Songs For Unity

In the 1970s, when the Catholics and Protestants of the Northern Ireland city of Belfast were exchanging gunfire and throwing bombs in the sectarian conflict known as the Troubles, a local DJ and music aficionado named Terri Hooley responded to the violence the best way he knew how: by dropping the needle and turning up the volume. In a bid to give the kids something to do other than kill one another, and also because he probably had a bit of a problem with any form of authority, Hooley decided to open a record store “on the most bombed half-mile of road in Europe”. And he gave it the name Good Vibrations.

That's also the name of the film telling Hooley's funny, frustrating, inspirational and irreverent story, which sees his musical crusade stretch beyond his shop to become a tiny but mighty record company that produced tracks from the likes of Ash, Snow Patrol and The Undertones, the punk band behind the awesome Teenage Kicks. For all his enthusiasm and good intentions, though, there are times when Hooley just can't get out of his own way. 

“He was incredibly frustrating, and he still is,” says Richard Dormer, who vividly and winningly brings Hooley to life in Good Vibrations (Game Of Thrones fans may remember him as Beric Dondarrion, one-eyed leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners). “He's a loveable guy but he's also one of these people who seem to exist on a different plane. He lives for the moment, and that can be detrimental because we have to be aware of consequences. But I don't think Terri ever was. It's also a good thing, though, because he never would have done what he did otherwise.”

It was Hooley's ambition to bring people back into the heart of Belfast, a place they were too terrified to set foot in. “He was going to use music to get people back into the heart of the city, which was deserted,” says Dormer, born and raised in the neighbouring town of Armagh (“so I spent my youth in the Belfast area”). “Opening a shop called Good Vibrations under those circumstances is pretty amazing, I think. But Terri's like an alien, really; he sees the world in a different way. And this was him basically sticking two fingers up at the world and saying he wasn't going to let any terrorist or paramilitary group tell him what to do.”

Dormer believes Hooley was pulling off some pretty revolutionary stuff. “At the time people just thought he was helping kids – by buying them instruments and getting them to form bands – but looking back on it, he probably stopped a lot of those kids getting involved in political organisations. I think he probably did a lot more for hundreds of teenagers at the time in Belfast, Protestant and Catholic alike, than a lot of the politicians did. There was almost a Pied Piper kind of thing to Terri – he wanted to lead people out of the darkness.”

And it was qualities such as these that made Dormer want to get involved with Good Vibrations. “I didn't know anything about Terri until I heard about the film. I'd heard his name mentioned but I didn't know what he did or what he was famous for. What I loved was that this was a film from Northern Ireland that wasn't about the Troubles. The Troubles are in the background, sure, but it's about this larger-than-life character that had a dream. I really think it's nice to see a character in a film that is so optimistic and fun-loving, that has such a joy of life.”

Not to mention a little madness. “There was a craziness to Terri then, and it exists to this day,” laughs Dormer, who admits he shared “a few pints” with Hooley in the name of research. “He's still slightly mad in the nicest way. But all great creative thinkers are slightly bonkers, you know. You have to be, you have to see the world a bit differently in order to shake it up. And I think that's what Terri did. There's a song that's performed the end of the film, this Sonny Bono song called Laugh At Me, and I think it sums Terri up perfectly.”

Despite many ups and downs, Hooley and Good Vibrations have proven indefatigable, with the shop closing its doors and then reopening “something like seven times in the last 12 years,” says Dormer. “Since the film came out, there's been a lot more interest. And it's a bit of an historical landmark in Belfast. Terri will be there till he drops. It's not about money for him – it's about having a place where people can get together, have a laugh and listen to some old vinyl.”