Hooleygan

by Terri Hooley

  Thin Lizzy were huge at that stage, and Phil’s partying lifestyle had become the stuff of legend, as had his capacity to drink and take ridiculous amount of drugs. Most of us took drugs back then, but for Phil it became a way of coping with his celebrity status – he found it hard to deal with all the attention he was receiving and I got the feeling that he would have been content playing in a wee pub band and enjoying his music without all the hassle fame brought. Sadly, in January 1986 his drug dependency resulted in multiple organ failure and Phil passed away. It was a terrible loss of a great talent.

  ‘The Harp’ – Brian Young

  To paraphrase an old cliché, ‘if everybody who now claims to have been a regular at The Harp Bar back in the day was lined up end-to-end (though face-to-face would be more fun!) you could probably reach the moon and back!’ Such is the notoriety of this seedy, run-down watering hole in Ulster punk lore!

  Unlike The Pound – where initially we always seemed to be regarded with suspicion, if not hostility – The Harp actively welcomed the punky waver hordes through its doors, at least, as soon as they realised that there was a substantial amount of cash money to be made from these strangely attired youngsters!

  Like The Pound, The Harp had a less than salubrious reputation – though, while The Pound had a certain notoriety as a den of iniquity, it was never regarded as a dangerous place to go. The Harp, on the other hand, had a very bad reputation indeed. Not only was it staunchly nationalist – hardly welcoming to us folks hailing from loyalist east Belfast in those far-off days – but it had also achieved some local infamy as one of the few venues in town that staged regular strip/sex shows, and believe you me this was the real deal, with shoddily projected XXX films and hard-faced strippers who would often perform group hand jobs in the toilets for a few quid! Charming, huh?

  Still, necessity is the mother of invention, and with venue after venue refusing to allow anything remotely punky-flavoured to darken their doors and more and more local punk bands looking desperately for places to play, a couple of enterprising bands approached The Harp asking if they could play in the old upstairs function room, ‘The Harp Lounge’, which lay disused and empty most nights of the week. With little to lose and much to gain Pat Lennon, the owner of the bar, agreed. And though the initial gigs weren’t packed, they were financially successful enough for him to allow other punk bands in to play on a more regular basis.

  RUDI was one of the first bands to get in on the act, making our Harp debut in May 1978. Sure, we were kinda apprehensive at first but, as soon as the punters started arriving, we breathed a huge sigh of relief and just got on with what we were good at – knocking out our own particular brand of no-holds-barred, two-fisted punk rock! By then, we had already amassed a following who would come and see us whenever and wherever we played, but what soon became noticeable was the amount of new faces in the audience – people that we’d never seen before and didn’t know at all – and once we all got talking, we discovered that these fellow punky wavers hailed from all over the place. Not only did they come from parts of Belfast we’d never set foot in, but also from Antrim, Newtownabbey, Carrickfergus, Portrush and further afield.

  We played The Harp several times before leaving for London in August 1978 and it was there that we played a particularly memorable farewell gig with Protex playing a smashing support slot. After we’d finished the main set our pal Henry Cluney from SLF got up to run through some spirited, if shambolic, cover versions as we all got wasted!

  Living in London we missed the entire Punk Workshop episode, though I do remember having to reassure one of our acquaintances there, a guitarist with The Nips, that he’d not get shot in Belfast once he opened his mouth and everyone realised he was a ‘Brit’ – at least not while he was in The Harp!

  We came home from London at the end of December 1978 after a run-in with the dreaded Special Patrol Group in Clapham. Though it had been positively surreal living there when The Undertones Good Vibes EP took off and media attention focused briefly on Northern Ireland, it taught us many important lessons, allowed us to make several invaluable contacts who would prove vital later in our career and also enabled us to write a heap of far better quality material. We debuted much of this in The Harp on 22 December in front of a jam-packed and rabid audience and breathed a huge sigh of relief that we hadn’t been forgotten when we were away! Amazingly, dozens of people had to be turned away at the door and even NME noted that this was the biggest crowd at The Harp ever!

  From that point on we played The Harp at least once or twice a month, until it closed its doors to punk midway through 1981. We always regularly pulled the biggest crowds and I’ve many fond memories of that period, from the sublime to the utterly ridiculous. How could I forget having to squeeze past the strippers getting changed as we lugged our gear up the back stairs and tried not to stare too much?! Or filling up Grimmy’s hollow drum seat with as many bottles of beer as we could stash in it when were supposed to be sound checking! Or our pal Mr Puke regularly spending most of the set lying on-stage with his head stuffed into the bass drum! Or always having to turn Big Gordy’s bass amp down behind his back when he wasn’t looking! Or Halloween night 1979, when Terri Hooley joined us on-stage to be presented with a gold disc for his indie-chart-topping smash ‘Laugh at Me’, which we’d played on. The record had been recorded in a converted henhouse outside Randalstown when we were all half-cut, and the ‘gold disc’ was a Lurkers freebie flexi-disc with a ‘Laugh at Me’ label stuck on top!

  If you wanted, you could hang out in The Harp seven nights a week just playing pool or listening to the jukebox without any real hassle from the bar staff Maureen and Tony, even if you never bought a drink! Many of the regular punters preferred the more economical option of knocking back their beverage of choice in the nearby subway prior to setting foot in The Harp! Sure, it was dilapidated, grimy and the toilets had to be seen to be believed, but it also had a decent-sized stage, was easy enough to fill sound-wise, had proper seats, tables, and even some booths. Best of all, it had a biggish dance floor right in front of the stage with plenty of room to pogo to your heart’s content. The bands were usually pretty hot – but even if they weren’t the DJs always played a first-rate selection of primo punky wax. And did I already mention that they also sold alcohol and didn’t ask too many questions about your age? What more could you ask for!

  A lot has been said about The Harp over the years, and it’s pretty obvious in hindsight that a relatively accessible, quasi-neutral, punk-friendly venue in the centre of Northern Ireland’s largest city would encourage young people to venture outside their own enclaves to participate in the whole glorious punk explosion first-hand. But it really was the first time I can remember that significant numbers of young people from all sections and classes of the community, and from both sides of the sectarian divide were able to meet up and get to know each other, initially drawn together by their enthusiasm for this new music and lifestyle. Perhaps unsurprisingly, many lifelong friendships and long-term relationships resulted.

  Personally too, I reckon it’s not too wide of the mark to say that for most people at The Harp what really mattered was the music you liked – not where you were from, or what foot you kicked with. You were a punk rocker first and foremost and everything else was secondary. At least that’s what it felt like to me, others may beg to differ.

  Don’t get me wrong, it most certainly wasn’t all sweetness and light, not all punks were non-sectarian by any means and there were always the usual heated arguments and fights you’d get in any large group of high-spirited teens, but in all honesty there really never was that much trouble inside The Harp – certainly nothing like we would have experienced at our previous haunts the Glenmachan and Girton Lodge. It’s also worth noting that any actual fisticuffs were generally more to do with your allegiance to a particular band or crowd, rather than along more usual sectarian lines. Though, believe you me, the rivalry between some of the bands could, and did, get pretty dam
n intense (no names, no pack-drill as we were all guilty of this to a greater or lesser degree!).

  Outside The Harp, it was a very different story and you definitely had to be wary of marauding ‘Spidermen’/predators looking to pick off unwary stragglers on your way there and home. So, relying on safety in numbers, everybody used to walk round to the City Hall en masse to get the last bus home at 11 p.m.! In those distant times nobody had their own transport. That feeling of intimidation is what the RUDI song ‘Tigerland’ is about:

  I’ll meet you when the clock strikes eight, we’ll walk into the darkness.

  I’ll see you there, all dressed in red at the end of the day.

  At the end of the day, they stalk their prey.

  For Ulster’s budding punk musicians The Harp truly was a godsend! Realising that if chancers like us could do it, then anyone could and now – with a readily accessible venue in which to strut their stuff – zillions of local hopefuls took their first faltering steps on-stage. Amazingly, most of ’em weren’t half bad, more than making up in enthusiasm and sheer panache for what they may have been lacking in musical ability.

  This was the real DIY punk ethic put into practice and was much more important than the haircuts and funny clothes – though that was fun too! And it didn’t just apply to musicians either. The Harp provided both focus and catalyst for an emerging network of writers, DJs, artists and activists, unleashing a wave of creativity in all sorts of unlikely areas, and planting the seeds for all sorts of weird ’n’ wonderful things to come in many impressionable young minds too!

  For more experienced acts The Harp provided the perfect opportunity to hone your stagecraft in front of a fiercely partisan audience. You had to put up or shut up – simple as that! But it encouraged many local bands to sharpen up their act and it’s no accident that most of the bands that played there benefited hugely from the experience. Admittedly, it wasn’t all plain sailing, as several hapless acts found to their cost when they incurred the audience’s wrath and were bottled off!

  There was never any time for complacency either – the competition was fierce and kept you on your toes. You were always only ever as good as your last gig and there was always somebody snapping at your heels. I guess the bottom line was that if you could cut it at The Harp you could cut it anywhere – as we proved time and time again when we were signed to the Jamming! label and got to tour the length and breadth of the UK and Ireland. But, home is where the heart is and I guess I always looked forward to playing The Harp more than anywhere else! Certainly many of the wildest, most memorable and most fun gigs RUDI ever played took place within those walls – when everything clicked into place and the band was firing on all cylinders, the audience was going totally apeshit and sweat was running down the walls, there really was nowhere like it!

  Sadly, all good things must come to an end and as punk became less popular The Harp decided to cut its losses, metamorphosing almost overnight into a country and western club in mid-1981. We did actually play there again in February 1982 as a one-off, but whether or not it was the fault of the surreal backdrop of painted cacti and rustic fencing I’m not sure, but the magic had gone and it had become just another venue. Sadly, the anticipated C&W boom The Harp was hoping for never materialised and it gradually slipped back into obscurity, finally shutting its doors for good a few years later.

  What Goes Up

  From humble beginnings, Good Vibrations had grown into something very special. The Undertones may have been our biggest success but we helped a host of bands realise their dreams. And I’ll let you into a secret – many of these bands were signed up, not because I had some great insight into their musical prowess, but simply because I knew and liked the people involved. Sometimes people would ask me, ‘Why on earth are you signing them up?’ and I’d say, ‘Well, one night he bought me a pint in The Pound.’ A proper business plan just wouldn’t have worked for me.

  By this stage I was being tortured with demos – I even had prisoners in the Maze sending me their songs – and we were signing up scores of new bands to the label.

  In 1980, we signed The Shapes, a band who had been signed to EMI, but left when the label tried to force them in another direction. This worked out well for us though, as it turned out they were huge Good Vibrations fans and had wanted to record with us. My friend Willie Richardson, who worked for Virgin, had heard about this and suggested that I go and see them, so Getty (from The Outcasts) and I travelled to their hometown of Leamington Spa, and met them in the local pub. After a great evening, during which I managed to beat the local pool hustler, we went to one of the lads’ flats, only to find the walls covered with the sleeves of every record that Good Vibrations had put out. It was no surprise then when they told me they were keen to put something out on the label. I agreed to release their song ‘Blast Off’.

  Despite these successes, money was starting to run a little low and so, in August 1980, I put together Belfast’s ‘First Punk and New Wave Festival’, a two-night Good Vibes showcase /fundraiser to be held in the Ulster Hall. We wanted to show people that it was possible for local talent to fill the venue and I’m happy to say that we packed the place on both nights – stories of me letting in hundreds of punks free of charge are wide of the mark, there were only a few dozen!

  Over the course of the two nights all the bands currently on the label played a set, and while people have since asked me why RUDI didn’t headline the festival, the truth is that by this stage they had split from the label. They had been a huge success for Good Vibes but we wanted to give new and upcoming bands the chance to shine. I’d hoped that this event would make the industry across the water sit up and take notice.

  I was doing my best to get as much exposure as possible for the label, so the following year I took a number of bands over to Newcastle upon Tyne for an Irish music festival. Unfortunately it turned out to be total shite, and just as I began to regret coming over at all, the trip was redeemed when I found out that The Pogues were playing the Town Hall that same weekend.

  I was quite friendly with lead singer Shane MacGowan, having met him several years previously when he was working on a market stall in Soho. Good Vibes had supplied some stalls at that market with records and, once we got to chatting, it turned out that we had a lot of things in common. He and his punk band, The Nipple Erectors, were just starting to make their mark, so we would often go drinking at the local pub, The Shaftsbury Inn in Soho, and talk about music. We always had a great time. I invited him to bring the band over for a gig in The Harp in 1978 and was amazed to learn that, despite his strong interest in all things Irish, it was to be the band’s first visit to Ireland.

  When the band, who later changed their name to The Nips, put out a single called ‘Gabrielle’ in 1979, I agreed to stock it in the shop but, only a few years after its release, Shane decided to leave the band, joining celtic rock group, Pogue Mahone – or The Pogues as they would come to be known – instead.

  As such, he turned out to be in Newcastle upon Tyne the same weekend I was, so I made sure to head round to the gig. I managed to blag my way in and had an absolutely brilliant night, and not just because the band were on top form. I remember The Pogues’ tour manager Joey Cashman grabbing me after the show and asking me, for whatever reason, to look after the bar. ‘Not a problem,’ I thought, and proceeded to swipe a few bottles of wine for later. Shane was supposedly off the drink – which just meant he wasn’t drinking spirits! – but whenever he came over to chat to me he managed, within seconds, to suss where I had hidden the wine. The man has an unerring nose for alcohol! We spent that night in a hotel bar enjoying a sensational sing-song round the piano. I still keep in touch with Shane and whenever he’s in town I try to hook up with him. He doesn’t drink as much as he used to, but he can still put on a sensational show.

  In 1981, we wound up in the High Court for the sum of £2,700 which we owed to a wholesaler. That may not sound like much, but it was symptomatic of larger financial problems an
d those money difficulties had me pretty stressed out. Despite all our hard fundraising work, things were getting tougher all the time on the money front. I couldn’t handle it, and threw myself even harder into partying. As a result, things became increasingly difficult at home.

  Anna’s arrival had been a blessing, but now Ruth and I were fighting all the time. She had outgrown all the frantic partying and needed a more settled life. I suppose she was tired of coming down the stairs in the morning to find several young punks sleeping on our living room floor. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t make any real attempt to change my ways and one day she just said, ‘That’s it, it’s over,’ and she asked me to leave.

  Looking back, I guess I was just so wrapped up in my own wee party world that I didn’t see it coming. I knew that Ruth had put up with so much over the years we had been together and it’s true when they say that you don’t realise what you have until it’s taken away from you. I knew I wasn’t looking after her properly and I went to pieces. I moved into a house in Andersonstown in the west of the city for a few months, and began to party harder than ever. Outwardly it may have looked like ‘same old Terri’ and that I was just getting on with life, but inside I was devastated.

  I threw myself into Good Vibrations and, in 1982, I signed a great band, Cruella de Ville, and we put out their double A-side single ‘Drunken Uncle John’/‘Those Two Dreadful Children’. They also recorded the single ‘I’ll Do The Talking’ with Good Vibrations, which was licensed and released with Polydor.