A Record Store That Dared to Dream in a Troubled Time

With a civil war exploding around him, Terri Hooley dared to open a record store called Good Vibrations on Great Victoria Street, commonly referred to as “Bomb Street.”

As every artist knows, the most difficult times can bring on the best work. Such was the case in 1970s Northern Ireland, which spawned the punk likes of Stiff Little Fingers, The Undertones and The Outcasts. Also squabbling, dancing and bantering with Hooley in his store were members of Rudi, a Belfast band formed in 1975 that became one of the most popular punk outfits in the region.

Coming out of the scene a hundred miles south were Dublin bands that included The Radiators from Space, The Boomtown Rats, Berlin, The Blades, The Vipers and The Virgin Prunes. For every one of them, there’s a listicle of lesser known groups. And we all know about a certain Irish band named after an American Cold War spy plane that made it big, Bono’s U2.

Taken together, the movement spawned later Celtic rock acts like Black 47, New York-based Irish expats fronted by Larry Kirwan which drew its name from the worst year of the potato famine.

The musical opened in 2019 in Belfast and sold out its entire run, but plans to take it on the road were curtailed by the pandemic until the opening in New York in June.

The play, which features a 12-member cast and crew who came over from Belfast, opens with Hooley (Glen Wallace) colorfully griping and groaning as he pulls up the metal grating to his stark storefront, later to be the famed record store. His mood can be understood given the bloody scenes outdoors and the hoodlums who endlessly trail him (possibly because of his father’s union activities and left-wing political campaigns). He doesn’t take shite from them, calling them every manner of Nazi and trading vitriolic, Irish-witty barbs. In fact, in the very first scene there is a scuffle during which they put out his eye. (Hence the spelling of Terri with an “I,” he explains.)

Yet his sunny disposition also quickly becomes apparent, as does his love for vinyl records, which he worshipfully admires throughout the production–to the detriment of Ruth Carr (Jayne Wisener), the patient wife he meets soon into the show.

One day, a group of tattooed, multi-colored coiffed kids bursts in asking if he has the Buzzcocks. He didn’t, but they danced to their music, winning Hooley over. Here were kids who didn’t care who was Catholic or who was Protestant, but like Hooley, cared very much about the sounds they loved.

Hooley opens the record store and launches a label. His business chops leave much to be desired. Yet, he becomes “The Godfather of Punk,” helping bands to succeed (or, trying to). The store is kind of a shelter from what goes on outside. And it fosters a community, albeit a raucous and volatile one that in its own way is a microcosm of the greater problems outside its door.

Hooley is never deterred, and relentlessly and unsuccessfully contacts record agents in London. He visits the BBC on his own, and finally scores with the Derry-based Undertones’ “Teenage Kicks.”

Dylan Reid as Feargal Sharkey has got that unmistakable wavery timbre down solid, and it’s a joy to hear the “Undertones” do the song. The talented Reid also doubles as Greg Cowan, one of three brothers in The Outcasts, and we were also up from our seats for their “Just Another Teenage Rebel,” another tune that Hooley strikes gold with (though it seems he never quite sees that gold because of his haphazard and lackadaisical production maneuvers, to the angst of his business partner). Speaking of angst, Ruth finally makes plans to leave with their daughter. You can hardly blame her. Alas, on the night the baby is born, he’s backstage at a Siouxsie and the Banshees show. Also alas, he ends up wagering their house on his business (you can guess how that went).

This is not a highbrow dance company in the usual sense, but the choreography by Jennifer Rooney is second to none.

In 1979 and 1980, the real Hooley organized three concerts at the nearby Ulster Hall, which held 2,000 fans. (In the musical, Hooley’s business partner complained that their benefit show had the longest guest list ever in the world.)

After the production, Wallace was asked whether he thought the musical would translate as well in New York as it did in Belfast, being that most Americans are not all that familiar with Irish history. “We thought about that,” he answered, but added that he really felt that the music and the uplifting story would be the thing that translated the most, and would carry it over here. We agreed that the feel-good story aspect, and of course, the music should accomplish that!”

The promo material proclaims Hooley’s mantra that also closes the show: “New York has the bands, London has the clothes, but Belfast has the reason.” Because to him, in New York, the UK and elsewhere, the punk scene had faded, but Northern Ireland punk still had the passion, the effect, the social power. And that’s how he lived his life– for them and with them.

So if you were there, or if you want to experience how people held on to hope and survived during such a dangerously restive time, then check it out. Here’s to the Good Friday Agreement of ‘98 and all efforts to bring people together in peace, harmony, music and good art.

Susie Davidson is a longtime freelance correspondent based in Brookline, MA. Her articles have appeared in news outlets including the Houston Chronicle, the Huffington Post, the Forward, Boston Globe, WickedLocal/Gannett, Haaretz and the Jerusalem Post.