Plaza, Delta, Forever

My favourite Facebook page at the moment is 'My Jeans Got Bogging At The Delta And Then At The Plaza'. For most people, that's a rather arcane reference but it will matter to those who served at two legendary Belfast clubs. I'm guessing that it happened around 1983-86 and the activity centred around two old dance studios.

The Delta, as I recall, was on Donegall Street opposite the cathedral. You had to wait until the old folk had finished with their Saturday evening foxtrot and shuffled down the stairs before the music was cranked up. About a year later and everyone migrated to the Plaza, a few minutes up the road on Donegall Lane.

The clubs were maintained by Jim and Ernie, the method was Bring Your Own and the entertainment was immense. This was a nasty period for Belfast nightlife - the Orpheus had declined after a bouncer was stabbed in the throat and the Dunbar Arms (now Mynt) was over the glory years of the New Romantics. Elsewhere, apart from the Crescent, it was flatlining. But Jim and Ernie put together these semi-secret nights where every shade of youth culture was celebrated and expressed.

In a city were tribalism usually meant hostility and mistrust, these two clubs gave shelter to all of the outsiders. They were beautifully tolerant. And musically, it had the best policy of any place I've ever witnessed. The soundtrack would hurtle from Grandmaster Flash and 'White Lines' to King Kurt and Hamilton Bohannon while finding time for The Sisters Of Mercy's 'Alice' and even The Pogues. I remember talking to the likes of Andy Cairns and David Holmes who came from very different places, but found some of their sonic education here.

I have indelible memories of hearing 'Like A Virgin' by Madonna and the place going silly. Likewise with Chaka Khan's 'I Feel For You'. And I blush to remember, 'It's Raining Men'. The boystown posse were always well represented. It was essentially their club, but they let everyone have their moment.

By the end of the night, the senses were overwhelmed, and you would routinely exit to Iggy Pop and 'The Passenger'. That was essentially the theme tune. It was a restless trawl around the ripped up entrails of a traumatized city, sustained by music and youth culture and special friends.

In my case then, a big shout to Markie and Paulene (met at the Plaza, now married), to Colin and Michelle, to Anna, Annette and Claire, Mal, Davy, Joanne, Peter, Dawn, Alan, Terry, Steve, Ingrid, Zowie and Zulema, Anne The Van, Marty Jameson, Lisa and Big Bird. Also to Roger Smyth, who later became a 9-11 hero but who operated back then as a psychobilly with unsavoury, hand-made shirts. True.