- Music
- 20 Mar 01
On the face of it, the show is like any other Brian Kennedy night. Young girls become giddy. Mothers are impassioned as they shove themselves to the front, wailing along with the words and leaving piles of flowers at the singer s feet. The singer, bless his heart, is trilling and wowing at the reception, resplendent in crushed velvet, letting his all-embracing charms soften up the crowd.
On the face of it, the show is like any other Brian Kennedy night. Young girls become giddy. Mothers are impassioned as they shove themselves to the front, wailing along with the words and leaving piles of flowers at the singer s feet. The singer, bless his heart, is trilling and wowing at the reception, resplendent in crushed velvet, letting his all-embracing charms soften up the crowd.
Big men with tattoos are getting into it, unfolding their arms and smiling. And while Brian is playing tonight without a backing band, he s very much in command of the music, flitting between cover versions and the best of his own songs. These include the likes of Captured , a showcase for his rare, emotional style that was evident at the onset of his career. Another early song, This Town , alludes to the hurt that Brian experienced during his formative days in Belfast. But that edgy feeling has receded in his art. This is a happy show in the hometown, a celebration of music s great power to connect and to unify.
It s a unique evening in many ways. Firstly, the venue is the Shankill Leisure Centre, situated in the heartland of Loyalist Belfast. Normally you don t see many Catholic boys like Kennedy raised in the Beechmount area here. And secondly, this concert is taking place against a backdrop of vicious sectarian murders, of fringe paramilitaries running rampant and political hard-heads squaring up for a fight. Here s an aspect of the 70s revival that nobody thought was coming back.
Undaunted, Brian is doing his bit, trying not to be partisan. Only recently, he was back on his own patch in west Belfast, putting in an appearance at The Beehive, and Gerry Adams was intent on posing beside him for the Andersonstown News. At the Shankill gig, Billy Hutchinson, the PUP councillor, wants the very same thing. Kennedy fans are everywhere.
There have been some uncertain moments behind the scenes. After all, two club doormen, Seamus Dillon and Terry Enright, were despatched to oblivion recently in Northern Ireland by the LVF, purely because of their religion. Security people in some areas have taken to wearing flak jackets, as the bar takings dwindle and club attendances are down by as much as 30%.
So it s warming to realise that Brian has pulled in 1,400 punters tonight, earning funds for the Shankill Arts Trust. Some of this money will go into after-school clubs, where the kids of the area are encouraged to graft at their homework. A section of the profits are to be aimed at the Shankill branch of PHAB, the physically handicapped and able-bodied alliance that tries to integrate two other parts of society through art.
The local PHAB has strong links with like-minded people in Sligo and Dublin. They work on murals and montages with the children, taking them on tour around the country. Some of the disabled people from the organisation are here tonight, and they understand that they ll get a chance to talk to Brian after the show. In this context, it doesn t really matter that Kennedy once recorded Four Green Fields , the nationalist ballad. Neither does Brian seem to care that this area is currently famous as the source point for the film Resurrection Man.
The movie was based on the true-life crimes of the Shankill Butchers, who mutilated and killed 30 innocent people, two decades back.
Instead, Brian focusses on the work that PHAB undertakes.
Their work is important, he says. It is all about Belfast, both Protestant and Catholic people. When I was asked to perform, I couldn t have been more happy.
The approving vibe is reflected in the standing ovation that the singer receives when his work is over. The euphoria continues in the Green Room, when the singer makes good his promise to meet the charity workers and their charges, plus the rafflle winners and the community grafters.
Also present is Eamon McCann from Wonderland promotions, who has been involved in setting up this gig. In his time, he has experienced a lot of special nights U2 at Botanic Gardens being one of the most recent and he realises that he s just been party to another one. That roar when Brian walked on stage was just tremendous.
Brian is due on The Kelly Show later that night, and it really is time to make a move for the UTV studios. But gifts are being presented, warm words are passing around, and Brian s departure is stalled several times. We can t get out of the place, McCann thinks to himself. They want us to stay all night.
Paul Hunter is one of the organisers of the Shankill Arts Trust. He explains that the organisation came into being last year when a party of councillors from the greater Shankill area were travelling in America. They met up with the Derry musician and songwriter Phil Coulter, and offered him the chance of playing in their area. The musician agreed, and the scheme was developed into a larger project, a cross-community exhange that also included Coulter s own area, the Creggan. Therefore, he played two gigs, and each show was preceeded by a message from the other community.
We put together a video from the people of the Shankill Road, Paul explains, Basically saying, hello, how are ye? Hands across the sectarian divide and stuff. The people in the Creggan reciprocated and that video was shown here.
The success of that was such that we decided to carry on, try and bring more big names to the Shankill area, to really try and put the Shankill on the map as a cultural venue, a place where people can go to be entertained.
Now the Trust is building up a reserve fund, so that they don t have to go begging for appearances in the future. Billy Connolly has been approached as a prospective guest, and there are positive noises coming from his camp. Another act they re thinking of trying for is the singer Charlie Landsborough.
We re actually trying to turn it into some sort of community business, Paul reckons.
The profits can then be regenerated into the local community, through community-based initiatives.
Was there a temptation to postpone the Brian Kennedy gig when the violence in Belfast worsened?
Never. We were obviously very conscious of the political environment that we were operating in. We had anticipated a lot of returned tickets, or a downswing in the rate of tickets purchased. Neither of those things happened, which was positive and quite surprising.
And was Brian committed to playing the whole time?
Absolutely. He was brilliant, completely into it. We also got a lot of support from Eamon McCann, which was probably one of the reasons why the thing was such a success. For the first time, we actually had a professional promoter with us, showing us the ropes. It was really useful for us. We ve learnt a lot more, and we re gonna put it all on a much more professional footing.
Somewhere in the middle of these initiatives is the idea of democratic socialism; a concept that crept into Protestant Belfast during the darkest years of The Troubles, which has found its expression in local politics and community enterprises. One of the architects of this notion is Gusty Spence, a former UVF killer, who schooled himself in prison and realised that the ultimate losers in any sectarian struggle are the working class.
Here s what he wrote in jail: One has only to look at the Shankill Road, the heart of the empire that lies torn and bleeding . . . no one knows better than we do the meaning of slums, the meaning of deprivation, the meaning of suffering for what one believes in, whatever the ideology. We have suffered every bit as much as the people of the Falls Road, or any other underprivileged quarter, and in many cases more so.
That s the scenario. Collective effort is the cure. Brian Kennedy put the argument in a much sweeter form. To quote from another old crooner: there s nothing you can sing that can t be sung. n