Seconds Out, Round Two

Seconds out, pints down, it's time to rumble. Forget that hyped battle between Fatboy Slim and Armand Van Helden. The most spectacular dust-up in the entertainment business is currently going off at Auntie Annie's Porterhouse in Belfast. Laughably, it's been billed as a discussion. A panel of experienced heads sat down before an audience to discuss that most pertinent of posers: "Northern Ireland? Music Industry?"

In theory, it's a chance to accentuate the positive, to gauge how far we've come in 35 years. But hey, the concerned citizens, the begrudgers, the conspiracy-grinders, the drama queens and the crazyheads all want to have their say. The agenda is quickly torn apart. What develops is an undignified brawl. Old scores are aired in public, untruths and wild allegations strafe the room. Egos are unfurled as the fingers get stabbing and the body language turns menacing.

Belfast has always nurtured a climate of bitching. The Ulster personality likes an argument but prefers a slagging. It starts with the politicians and works its way down. In the music business, this tendency is worsened by a climate of anxiety. Because so few bands get successful, the others are begrudging. Rather than congratulate their peers, they choose to personalise the issue. Why not us? They're shit. They haven't been going long enough. They haven't served their dues. Who's yer man? We deserve it.

On the far left on the panel is Terri Hooley, the guy who launched Good Vibrations in 1978, the only record label from here that's made an international impression. I'm next in line, followed by Stuart Fleming from PRS and Shep, the local promoter and manager of Watercress, who is acting as chairman. At the far end is Iain Pulford from NIAMI and Jim Heaney, Chairman at the NIMIC Steering Group.

These two are present because, apart from everything else, this evening is the battle of the acronyms. The Northern Ireland Music Industry Commission came into being two years ago. Spurred along by LEDU, the local enterprise development unit, NIMIC drew up a mission statement: "to foster and develop a thriving music industry in Northern Ireland and to promote this internationally."

A disparate bunch of Joes (including myself, Shep and about eight others) had a series of meetings and threw some ideas into the pot. LEDU, in association with NIMIC, commissioned a report on the sector. The upcoming result is a thorough and unflinching document, recognising that talent is being thwarted by a lack of facilities, poor communication, inexperience and cynicism. It also suggests a series of pragmatic actions that may improve the situation.

NIAMI claims to represent the interests of musicians, viewing itself as more of a grassroots organisation. It formed a month before, partly as a reaction to NIMIC. This is significant. It's ironic that NIMIC should identify the industry's lack of media awareness when NIMIC itself has a terrible PR problem. Which is where Terri Hooley, the legendary dissenter, comes in. At the first NIAMI meeting, he claimed that "there are people in NIMIC who would walk over the dead of Omagh to make money."

He resumes his dramatic theme at Auntie Annie's, cataloguing the many instances of exploitation in the music business he has known in 40 years. He says there should be a Nuremberg trial for all the sharks who have ripped off Irish musicians and punters, never putting any money back into the local economy.

"These people should be accountable for themselves . . . there's a music biz mafia out there."

Jim Heaney tries to assure everyone that no-one from NIMIC is making anything out of it, that it's a voluntary thing, with the good health of local music in mind. Stuart Fleming tries to move the argument on, comparing Northern Ireland musicians to those in the north of Scotland, whom he also represents. "There's the same feeling of despondency and isolation up there," he notes. That's one of the last articulate moments, as the shouting commences and a series of people from the floor have their say.

A few musicians such as Tura Artura make the case for individual growth, the "just do it" philosophy. The journalist Colin Murray brings up the subject of the message board on the Fastfude website (www.fastfude.com), which is routinely stuffed by anonymous postings, abusing all and sundry. Murray issues a challenge. "Why don't the people who call me a dick on the website say it to my face?" "You're a dick," says Bill Guinney, who hosts the back bar gigs at Lavery's. "I know it's not you writing that stuff," says Murray, "because you wouldn't know how to use the internet." Miaow.

LEDU takes a bashing, NIMIC receives more flak and I get sneered at for moving to London in the mid-'80s. I say my piece about the twin problems that face Northern Ireland — 30 years of The Troubles and an unlucky geographical location, dislocated from both London and Dublin. That's why funding is an issue here: to allow enterprise culture to work, and to provide some basic services which might give bands the chances that are available elsewhere. It's a thought, but not everyone's buying. It's time to get drunk.

The discussion panel is the opening part of the Belfest '99 event. Loads of free gigs in five venues, with an 18 track CD of the bands involved (retailing for 99p), made possible by sponsorship and funding. A great chance to see Desert Hearts, Roo, BASIC, Low End, Fine American Blend, Olympic Lifts, and masses of others. The opportunity to be stimulated, to welcome record company guys in from London, Glasgow and Dublin, to further the chances of the place.

All this takes place in spite of the sour vibes, the suspicion, the bad communication and the bullshit. It's dispiriting. There must be some way out of this.