"There's nothing for us in Belfast", Jake Burns rasped on the opening line of Alternative Ulster but like so many aspects of Stiff Little Fingers's career this was mere sophistry. There was plenty for the band in Belfast, not least the sectarian strife, the violent imagery (car bombs, suspect devices etc;) and the presence of a Daily Ex- press journalist, Gordon Ogilvie. All these elements were to combine in differing degrees of importance to produce Ireland's first genuine, shouty and screechy, punk rock group. Unlike Derry's Undertones, who studiously avoided the political situation around them (going so far as to call one of their albums More Songs About Chocolate And Girls), Belfast's SLF took their lyrics straight from the news headlines and went down a bomb (ha, ha) with deluded types in London who thought their songs about "the Troubles" were simply the most delightfully revolutionary and proletarian melodies they had heard since Bob Marley and his spliffed up tales about immortal Ethiopian spiritual leaders.
SLF never really could explain away why they had to look to a Daily Express journalist to write their lyrics for them (you never found The Damned ringing up Gary Bushell asking him for some rhyming couplets) but that doesn't and shouldn't obscure the fact that Burns and Co produced some of the most potent singles of the era and why their post Inflammable Material albums still rank as the most underrated Irish albums of the past 20 years.
The debut album, complete with the singles Suspect Device and Alternative Ulster was as near to perfection as you got in those heady days. Apart from the obvious stand-out tracks, there was also an inspired version of Marley's Johnny Was, a rollicking pop tune called Barbed Wire Love and very curiously a song called Rough Trade (as in "we were betrayed by Rough Trade lies") even though the album was released on the Rough Trade label and was co-produced by Geoff Travis.
It all seems so innocent now to remember how the press and their fans cried "sell out" when they signed to Chrysalis for the follow-up Nobody's He- roes (these days neo-punk bands don't even go through the motions of signing to an indie first, they jump straight into bed with the first major label they set eyes on) but the album saw the band move seamlessly from "punk" to "new wave" with the addition of brass, keyboards and the use of dub and reggae.
If nothing else, the album remains essential listening for two of the finest singles ever from an Irish band in Gotta Getaway and At The Edge (which got to Number 15 in the charts and got them on Top Of The Pops where Jake Burns wore a Northern Ireland football team T-shirt thus dispelling any doubts as to which "community" he identified most with). Their finest hour, and I'm happy to be in a minority of one on this one, came with the Go For It album in 1981. From the opening track, the punked up dancehall of Roots, Radicals, Rockers And Reggae through to the swinging single Just Fade Away and on to the strangely addictive Safe As Houses, the album was a mature, thoughtful affair that saw them far away from the troubled Belfast streets of their youth (not than any of them grew up in Ardoyne, I think you'll find) and now tackling subjects like domestic violence, spurned love and emotional turmoil.
As new wave waned and new romantic waxed, SLF found they didn't have the total musical wherewithal to weather the changes and there followed the desultory Now Them album (which was no good) then the constitutional greatest hits, All The Best, before breaking up.
That should have been that, a brief but glorious career punctuated by a couple of top-selling albums and a loyal fan base, but the band decided to re-form in 1987. Desperately trying to prove that they weren't going to join the chicken 'n' chips circuit ("here's an oldie but goldie called Suspect Device") they released two albums of new material, Flags And Emblems and Get A Life, which were both very poor efforts indeed.
Which is why there is a dilemma about whether or not to go and see SLF play in the Mean Fiddler next Thursday night. There is something desperately sad about middle-aged men trying vicariously to recapture the glories of their youth; and there is also something desperately irritating about having to sit through all the awful new material when all you really want is to hear the whole of Inflammable Material played live. But then again, it is Still Little Fingers after all, and their songs did provide a soundtrack for our young lives. To paraphrase Samuel Beckett (like you do when wondering whether to go and see a punk nostalgia night): You must go . . . I can't go . . . I'll go.
