Culture Night - 21st September 2018

Auspicious does not do justice. Culture Night in Belfast, one of the biggest nights of the calendar year, completes its first decade. As my head bobs against the window on my train, however, I am drawn to the faces around me, Irish and British, immigrant and local, and crack a small smile as physical proof of a matter materialises around me – Culture Night is about the culture of Belfast. This is not a celebration of Irish culture, but the hundreds of communities and families that make our port city such a thriving, unique cluster. As I depart Great Victoria Street station and slip into the masses, my theory is confirmed as humans of all shapes, sizes and orientations fill my vision. Truly a night to be proud of.

I head first past City Hall wherein I hear the unmistakable whine of police sirens. I raise my hands in mock/completely serious surrender before approaching the source of this distraction. A large stage has been set up by the Inter-Cultural Community Development Foundation, wherein everything from Afro-Funk to House is blaring behind a group of MCs. I pause to grab a pulled pork baguette as the Nigerian delegation take the stage, all colour, pomp and smiles. A sizeable crowd has gathered as I pause under a tree to watch, content in my observations, occasionally joining in with claps and approving head nods. I think to myself that a scene like this, a group of locals jamming out to Nigerian house music, probably wouldn’t have happened ten years ago. An example of how far we’ve come in such a short time.

As I head down Donegal Pass, closer to the centre of the city and my first beverage, it is impossible to ignore the blacked husk of the Bank Buildings. A looming cloud over what should be the happiest night of the year, it remains a stark reminder of one of the darkest spectacles of 2018. Harsher still is the cordoned maze that fences off much of one of Belfast’s busiest thoroughfares, as navigating it ensures that the skeletal remains never leave your sight. I head for the sound of music, eager to distract myself and find some laughter amongst the ashes. I decide on Kelly’s Cellars, an iconic watering hole that is packed to the gills at this, the late hour of 6 pm. Ever present however are the ruins behind us. Perhaps this is why the city is alight with activity so early, perhaps amidst the political nonsense and smouldering history, the city needs a night of laughter to heal. I finish two pints in quick succession, quaffing swigs to the beat of the boron section of the lively trad band in the corner, before making my way further into the city.

Strolling past Customs House Square, I make my way through the network of food trucks and Ska bands that have taken residence by the Big Fish and enter the bowels of The Barge, a decommissioned sea vessel with a performance area in the hull. As I descend the stairs, the croon of East Belfast resident John Andrews growls through the speakers. The depths of this venue are cloaked in a lavender shroud and adorned with twinkling lights, the exact opposite of the gravelly vocals and comforting acoustics of Andrews. Finger plucking his way through a set of covers and originals, he entertains our small crowd, accompanied occasionally by a harmonica player in the background, alone on stage apart from a lone photographer who stalks past the discarded carcass of a six-pack of Heineken. The show ends with a remix of Johnny Cash and Eminem, which elicits both laughs and claps from the crowd. You don’t get this kind of show in Voodoo, especially not a free one.

My lo-fi cravings satisfied, I make a beeline for the Cathedral Quarter, bracing myself for the hordes that await me. According to Belfast Live, over 100,000 people were in the city and they all seemed to have taken residence in the Dirty Onion, perhaps for the Father Ted pub quiz occurring. For minutes at a time, I stood immobile, trapped by my own designs, a sardine in my own streets. After a sweaty 15 minute shuffle, I arrive at 39 Gordon Street to see the entire avenue given way to parties, beer trucks and raves. The bar in question, named for its location, is the site of two stages tonight. I, however, am interested in the outdoor set up in particular. I settle down, a Clonmell in each paw, eyes on the bustling crowd in front of me. Buoyant and energetic (and seemingly populated entirely by men with moustaches), this crowd is wrapped in their own stories, content to sit and sing underneath the canopy of bunting and fairy lights. Laughs, shattered glasses and cheers soundtrack a night headlined by The Mannerly Hoods, Anto and The Echoes and Mosmo Strange. A festival atmosphere descends as people dance to heavy rock beats and chat/shout with friends, heroes of their own stories for the evening. The three acts are bombastic and heavy, with each set bringing something new to the table, be it blues, garage rock or groove.

By the time the music has ended, much of the town has emptied. I walk back through the city centre, a litany of revellers beside me sinking into a late night fried feast or desperately arranging transportation for their way home. As I turn the corner from Bridge Street onto High Street, I see a group of performers from earlier leant against the fence, the ruins of Primark behind them. As I approach, they become more clear: faces of all shapes and colours, different accents and dialects, all regaling in the stories and laughter of the night. Shoulders are clasped and wordless melodies sung, as people of all nationalities come together in the one tradition that permeates the new face of Belfast: Unity. If that’s not culture, I don’t know what is.