everything has become so dull. When I started out, there were no venues and the town closed at six. I don't want to sound like grandad from the Boer War, but when I was 16, we were booking birthday parties in absolute dives of hotels. It was the only way to get on. And we do exactly the same thing now. You still have problems with venues in town. And then there are tribute bands when the real bands aren't even dead. To see the likes of the Stereophonies: those people should have their hands chopped off."
Phil: "People want it to be packaged for them and a tribute band is easily digestible. The way we've treated that situation is by supporting tribute bands and nicking half their audience. We'll show them what originality is about. All the bands here can put on a show. And that's why we pull good crowds."
And what about the popularity of dance music? Has that sucked a potential audience away?
Johnny: "It's our job to kill dance music. Put on a good show so these people don't go to their club at 11 o' clock. You have to get out there." Phil: "Dance music is an irrelevance."
Terri: "This debate was on when disco was big. It's different strokes. I mean, I love cabaret in pubs down the country when somebody plays the organ and everybody gets up and sings 'Blackboard Of My Heart', or something. But I think there will always be an audience for live music and it's up to the bands to be entertaining. I actually get bored with bands that look at their shoes all night. When I grew up, there were 80 clubs around Belfast. Bands like Them used to play three venues in a night. But The Troubles really killed the heart and soul of this city. Back in the '60s, we used to laugh about 'Dirty Dublin'. Now it's an international city. For 30 years, people did not use the nightlife of Belfast. And the punks did open the town again."
So what about the old cliche that Belfast people have a lot of soul? Phil: "There's definitely a spirit or a hunger here, to go onto better things." Brian: "Any city that can produce George Best and Alex Higgins has to have something going for it." Terri: "Once they get away from their mammies, they all go daft. Drink and women..." Brian: "Because of all the squabbling over Britishness and Irishness, a lot of people want to step outside all that. So geographically, you have all these different influences." Phil: "You're right. People here create their own little worlds. Most of us wouldn't want to put forward a political opinion as part of our message."
What about Dublin then? Does it have anything special to offer?
Terri: "Dublin has culture, which Belfast doesn't have. Belfast people go into the city centre at the weekends and go mad, whereas people in Dublin go out during the week. It's inbuilt in the lifestyle. I would be jealous of the infrastructure for music there. But then again, if I was part of it, I might find it was just as shit." Phil: "Bands here are more original and diverse and unique." Brian: "Dublin's good at selling things. From shillileaghs right through to U2. I remember playing at the Project Arts Centre with U2 and it was a whole different ballgame. They had managers, roadies, sound men, the works. The Belfast bands had a van and two guitars between them. But I know what I would prefer. Dublin has become a tourist park."
We finish off muttering about the internet, Elvis impersonators and mutual pals. It's the same kind of conversation we've had a dozen times before. The only thing different is the tone. Much as we love to moan and hark backwards, the unspoken mood concedes that things are actually a bit good just now. Tonight we lay our hopes and collective resources on the table. Tomorrow, we execute the Stereophonies.