It s only three nights into this year s Belfest and Factory Records bod Tony Wilson is saying something very interesting.
Jonathan King is another man who does a very good impersonation of someone less intelligent than he really is. He has this theory, and it s one I subscribe to, that says that talent will always be discovered. That there is no such thing as an undiscovered genius. That even if you only play songs in your bedroom, your sister s boyfriend will hear them through the walls and go and tell someone about it. Everybody is being watched. Everybody.
Which is just the kind of rousing note you d want sounded at an event like this an event that, after an initial few years characterised by punter apathy and, it must be said, negligible local quality, has finally found its feet and established itself as a welcome autumn highlight.
Last year was a bit of a revelation. The all-important showcase gigs (three nights of free shows spread over venues throughout the city centre) were, by and large, conducted in front of decent, appreciative crowds, while the bands themselves seemed a degree more savvy and confident than the turgid grunge clones that we d come to expect. 12 months ago, as Belfest came to an end, some people were actually wondering out-loud if the trick could be repeated weekly.
Drink talking, of course, but it pointed up the fact that, behind the frequent catcalling, everybody involved in the music scene up here is, essentially, waiting to be inspired.
And there is much cause for optimism, don t forget. Over the past year the likes of Throat, FUEL, Pulszar, Desert Hearts, Oops, Tracer AMC, Lima, Olympic Lifts and Foam have all been making strides in the right direction signing deals, recording tunes, or generally just sorting themselves out.
Belfest 2000 sees most of this lot turn in shows that confirm their potential and leave you thinking that it s time for the next move.
However, if a festival of this nature has a pre-eminent function it is to give new talent some wider exposure.
Step forward then, Kidd Dynamo. Fronted by erstwhile Desert Hearts stickman Colin Campbell, they pack onto the tiny Elms stage like some grammar school indie revue and, for a while, you worry that their all-too obvious fondness for Pavement (slack guitars, clever where did that come from? choruses) has developed into an outright fixation.
But there is far more going on. Colin is an apostle of Tom Waits, The Red House Painters and all manner of top drawer, American sobbing-souls, and that delicacy of temperament has seeped into the very best of his own tunes.
He dedicates a wonderful song to an old shop in Carryduff, and the entire band appear to be enjoying themselves so much that they don t seem in the least bit fazed that at the back of the room some semi-interested punters are playing pool. That s the spirit.
Disappointments? Well, David Kitt s album is the best Irish debut of the year. It would have been nice if his show had gone ahead. Just so we could ask him when Robbie s solo record was coming out.
Ninebar s upcoming EP just sounds better and better. They were due to headline one of the showcases, but proverbial drummer problems saw that scuppered. Not to worry, Phil and co. promise they ll be back in the saddle soon. It s strongly recommended that you try to catch them.
Tony Wilson, charmer that he is, rounds things off with his well-worn (but looking good with it) theory on13-year revolutionary musical cycles. He talks about 63 and listening to She Loves You for the first time; 76 and stumbling across the Sex Pistols at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester; returning, after a stateside break, to the Hacienda in 89 and being blown away by acid house. Get ready for 2002, he tells us, promising that, at some stage, we re going to walk into a pub, a club, or some grotty downstairs semi-sewer, and be dazzled by a white-light conversion.
It s the beautiful dream. But one that (although they d never let on) everyone from the Belfest team, to the increasingly confident small club promoters; from the veteran shitty gig goer, to those shinier and of more recent vintage; from the bands that we ve seen a trillion times, to those who (sorry) we didn t manage to catch; from the Fastfude and Oh Yeah websites, to the labels Schism and Bright Star; from the Evening Session and ATL crews to the old Blank refugees still seems determined to chase.
So, Belfest 2002 then? Hit The North was planning to grow up this year and get a new hobby. Maybe, though, we should put it off for a bit. After all this time in the trenches, it would be daft to miss the revolution.