The HomePlace Blog: A Rainy Afternoon in Belfast: Talking Music, Memory and Meaning with Stuart Bailie

From punk gigs to the golden age of the music press – a conversation with a Belfast music legend.

On a very wet Friday lunchtime, I visited Belfast city centre to meet Stuart Bailie. Our meeting place was the Oh Yeah Music Centre – a vibrant and welcoming space that Stuart help found and ran for ten years.

Around us, musicians prepared for rehearsals, a piano played softly in the background and the walls quietly told stories through memorabilia from Stiff Little Fingers, Van Morrison, Snow Patrol and more. It was the perfect setting to explore music, memory and a life spent at the heart of it all.

Stuart first visited HomePlace in the summer of 2024, joining Terri Hooley to talk about music and celebrate Terri’s 75th birthday. He is a remarkable source of knowledge about the music industry, particularly from the 1970s through the 1990s – the very years many were growing up, discovering music and devouring the music press.

Speaking with someone who was at the sharp end of the music scene during those heady days was a delight. Stuart took me down a nostalgic path, bringing back memories of saving pocket money to buy singles and albums from the local record shop or queuing for hours to get tickets for favourite bands.

My conversation with Stuart began with a simple question:

Has music always been your great passion?

Kind of, yes. I was buying music papers from about the age of thirteen – NME and Sounds. I went to school in the city centre and there was a wee newsstand outside City Hall where you could get the papers a day before they went on sale in the shops. It was during the conflict, so the NME especially was like a lifeline. We weren’t able to go out much at night, but we could read about all the different bands and what they were up to – where Rod Stewart and the Faces were playing, that David Bowie had a new album out, the Rolling Stones are back on tour. This was an exciting time. Dougie Knight had a record library, and I used to borrow albums from there.

When punk arrived, I started going to gigs in the Harp Bar and the punk clubs and hanging around Terri Hooley’s record store. There was so much going on that every day felt like a new musical adventure. I played in a few bands myself – but I was never any good. I played bass guitar in a band called ACME. I loved talking to journalists, planning photoshoots, writing press releases – all the work around music really excited me.

In 1985, I moved to London with a typewriter under my arm and was there for eleven years. I had no job lined up but started sending in reviews to newspapers, picked up freelance work for Music Mirror and eventually joined the NME after four or five years. I worked my way up, and by the time I left in 1996, I was Assistant Editor of the NME – the most influential newspaper in Europe at the time.

I was at the centre of major shifts in music during that time – The Stone Roses and Happy Mondays. I can even say I created the whole Blur versus Oasis phenomenon with a cover I created for the NME. It was an incredible time. I spent time with Shane McGowan and the Pogues a lot – the title of my book, Rainy Night in Soho, comes from their song. I was there for the early days of Sinéad O’Connor, Radiohead and Primal Scream. I travelled the world with NME, flying to places like Japan or Iceland to interview bands and report on the music scene.

What is your favourite genre of music?

I have always been interested in music with a bit of a political edge, something a bit rebellious. The NME was the perfect home for me, linked to alternative culture and alternative attitudes. I was drawn to bands such as Manic Street Preachers who are very political  – I recognised them as my people.

I went to Inst. (Royal Belfast Academy Institution) and my English teacher was Frank Ormsby who later went on to become the Ireland Professor of Poetry. He edited the Honest Ulsterman and was a friend of Seamus Heaney. So, alongside music, I have always been fascinated by words and what people are saying. I wrote a book in 2018 called Trouble Songs, about music in conflict. It explores how music captured and reflected where we were during the conflict. For me, it has always been about words, awareness and politics as much as the music itself.

What brought you back to Belfast in 1996? 

My first daughter was born in 1994, and I was feeling very homesick. London always felt like a place I was just passing through, and I maintained my ties to Belfast. At the time, I will still doing weekly phone-in shows for Downtown Radio and Radio Ulster. We couldn’t afford a house in London with a garden, so it was either move to the suburbs or back home. There was also some really exciting music emerging from Belfast at the time with bands like Ash and Divine Comedy, and the ceasefires had just taken place.

Just before the 1998 referendum, I compered a big gig where Bono famously got David Trimble and John Hume to hold hands – it was a moment that changed history and it was incredible to witness.

In 1999, I started a show on Radio Ulster which ran for 20 years until 2019. I was keen to promote the power of music and the positive impact it can have on the world.

In the last 40 years how have you seen music change? 

In 1997/1998, streaming happened. Bands like Radiohead has their own websites to communicate directly with fans – a role that papers would have once filled. What’s been lost, though, is the critique; there’s often no one to say whether music is good or bad.

Nowadays, there are far fewer music writers as there is hardly any money in it. The NME is practically gone, along with other music papers like Melody Maker. It’s in the title of my book – the golden age of music has passed. People now discover new music on platforms like TikTok, but the critique and context that papers once provided are largely gone.

If you were talking to a young person wanting to get into music journalism now, what would you say to them? Or does music journalism still exist? 

It’s very hard these days and you have to make your own energy. The old pathways through the papers have gone, but there are still feisty people out there making short films, podcasts and other creative work with things to say. People now have to have several skills. There are always ways for creative people to find work, but I do grieve for those working for free, trying to climb the greasy pole – I don’t know what pathways are available for them now.

My advice would be: know what you do, do it well, feed your music knowledge, don’t be lazy, have an opinion, don’t be afraid to voice it, go against the tide and have a bit of integrity.

A few years ago, I came to HomePlace to see Peadar Ó Riada perform a musical adaptation of The Republic of Conscience. It blew my mind – it made you think about the meaning of the words and it was wonderful.

I could have easily spent the rest of the day chatting with Stuart. He is a natural raconteur, full of anecdotes and stories drawn from four decades in the music industry. The Song Is Nearly Over is a brilliant read, especially for anyone who still cherishes memories of their musical youth.

Join us at Seamus Heaney HomePlace on Thursday 19th February at 7.30pm where Stuart will be in conversation with Stephen McCauley. It promises great craic and a chance to head down memory lane, back to the days when the vinyl was king and taping the charts on a Sunday night was a weekly ritual.

Tickets are available to book online or by calling our box office on 028 7938 7444. We hope to see you there!

By Marie McGuckin – Sales & Marketing Officer