There is something glorious about watching a bunch of guys over forty acting the lig.  There is something even more glorious about being one of them.  

Friday night I met up with two friends from my school days, one of whom I have only seen twice since the day we left Omagh Academy in 1978.  We were the music fans, the ones who could complete the NME crossword on a friday afternoon in chemistry class.  The occasion, the return of one of our number from his home in Syndey, Australia for a visit to Belfast and a gig  to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the Good Vibrations record label home of Rudi, the Outcasts and The Undertones.   

We went to the bar when the first band, The Panama Kings, came on, a bunch of youngsters with a bit of a Killing Joke vibe that sounded good until one of them began to sing.  A dreadful wailing sound that I believe will be heard at festivals all over the country this year.  

Next came an appearance by the founder of Good Vibes, the one-eyed anarchist (who hasn't found his glass eye at the bottom of their beer glass at one time or another), Terri Hooley, who was his typical, joyfully abrassive self.   Hooley, who described himself recently as an 'auld fraud',  has been a voice for anti-sectarianism in Northern Ireland for all of those thirty years, apparantly aiming a punch at John Lennon for his support for the IRA in the early days of the troubles, and recently being beaten with basball bats for standing up to Lloyalist's demanding protection money.

What Hooley says may be uncomfortable to hear, and he isn't the worlds greatest orator - and he certainly can't sing for peanuts.  But his courage cannot be denied, not the courage we usually talk about when we speak of record labels or artists.  This is real, High Noon stuff.  the ability to walk down the street when you know there are guys gunning for you.  Bad guys, real bad guys.  The affectionate reception he got from the crowd, mainly in their forties or even fifties was exactly what he deserved.  It was the message from Bill Clinton, delivered with typical Norn' Ireland cynicism by James Nesbett that gave the evening a surreal air.  Nesbett is tipped to play Terri in a proposed movie of his life story - now that will be worth seeing.

Before the Undertones, we had another band, stitched together from the 'old days' of Good Vibrations.  Shame Academy consisted of one member each from Rudi, The Outcasts and Stalag 17.  They were fantastic.  The Rudi songs, sounded as good as they had thirty years before and the Outcasts stuff benefited from the much better guitar playing by Brian Young and Greg Cowans vocals which seemed to have improved as well.  I suspect that few of you will have heard of either band, but they were the real core of the Belfast punk scene.  More raw and basic, than the bublegum punk of the Undertones.  And with Young having picked up a few Johnny Thunders licks they sounded great.

It was at this point that the dancing started.  Middle-aged men throwing, or at least easing, themselves into the most polite mosh-pit I have ever seen.  A few hardy (pished) souls stayed there for the duration, but in the main every couple of songs you could see sweaty balding heads making their way to the back of the hall for a sit-down.  I reckon the bar could have done a roaring trade in wee cups of tea.  

Then we had the top of the bill, the Undertones.  Hearing them live, with the strong bass and the layered guitars, their similarity to the Ramones was obvious, but the vocalist replacing Fergal Sharkey was something of a disappointment.  To begin with you could hardly hear him, when you could he couldn't sing and to top it off he had the charisma of a potted plant with leaf mould.  We watched as the original members pounded out perfect versions of their hits and yer man on vocals pranced about looking like nothing so much as Frankie Howard finding himself on the wrong stage.

Overall it was a great night.  I got to spend time with old friends, I got to act the lig and heard live music the way I used to like it.  I'm not the same guy who used to go see Rudi, The Outcasts and Protex and all those great old punk bands that nobody outside of Belfast ever heard.  I don't hero-worship Terri Hooley the way I used to, I'm a staid middle-class father who moved from punk to a love of the Grateful Dead and alt.country.  But just for the night I could remember the old Peter D and it was great!  (To commerate the punk era - no spell checking!)