During this year’s Cathedral Quarter Arts Festival, a strange drama played which, rather than the trials and tribulations of love, or, indeed, the sorrow and pity of war, took for its theme the impact of public funding on Northern Irish society. Now, to onlookers, this may not immediately stand out as a subject worthy of much thought – or indeed a reason to leave the house for the evening – but for anyone who has attempted to set up a creative enterprise in the North over the last ten years, Peace And Reconciliation: How The Money Was Spent (the Opera) was sure to provoke a wry, knowing smile.

Make no mistake; the funding gravy train is a live issue in the North. As a topic of popular debate it may well have been pushed under the radar by all that decommissioning, early releasing, Executive establishing jazz – but now the dust has settled somewhat, and (if the Giant’s Causeway Visitor Centre debacle is anything to go by) the public are finally starting to waken up to the (ahem) strange course followed by some public money, perhaps it won’t be long before light is shone on this dank and murky issue.
The term ‘dependency culture’ is often deployed against the most vulnerable members of our community. How ironic, then, that the sphere in which this attitude is most virulent, is the one occupied by some of our slickest and best-heeled operators.
Maybe the first inklings of a sea change, though, can be felt on the wind. The Oh Yeah enterprise has stated its intention to accept what help is legitimately available – but aims to be self-sufficient within a number of years. One reason, perhaps, why so many normally sceptical voices are prepared to speak up in its defence. And there’s a real sense that, as the 30th anniversary of the inspirational Ulster Punk movement looms, huge reserves of DIY defiance and unpaid ingenuity are being employed in defence of some quality art.
Want some examples?
Well, a few weeks ago I bumped into the members of Catoan (pictured) handing out copies of their fine new EP And Will I to members of the public. Frontman Paddy McKeown was even threatening to embed a few cds in unexpected civilian foreheads. Which was entirely unnecessary, given that a few spins of the record would see the songs plant themselves bloodlessly into their potential victim’s skulls. Likewise, nary a week goes by without an email from Rory Friars, from instrumental noise-niks And So I Watch You From Afar, providing an update on their on-going ‘Tonight The City Burns’ project – a kind of local-produce Reindeer Section, which will bring together a host of Belfast’s biggest indie personalities for a series of intriguing (recorded and live) collaborations. It’s a grand idea, launched from a pub snug, and nearing merry, unexpected fruition.
Or, as the man himself says: “Six months, six songs, eight musicians, two artists, one producer, no label, no assholes, 100% Irish talent, and one motherpuncher of a live show to come. Eleven people getting together to do something as one force. Nothing more, nothing less.”
How about The Winding Stair? There may be few laughs on their debut album Finistere, but argue with a Glastonbury slot at your peril. Gothic folk on the radio – you don’t manage that without some serious backbone and strength of purpose.
And then there’s The Beat Poets – with too many rough edges to find themselves invited into some cosy folds, but with their plentiful reserves of underdog ensuring they’re still in the ring as the rounds mount up.
Need we mention Geoff Topley? Of course he has another record out. And of course, it’s all his own work (apart from the samples, of course.) But how about this? More than ten years after he started, on the evidence of Cruz’s Nuevo Reino – he’s still getting better, still picking up new tricks.
And as for Conor Mason?
Well, he has just released a record called When It’s Over and, when it isn’t reminding you of the sun-dappled first LP from The Thrills, or encouraging you to dig out a copy of Nashville Skyline, it simply invites you to hitch up for the ride and slowly starts the process of becoming a friend for life.
Self-produced, self-designed and released and distributed through Conor himself – it’s the most eloquent mission statement for the only kind of creative ‘enterprise’ that really matters. The kind that looks to connect, not to cash in.b