Standing under a slate gray sky on East Belfast's Lower Newtownards Road, Sam Charter's pessimistic proclamation that it was “difficult to think of Belfast as a city of singing and music” may be understandable.1 On either side of the road are two of the enormous murals on gable walls that are so characteristic of the city. These particular murals are monochrome paintings of heavily armed men in fatigues and black balaclavas. Alongside the intricate insignia of paramilitary organizations is the well-established political vocabulary of these kinds of artworks: rights, attack, defense, freedom. They act like sentries to this eastern part of the capital, traditionally Protestant and linked inextricably to the working-class streets and heavy industry of the shipyards on which much of Belfast's wealth was built.Belfast is a city that lives with division as the status quo. However, there are always two sides to every story. Despite Charter's less than enthusiastic diagnosis of the musical health of Belfast back in the sixties, the capital has of course produced many famous musical sons and daughters: Gary Moore, Ruby Murray, Ottilie Patterson, and Van Morrison, to name but a few. In fact, Belfast's international contribution to music was recognized formally with the prestige of being named a UNESCO City of Music in November 2021.2 It may be a less controversial statement, however, to say that when one thinks of the great jazz cities of the world, it's unlikely Belfast would make many people's lists. Nevertheless, Damian Evans argues for a history of the music that “reveals the continuous presence of jazz practitioners in Ireland from as early as 1918.”3 Jazz was widely enjoyed during the interwar years to such an extent that the perceived societal threat was addressed officially by both church and state, even achieving public expression through an anti-jazz campaign that produced a parade of three thousand strong in County Leitrim.4Leaving the gable walls behind, the road winds gently up the hill, under the ever-watchful presence of the iconic cranes of Harland & Wolff to the left, as another winter evening falls quickly. The visible markers of economic affluence become increasingly apparent as neat, terraced housing gives way gradually to large, detached, red-brick homes before reaching the address that inspired one of Van Morrison's most famous songs. It's just beyond the leafy Cyprus Avenue that the start of the townland of Ballyhackamore lies, sometimes known locally as “Ballysnackamore” as a nod to its growing abundance of dining options. This once unremarkable corner of the city is now firmly at the heart of East Belfast's economic and creative rejuvenation, and its emergence resulted in it being voted as one of the five best places to live in Northern Ireland.5 Squarely in the center of this buzzing neighborhood, at the top of an unassuming building housing the local working men's club and an Indian restaurant, is Scott's Jazz Club, rapidly becoming one of the leading venues in which to experience Ireland's live jazz scene. As you climb the nondescript stairs, there is little evidence to suggest that, week in, week out, this is the place to enjoy an eclectic menu of high-quality jazz performances. But as the faint sound of a Hammond organ grows louder, it looks set to deliver exactly that this evening.The door opens on a garishly carpeted space that leads the eye to a small stage at the end of a long room. It's reminiscent of many such social clubs around the country, with its plain walls and steel-shuttered bar. What may more often double as a dance floor is now filled with neatly arranged bar chairs and tables, each one lit by a small, colored candle in its center.This week, the band plays a ferocious set of organ-driven, funky jazz guitar, and the audience respectfully responds to the plea punctuating the projections of jazz greats as they appear, disappear, and reappear on the wall next to the bar: Please do not talk while the musicians are performing. Instead, the audience interacts enthusiastically with the artists they came to hear by tapping their feet, applauding solos, cheering, and cajoling them on to even greater things. It's a conversation. Animated and lively. A collaboration, each feeding off the other's energy, in what may seem to many the unlikeliest of places.At the heart of this Friday transformation of a featureless venue for hire into a vibrant jazz club is pianist, teacher, and composer Scott Flanigan, a native of the city himself, and from whom the club takes its name. As the driving musical force, Scott, along with a rotating roster of rhythm sections, invites a featured weekly guest on strings, horn, or vocals from either the local Irish scene or, as the club continues to grow in strength and reputation, from Great Britain and further afield. An impassioned defense of its manifesto appears on the club's Facebook page, written in response to suggestions from some that people should be allowed to continue to talk during the performances. It sums up succinctly what Scott's Jazz Club is trying to do: “to create a concert environment. A place where both the customers in the audience and the musicians onstage can come to participate in an evening of pure music-making.”6 It's abundantly clear from the Facebook comments thread that most customers approve of this direction. If Scott's Jazz Club is any kind of barometer, the future of live jazz in Ireland seems to be in good hands. Scott and his three cofounders in the project, Cormac O'Kane, Colin Harper, and Karen Smyth, say they set out to create the club from “a desire for Belfast to enjoy a world class jazz club equal to other major European cities.”7 With a sold-out show of 120 guests on a bitingly cold, post-lockdown Belfast night in January, it's hard to argue with their success.