The Commitments

by Roddy Doyle

  —Ah, we were messin’, yeh know. We did not like him but. It wasn’t just messin’. ——It became a sort of joke between us. To see if we could all get off with him.

  —Lucky Joey, wha’.

  —Wha’? ——oh yeah.

  She laughed a bit.

  —I suppose he was really. ——The three of us.

  She laughed again.

  —I think I went a bit too far though.

  —How, like?

  —I told him I thought I was pregnint.

  —GOOD JAYSIS!

  Jimmy roared laughing.

  —Yeh fuckin’ didn’t!

  —I did, Jimmy. ——Me others were late.

  Jimmy fought back a redner.

  —How long?

  —A few days, a week nearly.

  —Ah Jaysis! Imelda! ——Poor Joey.

  He laughed again.

  —I didn’t really think I was pregnant. I shouldn’t o’ done it. I just wanted to see wha’ he’d do.

  —He fucked off to America.

  —I know, said Imelda. —The shi’e.

  Jimmy giggled. So did Imelda.

  —He hadn’t much, willpower, d’yeh know wha’ I mean? said Imelda. —He was a bit of a tramp, Joey was.

  They both laughed.

  —Come ’ere, said Imelda. —If you’re startin’ another group let us be in it, will yeh? It was brilliant crack.

  —I won’t be, said Jimmy.

  —Sonya, Tanya an’ Sofia, said Imelda. —It was fuckin’ brilliant.

  * * *

  —Righ’, said Jimmy. —Are yis righ’?

  —Fire away, Jimmy, said Mickah.

  Outspan and Derek were sitting beside him on the bunk.

  —This is The Byrds, righ’, said Jimmy. —I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better.

  He let the needle down and sat on the back of his legs between the speakers.

  There was a bit of a crackle (it was a second-hand album), then a guitar jangled and then they were surrounded by jangling guitars. They’d no time to get ready.

  —THE REASON WHY — EE ——

  OH I CAN’T STAY — AY — Y ——

  I HAVE TO LET YOU GO BAY — AYBE ——

  AND RIGHT AWAY — AY — Y ——

  AFTER ALL YOU DID ——

  I CAN’T STAY OH — H — H — ON —

  AND I’LL PROBABLY —

  Two high-pitched men joined in here.

  —FEEL A WHOLE LOT BETTER —

  WHEN YOU’RE GOH — ON —

  The lads weren’t bouncing up and down on the bunk for this music. They were throwing their heads and chests out and back, out and back. Their feet didn’t tap: they slammed. Outspan strummed the air.

  —BABY FOR A LONG TIME —

  The other Byrds repeated the line.

  —BABY FOR A LONG TIME —

  —YOU HAD ME BELIE — IE — IEVE —

  The others: — YOU HAD ME BELIEVE —

  —THAT YOUR LOVE WAS ALL MI — I — I — INE —

  The others: — YOUR LOVE WAS ALL MINE —

  —AND THAT’S THE WAY IT WOULD BE —— EE —EE—

  The others: — LAA —

  AAH —

  AAH —

  AAAAAH ——

  Thirty seconds into the song the lads wanted to be The Byrds. They’d been demolished by the rip-roaring guitars and Gene Clark’s manly whinge. It was sweet and rough at the same time. The guitars raced each other.

  It was the best they’d ever heard. They didn’t just hear it either. They were in its way. It went through them. Man’s music.

  —AFTER WHAT YOU DI — I — ID —

  The other Byrds: — AFTER WHAT YOU DID —

  —I CAN’T STAY ON — OH — ON —

  The others: — I CAN’T STAY ON —

  All The Byrds: — AND I’LL PROBABLY —

  FEEL A WHOLE LOT

  BETTER —

  WHEN YOU’RE GOH — ON ——

  OH WHEN YOU’RE GOH — ON ——

  OH WHEN YOU’RE GOH — ON ——

  OH WHEN YOU’RE GOH — ON ——

  More jangling guitars winding down and it was over.

  Jimmy got the needle up quickly. The next track, The Bells of Rhymney, was a piece of hippy shite and he didn’t want the lads to hear it.

  —Tha’ was fuckin’ rapid, said Outspan. —Play it again, Jimmy.

  —Deadly, wasn’t it? said Derek.

  —Listen to this, said Mickah.

  —BABY FOR A LON TAM ——

  YEH HAD ME BEL — EE — EE — EE — EVE —

  —My Jaysis, Mickah! ——Fair play to yeh.

  —We’ve a singer, said Jimmy.

  —An’ you could play the drums, Jimmy, said Derek.

  —Yeah, said Outspan. —Just the four of us, wha’. No pricks.

  —Is tha’ wha’ we want? Jimmy asked them.

  That was what they wanted.

  —Bass, guitar, drums an’ Mickah, said Derek. —Rapid.

  —Play it again, said Outspan.

  —Hang on, said Jimmy. —Could you play like tha’?

  —No problem to me, said Outspan.

  —The bass sounds easier than for soul, said Derek.

  —We’ll need two guitars.

  —We will in our arses, said Outspan. —I’ll use both hands.

  —Good thinkin’.

  —Wha’ abou’ James?

  —We’ll let him in when he’s a doctor, said Mickah. —Tha’ comes first.

  —Tha’ won’t be for ages.

  Jimmy spoke. —He’ll be a doctor abou’ the same time we’re puttin’ our third album together. An’ we’ll need a gentler sound, righ’, a new direction, like, after the first two cos they’ll be real country-punk albums. James’ piano will fit in nicely then.

  —That’s grand. ——Will we tell him?

  —No. We’ll keep it as a surprise for him.

  —Play it again, said Outspan.

  —Wha’ abou’ the girls? said Derek.

  —Wha’ abou’ them?

  —Will we let them in?

  —Ah, yeah, said Outspan. —The girls are sound.

  —I know, said Mickah. —They could wear tha’ Dolly Parton sort o’ clobber. Yeh know, the frilly bits on the elbows an’ tha’ sort o’ shi’e.

  —Do we want the girls? Jimmy asked.

  They did.

  —They could give us a rest, said Derek. —They could sing a few slowies. For the oul’ ones.

  —An’ the young ones.

  —That’s the lot though, righ’, said Jimmy. —No fuckin’ politics this time either. ——But, yeh know, Joey said when he left tha’ he didn’t think soul was righ’ for Ireland. This stuff is though. You’ve got to remember tha’ half the country is fuckin’ farmers. This is the type o’ stuff they all listen to. ——Only they listen to it at the wrong speed.

  —We’ll put them righ’ though, wha’. Play it again, Jimmy, will yeh.

  —Will we have names? Derek asked.

  —Ah Jaysis, no, said Jimmy. —Not tha’ shi’e again. This is different.

  Outspan agreed with him.

  —Would yis mind, said Mickah,—if I had a bit of a name?

  —Wha’?

  —Tex.

  They laughed. They liked it.

  —Tex Wallace. ——It sounds righ’, doesn’t it? said Mickah.

  Jimmy was putting the needle down when he thought of something else.

  —Oh yeah, he said. —We don’t have a name. ——Anny ideas?

  —Well, said Derek. —Yeh know the way they’re The Byrds an’ Bird is another name for a girl, righ’? ——Couldn’t we be The Brassers?

  It was a great name.

  —Dublin country, said Jimmy. —That’s fuckin’ perfect. The Brassers. ——We’re a Dublin country group.

  —That’s an excellent name, Derek, said Outspan.

  —Ah——I just thought of it, yeh know.

  Jimmy put the needle back on it
s stand.

  —Another thing I forgot to tell yis. ——I was in touch with your man, Dave, from Eejit Records, remember? I asked him would he be interested in a country-punk version o’ Nigh’ Train, an’ he said he migh’ be.

  —That’s brilliant, said Derek.

  —Hang on, said Mickah.

  —STARTIN’ OU’ IN MULLINGAR

  MOVIN’ ON OU’ TO KINNEGAD ——

  Somethin’ like tha’?

  —That’s very good, said Jimmy.

  They laughed.

  —That’s very good, alrigh’, said Outspan. —I like tha’. Fair play.

  Jimmy had the needle ready.

  —Righ’, lads, give us a month an’ this’ll be us.

  He let the needle down.

  —Deadly, said Derek.

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Roddy Doyle is a teacher, playwright, and screenwriter living in Dublin. The Commitments is his first novel.