Nightlife — History — Dublin

DULE DISCO ERA

In the third and final instalment of her series exploring the history of Dublin’s queer bars from 1973 to 1993, Hana Flamm dives into the world of disco, examining how the queer community carved out spaces for dancing in the city. Photographs from GCN’s archives.

By the 1980s, the success of gay pubs, like The Viking and J.J. Smyth’s lesbian nights, and the popularity of gay community centres’ discos at the IGRM’s Phoenix Club and The Hirschfeld Centre’s Flikkers, showed that Dublin’s gay community was itching for space to meet, dance, and be openly queer. Some businessmen took advantage of the commercial vacuum and opened gay dance clubs, including SIDES, Hooray Henry’s, and Minsky’s, forging the next wave of queer nightlife.

Dublin’s gay community centres simultaneously functioned as resource hubs and nightclubs, starting with discos at the Irish Gay Rights Movement’s Phoenix Club in the 1970s and evolving to the National Gay Federation’s Flikkers at The Hirschfeld Centre. Historian Ann-Marie Hanlon asserted that The Hirschfeld’s 1979 opening was a key moment in shaping the avant-garde dance culture. The Hirschfeld’s DJs brought in exclusive tracks from New York and London’s gay club scenes, often long before the mixes reached mainstream popularity.

A number of NGF members worked in theatre and television, giving them access to props and sets to decorate The Hirschfeld’s fabulous club nights. For special occasions, The Hirschfeld transformed into an otherworldly space, a built refuge of drag and desire. Because the centre did not serve alcohol, the club was not bound by liquor laws to close at a certain time. Attendees could dance in this queer world until the sun came up, then avail of the café for breakfast.

The Hirsch burned due to a possible arson attack in 1987. Without a gay community centre supplying discos, Dublin’s queers turned to commercial clubs for their nightlife needs.

The opening of The George in 1985 marked a major change in Dublin’s disco scene, cementing the profitability of a gay nightclub. It was a “manifestation of [gay] political and commercial success,” according to activist Cathal Kerrigan.

The original disco section of the bar was called The Loft, which stood where the coat check is now. One of my interviewees, Tony, “vividly remember[ed] the inside of The George from probably the first time [he] was there,” describing a mirrored room with pink neon lighting details. The owner, Cyril O’Brien, commissioned a mural of “all these fit homoerotic blokes playing pool,” according to Tonie Walsh in a GCN tribute to The George’s 30th birthday. Alfred, who grew up between Lebanon, Rome, and Dublin, alleged that it had the potential to become an internationally known venue, as O’Brien had drawn inspiration from London and New York gay clubs, similarly drawing on The Hirschfeld Centre’s global influences.

In 1986, the year after The George opened, gay businessman John Nolan opened SIDES nightclub at 26 Dame Lane. The club expanded on The Hirschfeld’s disco energy, developing “memorable installations and stunning décor,” wrote Tonie Walsh in Alternative Miss Ireland 1987-2004: Dancing at the Crossroads.

SIDES’s avant-garde art and music appealed to a wide range of Dublin’s “alternative” scenes, although, as John Nolan described to RTÉ in 1987, “to us, it’s not alternative. It’s just being ourselves.” Nolan explained that crowds came to the venue to dance, rather than socialise.

Joe, a young gay punk in the 1980s, shared that SIDES encouraged his various friend scenes to meld, bringing punks, theatre kids, and queers together. Another gay Dubliner, Ciarán, described it as a thing of beauty, aligning with a modern understanding of queerness as difference, deviance, and diversity.

Perhaps most significantly, SIDES hosted the first Alternative Miss Ireland (AMI), a queer beauty pageant, in 1987. In his essay, “Homelysexuality and the ‘Beauty’ Pageant,” researcher Dr Fintan Walsh explained, “emerging at the intersection of local and global gay culture. The first winner of AMI was Joe, performing under the moniker “Miss Isle (of Love)”. Although AMI only took place in the venue for one year, the boundary-pushing creativity of the club’s team set the stage for future drag, cabaret, and nightlife performances.

One after another, gay nightclubs popped up in the late 1980s. Hooray Henry’s opened in Spring 1987 in Powerscourt Townhouse. The very next year, Minsky’s opened at 22 Ely Place as another all-week gay nightclub. While the building now hosts the sophisticated Ely Wine Bar, Minsky’s – later re-named Shaft – bumped pure rave energy.

Comparing the two, Joe described Hooray Henry’s as “less fun” than Minsky’s/Shaft, since the former usually played too much pop music for his liking. Ciaran similarly felt that Hooray Henry’s was “never brilliant,” but he and his friends would attend regardless. From all accounts, the club’s dancefloor was tiny and cramped – or “hot ‘n’ sweaty,” according to a favourable GCN review in 1988. Several GCN articles through the 1990s covered Hooray Henry’s various theme nights, including a midweek ‘70s Night, Leather and Denim, Beach Party, and a “Nuts and Screws” night – although the report stopped short of explaining what Nuts and Screws might have entailed.

Minsky’s/Shaft brought gay club culture to a new level. The basement’s rooms with low ceilings hugged club-goers, forcing everyone in the packed room to dance against each other. The clientele was largely men, encouraging the illegal intimacy of male-on-male sexual contact. In an interview with Blindboy, Rory O’Neill/Panti Bliss described Shaft as being “super gay,” alleging that people took the lights out of the bathrooms to have sex. Karl, who occasionally worked and often frequented Minsky’s, recalled that the manager-turned-owner, Derry O’Sullivan, changed the club’s name to Shaft, allegedly to signal the change of ownership into gay hands. Shaft was the first Irish gay venue to introduce strippers, alongside international drag entertainment to attract more adventurous customers. Dubliner Tony recounted his first time seeing Lily Savage perform at Shaft in 1990. In the midst of a fire-eating routine, she showered the audience with fluid from her lighter – which thankfully turned out to be water.

Although the club’s original management allegedly barred women at the door, O’Sullivan attempted to host a few women’s nights. A 1990 GCN review by Katherine Lawler insinuated that she and her partner were the only women there on the Wednesday women’s night. Lawler and her partner had a good night regardless, but hoped O’Sullivan might move women’s night to Sundays. Despite O’Sullivan’s attempts, many lesbians were regularly turned away from the door. Still, the Sunday World newspaper reported that the only two women in a crowd of 200 one night certainly seemed welcome, since the ladies “were hoisted up onto the shoulders of the men to get a closer look” at Private 69, the strip artist for the evening.

Multiple interviewees remembered Alfred Alphonso (pictured opposite, centre), the DJ, barman, and manager of Minsky’s/Shaft. His recent passing prompted tributes to his kindness, passion, and creativity in Dublin’s queer bar scene, testaments to the lasting relationships formed inside and beyond these bars.

More gay pubs, bars, and nightclubs opened and expanded in the years leading up to the decriminalisation of homosexuality in 1993. All of these pre-1993 commercial club successes led to the possibility of the queer cabarets and club nights of the late 1990s and early 2000s, such as H.A.M., POWDERBUBBLE, GAG, and the reconstitution of Alternative Miss Ireland.

Because so many men first came to Dublin’s gay scene through bars, the explicitly gay pubs and clubs we’ve explored over this series offered the freedom to relax and make friends and lovers without the fear of being “found out.” While lesbian spaces were significantly harder to create and sustain due to misogyny, Dublin dykes still found ways to form communities within larger gay scenes, bars, and feminist organisations.

When I asked one of my interviewees, Ciarán, if any nights stood out, he recalled a night out with friends at The George in the 1980s. They were on the dance floor, lights flashing, music blaring. Ciarán remembered the moment that a friend broke into a giant grin as the tune changed. The feeling of “this is amazing” flooded this small world these men created with and for one another. For Irish queers, these spaces to socialise, flirt, and dance were – and are – key parts of being able to build futures and communities in which we want to live.