At three o'clock on Friday 9th November 2012 a throng was gathered in Hill Street, Belfast. Amid the assembled crowd, excepting the few liggers, celebrity hanger-ons and the youthful encombant Lord Mayor, were several leading lights of Belfast's old punk scene and their fans. Each having had all trekked down this same street 35 years previously to play on the stage, pogo in the audience or sample the jar of pickled eggs at the home of N.I. Punk - The Harp Bar. Milling around the spot where the security caged entrance had once stood, they awaited the moment Terri Hooley - the generally accepted Godfather of N.I. Punk - was to be honoured by the unveiling of a plaque to celebrate the man himself, the record label he founded and the punk bands who had played The Harp.
After some serious campaigning Belfast City Council had succoumbed to the pressure and deemed it appropriate to recognise the importance and significance Punk Rock played in the development of the 'modern' Belfast landscape - no doubt fuelled by the success of the multi-award winning Good Vibrations film. Not like back in the day when the very term 'punk' sent the suited administrators running to the boardrooms of City Hall in fear and disgust. Following a series of meetings and much organisation (mainly thanks to the commitment of Maureen Lawrence) a golden plaque (not even a blue one!!) was affixed to the wall of the Housing Executive offices, as near as bedamned to the original site of the decrepit old bar that had gracefully, or gratefully, opened it's doors to the disenfranchised youth of '70s Belfast. Standing on the edge of the regenerated Cathedral Quarter - all offices, wine bars and trendy bistros - it was a far cry from the dark and pot-holed alleyway that led so many down past the concrete bollards and security mesh to the doors of The Punk Workshop housed in the upstairs lounge bar.
And so, there we were, standing underneath a set off blue curtains with white braid rope as the press and media positioned themselves front and centre. An unusually humble Terri Hooley stepped up to the microphone, thanked everyone for turning out, before the anarchist hippy we all know (and sorta love) returned as he introduced the youthful Lord Mayor with the coda "I don't agree with his politics" allowing him to take over proceedings. Despite some friendly banter from the gathered disenfranchised middle-agers, old enough to be his Da, the Mayor took it all in good grace and spoke well, acknowledging the value Terri and punk made to a troubled city landscape, whilst still looking somewhat bemused. Together they unveiled the plaque - cue a flurry of flashlight photography and obligatory posing (how un-punk!!) for the cameras.
Brian Young (ex-RUDI) rounded of the 'official' ceremony giving a semi-acoutic rendition of 'Big Time' for the crowd. By this stage the real Hooleygan had retaken over the body and mind and as the overcast clouds decided to release their payload with a fine mizzle, Terri invited everyone round to The Hudson Bar where he would willing accept any brandys that happened to be offered and to the Celebration gig in the Oh Yeah Centre on Sunday night. And with that it was all over, some took photos of ex-band members underneath the plaque, others catching up with old friends before dispersing in all directions.
MULLY 10/11/12
After some serious campaigning Belfast City Council had succoumbed to the pressure and deemed it appropriate to recognise the importance and significance Punk Rock played in the development of the 'modern' Belfast landscape - no doubt fuelled by the success of the multi-award winning Good Vibrations film. Not like back in the day when the very term 'punk' sent the suited administrators running to the boardrooms of City Hall in fear and disgust. Following a series of meetings and much organisation (mainly thanks to the commitment of Maureen Lawrence) a golden plaque (not even a blue one!!) was affixed to the wall of the Housing Executive offices, as near as bedamned to the original site of the decrepit old bar that had gracefully, or gratefully, opened it's doors to the disenfranchised youth of '70s Belfast. Standing on the edge of the regenerated Cathedral Quarter - all offices, wine bars and trendy bistros - it was a far cry from the dark and pot-holed alleyway that led so many down past the concrete bollards and security mesh to the doors of The Punk Workshop housed in the upstairs lounge bar.
And so, there we were, standing underneath a set off blue curtains with white braid rope as the press and media positioned themselves front and centre. An unusually humble Terri Hooley stepped up to the microphone, thanked everyone for turning out, before the anarchist hippy we all know (and sorta love) returned as he introduced the youthful Lord Mayor with the coda "I don't agree with his politics" allowing him to take over proceedings. Despite some friendly banter from the gathered disenfranchised middle-agers, old enough to be his Da, the Mayor took it all in good grace and spoke well, acknowledging the value Terri and punk made to a troubled city landscape, whilst still looking somewhat bemused. Together they unveiled the plaque - cue a flurry of flashlight photography and obligatory posing (how un-punk!!) for the cameras.
Brian Young (ex-RUDI) rounded of the 'official' ceremony giving a semi-acoutic rendition of 'Big Time' for the crowd. By this stage the real Hooleygan had retaken over the body and mind and as the overcast clouds decided to release their payload with a fine mizzle, Terri invited everyone round to The Hudson Bar where he would willing accept any brandys that happened to be offered and to the Celebration gig in the Oh Yeah Centre on Sunday night. And with that it was all over, some took photos of ex-band members underneath the plaque, others catching up with old friends before dispersing in all directions.
MULLY 10/11/12