by Terri Hooley
We met one night when Stuart Bailie, former Deputy Editor of New Musical Express, invited me to a photographic exhibition he was putting on in Belfast. I was already committed to doing a DJ set later that night in the Duke of York bar, in aid of the Rape Crisis Centre in Belfast – my daughter Anna works for the equivalent centre in Edinburgh – but I didn’t want to miss the exhibition, so I went along early with my friend DJ Death Darren and had a few glasses of wine.
My friend Louise Gallagher, who worked for the BBC, arrived at that point with a colleague of hers – Claire. It was always a party when you met Louise, but Claire seemed totally unimpressed by my presence there – apparently she had never even heard of me! But we got talking and we seemed to get on really well. She told me that she worked for BBC Online but that she was taking three months off to work in a school in a small township in South Africa. She was also planning to spend some time working on the Big Issue magazine, writing and generally helping to run their office. I was impressed, and I must admit, was immediately taken with her. I wanted to stay and chat to her for longer, but I had the Rape Crisis gig to go to and had to leave.
Darren and I headed to the Duke of York where he opened the show with a soul set. I had a couple of pints in the downstairs bar and I found myself thinking about Claire – I knew I wanted to see her again. With a little help from Louise I managed to get in touch with her and it wasn’t long before we started to see each other.
When she left for South Africa, it was difficult. We had only been seeing each other for a few months and I didn’t know if, when she got back, we would be able to take up where we left off, but I missed her and I was determined to be there to meet her when she stepped off the plane. But the big reunion didn’t exactly go according to plan. On the day of her arrival back in Belfast, I went to the airport to meet her. Two of her friends were already there holding big ‘Welcome Home’ banners, but as luck would have it, I ran into my old friend The Phantom – from my pirate radio days – and got so deep into conversation with him, that I missed the big reunion. Claire had arrived home, not to run into my arms, but to see me deep in conversation with someone else – I think she was a little miffed. But I told her how proud I was of her, and we managed to get things back on track.
I was still staying with Eithne at this stage. The set-up had worked well for us and, as our romantic relationship had been long over by then, we had become more like housemates. In fact, I lived there for a further two years after meeting Claire, but it was never a problem. Claire and I would spend Friday nights playing Scrabble – not very rock ’n’ roll! – but she was a great calming influence on me and Michael thought the world of her. Almost every weekend she, Michael and I would take the dog for a walk along the beach at Holywood, or go together to get my parents their shopping. My mother was always glad to see Claire and she was pleased that I was in a relationship that worked well for everyone. I think that my parents were just happy to get regular visits from their son and grandson! Claire and I have a wonderful relationship and had it not been for her I would never have got over my shop going up in flames. She’s an amazing woman.
But if things were looking up on the relationship front, they were also improving on the music front too. In 2007, nearly thirty years after the Good Vibrations label had first led the way, Belfast’s struggling bands and musicians finally got the resource they deserved. On 5 May the Oh Yeah! music centre opened on Gordon Street – occupying a former whiskey warehouse in the heart of the up-and-coming Cathedral Quarter – with my old sparring partner Stuart Bailie at the helm. Co-founded by Martin Neill and Davy Matchett – both businessmen and music-lovers – and Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol, the centre provides local artists with performing space, a privately-run recording studio, technical equipment, help and advice.
The likes of Elbow, Snow Patrol and Duke Special have all performed there, while Tim Wheeler from Ash, and former Radio One DJ Colin Murray are among the centre’s many active supporters. Oh Yeah! has achieved more for Northern Ireland’s music industry in three years than the government-funded Northern Ireland Music Industry Commission – which wound up in November 2009 due to ‘irreconcilable differences’ among board members – managed to in eight years.
I wish we’d had something like it back in the seventies when we were trying to find somewhere for bands to rehearse or put on gigs. I had tried to set up something similar in my days as a member of The Tribe – that motley crew of friends, activists and music fans. We had set up a small independent press that published poetry magazines and, later, a newsletter called Ego, which was a platform for young people to write about the issues of the day. We needed a base of operations and a dream to set up the ‘Belfast Arts Lab’ was born. It was to be a central place from which we would generate our publications, and a rehearsal space for bands.
I remember on one occasion going to look at potential premises on the Oldpark Road in north Belfast with Colin McClelland – a journalist who became editor of the Sunday World newspaper, and who managed Stiff Little Fingers – when we were stopped by the police and asked what we were doing. This happened a couple of times, and Colin began to get a little spooked. I think the sight of Hooley with a respected journalist had raised a few suspicions, and so the visit ended with Colin heading for White’s Tavern for a much needed drink!
We did eventually get premises off Donegall Street, but unfortunately it didn’t work as well as we had hoped. The initial enthusiasm of others seemed to have waned, and there didn’t seem to be the same appetite for enterprise as there had been in the beginning. It’s a shame to say it, but looking back I wonder if perhaps Belfast wasn’t ready for such a place. The onset of the Troubles meant that people had become ghettoised, and running something from Belfast’s city centre was very difficult – people tended to stay in their own areas.
The Oh Yeah! Centre is long overdue and I’m very happy that the job of encouraging new acts is in the hands of someone like Stuart Bailie. We need to start shouting from the rooftops about the talent we have produced. Talent like Van Morrison, Paul Brady, Ash, Therapy?, The Undertones and Snow Patrol – the list is endless, and their success was achieved without there being a music industry here. For such a small area, we have produced some of the best poets and performers and their influence stretches around the world. Did you know, for example, that the famous McPeake Family have been a big influence on Bob Dylan? They also gave John Lennon uilleann pipes, although I’m not sure he knew how to play them. Did you also know that Kate Bush used a Lambeg drum made on Sandy Row on an album track? And of course, during their 1971 tour, Led Zeppelin performed ‘Stairway To Heaven’ for the very first time in Belfast’s Ulster Hall.
One of the proudest moments in my own musical life took place on 22 February 2008 at the annual Fate Awards – a bash hosted by entertainment and listings magazine Fate. I had heard a rumour that, for the first and only time, the Oh Yeah! centre would be sponsoring the Legend Award and that it was to be presented to Van Morrison. ‘No better man,’ I thought. There are few artists anywhere who have had as much influence on others – every serious record collector has a copy of Astral Weeks in their collection – and while he might be a bit grumpy, he is fully deserving of the title ‘legend’.
But, as it turned out, this rumour was wrong. As the award ceremony grew nearer, I was told that I should dust down the monkey suit as I was to be the star guest, the so-called legend. It was a huge surprise. Any recognition I had ever received had come from Dublin or further afield, I hadn’t received a Northern Irish award in all my life. I don’t consider myself a legend – well maybe I do after a few brandies and couple of spliffs! – so I think this honour was belated recognition for all the incredible things that everybody at Good Vibrations achieved over the years and a tribute to all the young talent that refused to get weighed down by the sectarian bigotry and conflict. We really did put Belfast back on the music map of the world.
It was with some nervousness that I got ready for m
y big moment to be held at Belfast’s Waterfront Hall. My girlfriend Claire was out of town that night, so I did what any man would have done in such a situation – I took my ex!
Eithne and I took our seats and saw that at our table were Mike Edgar, once of Cruella de Ville, but now Executive Producer at the Beeb; Glenn Patterson, the celebrated Belfast author; John D’Arcy, Martin Neill and Davy Matchett from the Oh Yeah! Centre; and Gary Lightbody, with whom I had, by then, struck up a great friendship. He had insisted he would be there on the night, and I’ll never forget him being interviewed on the red carpet when he refused to take any questions about Snow Patrol, who were busy conquering the world at that time. ‘I’m not here for Snow Patrol,’ he said, ‘I’m here for Terri Hooley.’ My mum saw that on the telly and it made her so proud.
Comedienne Ruby Wax was compere for the night and I thought she was brilliant. She told outrageous jokes and mispronounced everybody’s name. Though she got mine right so she was all right by me. When she was finished I had to listen as Glenn and Gary told the room what a great guy I was – I thought I was dreaming! Then it was my turn.
Back at the table, everybody was a bit tense. I think that they had been anxious that the temptation of all the free wine and beer would have been too much for me and they were worried about my speech. I was really nervous but when I got up there, after having nursed one drink the whole night, and asked, ‘Was Van Morrison not available tonight?’ it broke the ice. I made a few comments about the bastards who burnt me out of the arcade, and then asked if anyone could put me up as Eithne needed her settee back!
That seemed to get Ruby going, and as soon as the speeches were over she walked straight over to Eithne and gave her a right tongue lashing, asking her why she was putting me on the settee and saying that I could come over to London and stay with her anytime.
‘I Fucking Hate Singers’ – Gary Lightbody
I was introduced to Terri ten years ago at a party in Belfast by our mutual friend Jimmy Symington. I’d heard a lot about him and I was excited to meet the legend. Jimmy grabs him and says, ‘Terri, this is Gary, he’s a singer,’ to which Terri spits, ‘I fucking hate singers,’ turns on his heel and stomps off to the bar leaving me standing dumbstruck and Jimmy stifling laughter. It was not clear to me straight away that Terri and I would be great friends. The first meeting with Terri can be hit, miss or disaster. It can take time to get on his good side – if you’re a ‘fucking singer’ anyway – but we got there, him and I.
Once he’s in your life he can be a cyclone of a man. He can crack thunder into your life and nothing is ever the same again, be they the tiny details or the grand scales. He can be by turns a drunken lunatic, a lucid guru, a hilarious storyteller, a cuddly bear, and many more things besides, but one thing is certain, hanging out with Terri is never dull. The other thing he always is, to those that get to know him well, is a fiercely loyal friend.
For all the stories of punching John Lennon, and putting his glass eye in your pint while you’re not looking, it’s the sweet man behind the chaos of his personal history and the carnage I think of first when I sit down to write about him. Don’t get me wrong, he still can muster carnage, sometimes out of nowhere. Like magic. Crazy magic he’s not in control of. Like a novice wizard playing with a spell book he found open at his master’s table.
There is still this childlike wonder and abandon with which he throws himself at everything. Most men grow old when they succumb to the ‘usual’, consumerist way of things: job, car, house, things, blah. Even when dallying with these things, Terri never did anything conventionally, never really kept, or was tied down, by anything and therefore never really grew old. Behind his one good eye there always plays the spark of mischief. You’ve really got to watch out for that. On the same fateful night I met him, he fell drunk over a table and knocked all the drinks and food for the party over. Yes, you’ve really got to watch out for that. Yet, for so many other reasons (and to be honest the chaos too) he is always the first thought I have when I think of Belfast and its many modern heroes.
When we were shooting a short documentary for Channel 4 about what Belfast means to us, we called Terri for an interview. The film-makers were two guys from Manchester who’d never heard of him. After three hours of filming him in The John Hewitt bar drinking brandy and talking about everything except what he was actually being asked about, we were lucky we even made it into our own documentary. The two film-makers were awestruck at this man of a million words. He regaled us with story after story of a life lived at the same pace he tells a tale: rocket speed. We all sat and shut the fuck up. What else can you do? I really should get those interview tapes from those guys …
One of my most treasured ‘Hooley Memories’ TM was when, in early 2008, myself and Norn Irish novelist and screenwriter Glenn Patterson presented Terri with the ‘Oh Yeah! Legend of the Year Award’ at the Fate Awards in Belfast. All the Oh Yeah! team sat at Terri’s table and we watched him nervously, and rather sweetly, nurse one drink all night while he waited for his award to come round. When the time came, and I rather drunkenly shouted the words, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Terri Fucking Hooley’ (ok, maybe I should have nursed the one drink too that night), Glenn and I got to watch like proud sons as Terri took the public spotlight and was humble, poised and very funny. That night Belfast, finally, said thank you to Terri. It was long overdue.
We celebrated what Terri did for music in Belfast at a time when there was nothing. There was once no life on the streets of Belfast. The wind was all but out of the place and Terri was, at times, a lone bellows pumping some semblance of culture and defiance back into a city falling to pieces in the darkness. There is now life aplenty again in the city of Belfast, and in the music of Norn Iron, and we have people like Terri to thank for that.
Back to the Future
After the Fate Awards it seemed like the good times just kept on coming. The Good Vibrations label had reached the ripe old age of thirty and, to celebrate, we decided to organise a massive gig, ‘Good Vibrations – A Light in the Darkness’. Arthur Magee, who had been a true and valued friend of mine ever since we had first met, set the whole thing up and it was held at Belfast’s Mandela Hall on 25 April 2008. We had the recently reformed Undertones as headliners, with support from local bands Panama Kings and Shame Academy, while actor James Nesbitt agreed to compere. It was amazing!
Even more exciting was when, a matter of days before the gig, I heard that Arthur had received a letter of support and congratulations from none other than former US President Bill Clinton. It turned out that Arthur had tried to contact a number of high-profile people to let them know about the concert and Clinton had actually responded to wish us luck.
Clinton of course was no stranger to Northern Ireland. He had been here several times and had played a significant role in bringing about the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, admitting in his letter that ‘Northern Ireland holds a special place in my heart.’ But it was what he said about Good Vibrations that really made me proud.
In his letter he praised the fact that not only had we helped individual musicians realise their dreams but that we had given young people something positive to say ‘yes’ to.
I have to say that when Arthur told me he had received a letter from Clinton, my immediate fear was that my protest credentials had gone out the window! Getting letters of congratulations from American Presidents was not something I had anticipated, but in reality I was, and still am, chuffed to bits. I still tell everybody how happy I am to have received Clinton’s support.
The anniversary concert held even more significance for me than just commemorating old victories though. The Undertones decided to give me the profits they made from the event, and the money they raised not only enabled me to move to much-needed new premises in Winetavern Street that July, but was also enough for me to pay six months rent up-front and replenish my stock.
It meant a huge amount to me that The Undertones did that. It had never been my intentio
n to make money from the bands, but when the chips were down and I needed some help, The Undertones were there for me. It felt like an acknowledgement of what I had done for them all those years ago and of what we had been through together. It was a very special gesture.
I was pleased to finally be moving from the Haymarket store, and relocating to Winetavern Street was made all the more special by the fact that I already had a history with these new premises. My new store had once been the family home of the McCann brothers, Sean and Paul, whom I had known from my folk club days back in the sixties. Back then, their mother had run a second-hand clothes store from the house and I had been there many times.
Over the years, the McCann brothers established a prominent law firm in Belfast, while the house on Winetavern Street lay empty, so I made contact with Sean and expressed my interest in setting up shop there. ‘The shop’s yours,’ he said, ‘we’ll have it cleaned up and then it’s yours.’ I was thrilled. It is a great building, in a brilliant location and it was fitting to set up my new store in a place that housed some of my oldest memories. With this in mind, there was really only one name I could have given the store – Good Vibrations.
We cleaned the place up, and decided to mark the grand opening on 26 July 2008 with a huge party. I rang Billy Harrison and asked him to sing a few songs to mark the occasion, and Joby Fox, bassist for The Bankrobbers, even played a song he wrote especially for the day entitled ‘The Ballad of Terri Hooley’. It was a wonderful day and we had around one hundred people come to the door for the big event, but more importantly for me, it meant that once again I was back behind the counter with a Good Vibrations sign over the door. Life really does come full circle.