Tom Dunne: The northern music scene is buzzing again — and it's not just Kneecap
Tim Wheeler of Ash with Eric Bell of Thin Lizzy at the Northern Ireland Music Prize 2024 at the Ulster Hall. Picture: Jim Corr
Whilst obviously Cork Opera House is the rockiest, coolest, most history-drenched venue in Ireland – threatened in its time by both the British Army and Dublin four-piece Something Happens – the Ulster Hall in Belfast does give it a run for its money.
Cork Opera House opened in 1855, the Ulster Hall in 1862 (The Olympia, 1879, and the Gaiety, 1871, are blow ins) and both share a quite similar rock history. But Ulster has the edge in one area: It was the scene of the most famous gig that didn’t happen.
I was in the Ulster Hall last week for the Northern Ireland Music Awards. It was brimming with energy, creativity and youthful swagger. The new bands, Huartan, Problem Matters and Esmerelda Road were awesome and every word as Gaeilge took the roof off.
It is a strange fact: Kneecap has done more for the Irish language than 100 years of freedom. In the North right now, there is no tattoo, no body piercing, no alternative lifestyle that says “cool” to quite the degree the Irish language does.
A repeated comment on the night was “If this stage could talk.” It has seen a lot in its years. And when Eric Bell, Thin Lizzy’s original guitar player, took to the stage with Tim Wheeler from Ash to perform ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ grown men cried.
The Ulster Hall is where on March 5, 1971, Led Zeppelin chose to play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ for the first time. Punters were non-plussed. They preferred the louder stuff. In 1972 they got what they wanted: Deep Purple were so loud plaster fell from the ceiling.
In 1975, Thin Lizzy played through a power cut with an acoustic guitar and candles.
But such gigs were like hen’s teeth. The Troubles were raging, the death count climbing. Bands just wouldn’t come. The one exception was Rory Gallagher. Regardless of the risk, Rory insisted the gigs must go ahead. His New Year’s Day concerts in 1974 and 1977 are fondly remembered to this day.
It wasn’t just Rory’s concerts, which rocked, or the fact that he stayed long into the night to meet fans and sign autographs, that made them so special. It was that at a time when just being a normal teenager, going to a gigs and meeting friends, was being taken away from the youth of Northern Ireland, Rory said “No, not on my watch.” It has never been forgotten. It will never be forgotten. And people wonder why we love him.
In 1978, at the height of the troubles, Stiff Little Fingers played both ‘Suspect Device’ and ‘Alternative Ulster’ to a punk audience that did not want to be defined by sectarianism. Punk seemed to find a natural home in the North. Northern bands had an edge, a resilient toughness.
And then there was the gig that never was. In 1977, The Clash gig opted to kick off their UK and Ireland tour at the Belfast venue. Punk was already very controversial, and it didn’t help when the band were mistaken for paramilitaries at a local radio station. Queues formed, the license was cancelled, the gig was pulled.
A riot ensued, although those in the know, Belfast locals, said that the riot, on the Belfast Scale, was a 2 out of 10, if that. Not that it mattered. The Clash had their headlines. The Ulster Hall would feature in Clash folklore without them even making it to the stage.
When Van Morrison returned to the Ulster Hall in 1979, it was his first Belfast appearance since he’d achieved international fame. During ‘Cyprus Avenue’, as he named Belfast landmarks, both he and the audience were visibly moved.
The Ulster Hall too was where on December 4 1980, Horslips’ Charles O’Connor threw his fiddle into the air, theatrically marking the band’s last show. Their work was done. They had saved Ireland from the showbands.
It’s probably fair to say that the various winners and performers at the Northern Ireland Music Awards last week knew very little of all the above. And why should they? They were there to make their own history, and did so, magnificently.
But this writer looking on, sitting directly behind the man, Terri Hooley who pushed a copy of The Undertones’ ‘Teenage Kicks’ into the hands of John Peel could not but appreciate the occasional. The Northern Ireland music scene is as unique now as it was in the 1970s and still burns with that energy, that unique punk spirit. Long may it last.
