by Roddy Doyle
–YEH SEE—
Deco was still singing to the girls.
–MAN DRIVES THE BUSES—
TO BRING US ROUN’ AN’ ABOU—OU’—
AN’ MAN WORKS IN GUINNESSES—
TO GIVE US THE PINTS O’ STOU—OUT—
The crowd began to clap here. Deco raised his hands, and the clapping stopped.—AN’ MAN—
MAN HAS ALL THE IMPORTANT JOBS—
LIKE HE COLLECTS ALL THE TAXES—
BUT WOMAN—
WOMAN ONLY WORKS UP IN CADBURY’S—
PUTTIN’ CHOCOLATES INTO BOXES—
SO—SO—SO—
IT’S A MAN’S—MAN’S WORLD—BUT IT WOULD BE NOTHIN’—NOTHIN’—
FUCK ALL—
WITHOU’ A WOMAN OR A GURREL—
This time they wouldn’t stop cheering and clapping, so It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World was over.
The Commitments were clearing the stage after closing time.
Derek spoke.—Tha’ Man’s World is a rapid song, isn’t it?
–Fuckin’ brilliant.
Deco took the bottle from his mouth.
–Yeah, he said.—I’m thinkin’ o’ doin’ it on Screen Test.—Tha’ or When a Man Loves a Woman.
They’re me best.
Outspan dropped everything.
–There’s no way we’re goin’ on Screen Test. No fuckin’ way.
–Yeah, said Derek.
–I know tha’, said Deco.—Yis didn’t hear me.
He took a mouthful from the bottle.
–Did I not tell yis?—I thought I did.—No, I’m goin’ on Screen Test. On me own, like. I got me ma to write in for me.
Derek roared.—JIMMY! COME EAAR!
Then he stared at Deco.
Jimmy was just outside on the path, thanking Hot Press for coming. He heard the roar.
–Good fuck! I’d better get in.—Migh’ see yeh again next week so?
–Right, yeah.
–An’ see if yeh can bring your man along, righ’. I’ll buy him a pint.
–Will do.
Jimmy trotted in. He had good news.
He forgot it when he saw the story; The Commitments standing away from one another, Deco in the middle.
–Wha’ now?
–Tell him, said Derek.
Deco told Jimmy.
–Yeh bad shite, yeh, said Jimmy.
–Wha’!
–Are yeh serious?
–Yeah.—I am.
–What is this Screen Test? Joey The Lips asked.
Outspan told him.
–It’s a poxy programme on RTE. A talent show like.
–It’s fuckin’ terrible, Joey, said Derek.
–Sounds uncool, said Joey The Lips.
–Why didn’t yeh tell us? Jimmy asked Deco.
–I did tell yis.
No one backed him up.
–I remember tellin’ some o’ yis.—I told you, James.
–No.
–I must’ve.—I meant to.
Mickah came out of the jacks.
–Sorry abou’ tha’, said Deco.—Yeah—annyway, the ma wrote in for me.
Deco decided to get all the confessing over with.
–I applied to sing in the National Song Contest as well.
–Oh—my—Jaysis!
–I don’t believe yeh, said Dean.
The Commitmentettes were starting to laugh.
–Well, said Deco.—Let’s put it this way.—
I’ve me career to think of.
Mickah started laughing. Deco didn’t know if this was good or bad.
James laughed too.
–Have yeh no fuckin’ loyalty, son? said Jimmy.—You’re in a fuckin’ group.
–A Song for Europe! said Outspan.—Fuckin’ God!—Wha’.
Imelda sang:—ALL KINDS—
OF EVERYTHIN’—REMINDS ME—
OF—YOU.
–Ah, fuck off, said Deco.—Look.—The group won’t last forever.
–Not with you in it.
–Look.—Be realistic, will yeh.—I can sing, righ’.—
–That’s not soul, Brother, Joey The Lips told Deco.
–Fuck off, you, said Deco,—an’ don’t annoy me.
That’s when Mickah stitched Deco a loaf, clean on the nose. It wasn’t broken but snot and blood fell out of it at a fierce speed.
Outspan got Deco to hold his head back. Natalie dammed the flow with a couple of paper hankies.
–That’s not soul either, Brother, Joey The Lips told Mickah.
–Probably not, said James.
–He shouldn’t o’ talken to yeh like tha’.—I’m sorry, righ’.
–Tell Brother Deco that.
–I will in me—
–Tell him.
–I’m sorry, righ’.
–Okay, said Deco.—Don’t worry abou’ it.
Deco’s nose was under control.
Jimmy remembered the good news.
–There might be an A an’ R man comin’ to see us next week.
–Sent from The Lord, said Joey The Lips.
He held his palms out. Jimmy slapped them. Then Joey The Lips slapped Jimmy’s palms.
–What’s an A an’ R man? Dean asked.
–I don’t know wha’ the A an’ R stand for but they’re talent scouts for record companies. They look at groups an’ sign them up.
The Commitments whooped and smiled and laughed and hit each other. They were all very happy, even Deco.
–A and R means Artists and Repertory, said Joey The Lips.
–I thought so, said Mickah.
–Wha’ label?
–A small one, said Jimmy.
–Aaaah! said Imelda.—A little one.—That’s lovely.
They laughed.
–Independent, said Jimmy.
–Good, said Dean.
–Wha’ are they called?
–Eejit Records.—They’re Irish.
They liked the name.
–They’d want to be fuckin’ eejits to want us.
–They’re only comin’ to see us, Jimmy warned.
–Don’t worry, Jim, said Outspan.—We’ll introduce them to Mickah.
–Good thinkin’, said Mickah.—They’ll fuckin’ sign us alrigh’.
–Plenty o’ lipstick next week, girls, said Jimmy.—Fuck yourself, you, said Natalie.
* * *
Jimmy hoped the good news would keep The Commitments going. But he was worried. He was losing sleep. Having problems with them one at a time was bad, but now both Dean and Deco were getting uppity. And James was worried about his exams, and Mickah was a looper.
He didn’t organize a rehearsal for the weekend, to give James time to study and to keep them away from each other so there’d be no rows before Wednesday.
Jimmy called to Dean’s house on Friday. He wanted to talk to him and maybe even catch him in the act, listening to jazz.
Dean was watching Blankety Blank.
They went up to Dean’s room. Jimmy eyed the wall for incriminating posters. Nothing; just an old one of Manchester United (Steve Coppell and Jimmy Greenhoff were in it) and one of Bruce Springsteen at Slane. But maybe Dean’s wall hadn’t caught up with Dean yet.
–Did yeh come on the bus? Dean asked Jimmy.
–I haven’t gone home yet, said Jimmy.—I went for a few scoops with a few o’ the lads ou’ o’ work.—Bruxelles.—D’yeh know it?
–Yeah.
–It’s good.—Some great lookin’ judies.
–Yeah.
–Eh—I was thinkin’ we could have a chat abou’ the group.
–Wha’ abou’ it?
–Wha’ d’yeh think of it?
–It’s okay.
–Okay?
–Yeah. Okay.—Why?
–How is it okay?
–Jaysis, Jimmy, I don’t know.—I like—the lads, yeh know, Derek an’ Outspan, an’ James. An’ Washin’ton D.C. An’ Joey’s taught me a lot, yeh know.—I like the girls. The
y’re better crack than most o’ the young ones I know.—It’s good crack.
–Wha’ abou’ the music?
–It’s okay, said Dean.—It’s good crack, yeh know.—It’s good.
–But?
–Ah, Jaysis, Jimmy. I don’t want to sound snobby but—fuck it, there’s not much to it, is there?—
Just whack whack whack an’ tha’ fuckin’ eejit, Cuffe, roarin’ an’ moanin’—an’ fuckin’ gurglin’.
–Forget Cuffe.—What’s wrong with it?
Jimmy sounded hurt.
–Nothin’.
Dean was glad this was happening, although he was uncomfortable.
–Don’t get me wrong, Jimmy.—It’s too easy.
It doesn’t stretch me.—D’yeh know wha’ I mean?
Em, it was grand for a while, while I was learnin’ to play. It’s limitin’, know wha’ I mean?—It’s good crack but it’s not art.
–Art!
–Well—yeah.
–You’ve been listenin’ to someone, haven’t yeh?
–No.
–Watchin’ Channel fuckin’ 4. Art! Me arse!
–Slag away. Sticks an’ stones.
–Art! said Jimmy. (Art was an option he’d done in school because there was no room for him in metal work and there was no way they could get him into home economics. That’s what art was.)—Cop on, Dean, will yeh.
–Look, Jimmy, said Dean.—I went through hell tryin’ to learn to play the sax. I nearly jacked it in after every rehearsal. Now I can play it. An’ I’m not stoppin’. I want to get better.—It’s art, Jimmy.
It is. I express meself, with me sax instead of a brush, like. That’s why I’m gettin’ into the jazz. There’s no rules. There’s no walls, your man in The Observer said it—
–I knew it! The Observer, I fuckin’ knew it!
–Shut up a minute. Let me finish.
Dean was blushing. He’d let the bit about The Observer slip out. He hoped Jimmy wouldn’t tell the rest of the lads.
–That’s the difference between jazz an’ soul. There’s too many rules in soul.—It’s all walls.
–Joey called them corners.
–That’s it, said Dean.—Dead on.—Four corners an’ you’re back where yeh started from. D’yeh follow me?
–I suppose so, said Jimmy.—Are yeh goin’ to leave?
–The Commitments?
–Yeah.
–No, Jaysis no. No way.
Jimmy was delighted with the way Dean answered him.
–How come? he said.
–It’s good crack, said Dean.—It’s good. The jazz is in me spare time. That’s okay, isn’t it?
–Yeah, sure.
–No, the soul’s grand, Jimmy. It’s good crack. It’s just the artist in me likes to get ou’ now an’ again, yeh know.
–Yeah, righ’. I know wha’ yeh mean. I’m the same way with me paintin’.
–Do you paint, Jimmy?
–I do in me bollix.
Dean was happy now. So he kept talking, to please Jimmy.
–No, I wouldn’t want to leave The Commitments. It’s great crack. The lads are great.—You’re doin’ a good job too. An’—Keep this to yourself now.
–Go on.
–I fancy Imelda a bit too, yeh know.
–Everyone fancies ’melda, Dean.
–She’s great, isn’t she?
–Oh, she is indeed.—A grand young one.
–Wha’ abou’ Joey’s ideas abou’ soul bein’ the people’s music an’ tha’?
–Don’t get me wrong, said Dean.—Joey’s great.—He’s full o’ shi’e though.—Isn’t he?
–I suppose he is a bit now tha’ yeh mention it.
–Brother Dean.—But go easy on the solos though, righ’.
–Okay.
* * *
Now that Jimmy thought of it, Imelda might have been holding The Commitments together. Derek fancied her, and Outspan fancied her. Deco fancied her. He was sure James fancied her. Now Dean fancied her too. He fancied her himself. Imelda had soul.
* * *
There was no review in Hot Press. That was a disappointment. But they were in the Rhythm Guide.
–Your Regular Beat. . .
What’s Happening In Residencies.
Wednesdays.
Carlow, Octopussys: The Plumbers.
Cork, Sir Henrys: Asthmatic Hobbit Goes Boing.
Dublin, Baggot: The Four Samurai.
Dublin, Ivy Rooms: Autumn’s Drizzle.
Dublin, Miami Vice: The Commitments.
Jimmy cut it out and stuck it on his wall.
* * *
The Commitments all arrived on Wednesday. They all helped with the gear. They all looked well. Deco’s hooter was back to normal.
–Is he here yet? James asked.
He stood behind Jimmy. Jimmy was sitting at a table at the door, taking in the money.
–Who?
–The man from Eejit.
–Not yet. I’d say he’ll come though.
–I sure as hell hope so, Massa Jimmy, said James.
–I’ll have to piss off righ’ after, okay. I’ve another oral tomorrow afternoon.
–Fair enough, said Jimmy.—Count tha’ for us.
Hot Press arrived, with someone else.
–He’s here, Jimmy told James.—Tell the others, will yeh.
–Goodie goodie, said James.
–Howyis, lads, said Jimmy.
–Hi there, said Hot Press.—The review’ll be in the next issue, okay. We were out of space. A big ad, you know.
–No problem, said Jimmy.
–This is Dave I was telling you about last week, remember?
–Oh, yeah, said Jimmy.—Howyeh, Dave.—
Jimmy—Rabbitte.
He shook Dave’s hand.
–Hi, Jimmy, said Dave.—Maurice tells me your guys are good, yeah?
–He’s righ’ too, said Jimmy.—They have it alrigh’.—Go on ahead in, lads. I’ll be with yis in a minute. I’ll just rob a few more punters.
Jimmy was shaking.
The Commitments were great. Everything was right. They looked great too. Each one of them was worth watching.
They started with Knock on Wood. Mickah was cheered every time he loafed the drum. Then they did I Thank You. Then Chain Gang, Reach Out—I’ll Be There and then they slowed down with Tracks of My Tears. After that, What Becomes of the Broken Hearted. Then The Commitmentettes took over with Walking in the Rain, Stoned Love and Stop in the Name of Love.
Once the crowd knew that The Commitmentettes were finished they began to shout for Night Train. They got it four songs later.
–ALL ABOARD, said Deco.—THE NIGH’ TRAIN.
There was pushing. Someone fell, but was up quickly. Nothing serious happened. They swayed and bopped as Deco did the roll call of American cities. The crowd was waiting, getting ready.—AN’ DON’T FORGET NEW ORLEANS—
THE HOME O’ THE BLUES—
OH YEAH—
WE’RE COMIN’ HOME—
All The Commitments could see now after the front rows was hands in the air, clapping, and a few women on boyfriends’ backs. Outspan grinned. Derek laughed. This was great.—THE NIGH’ TRAIN—
CARRIES ME HOME—
THE NIGH’ TRAIN—CARRIES ME HOME—
SHO’ NUFF IT DOES—
Jimmy looked at Dave from Eejit. He was smiling. Deco and the girls chugged while The Commitments brought the train around for the home stretch.
Deco broke away from the girls.
He growled:—STARTIN’ OFF IN CONNOLLY—Screams, roars and whistles.—MOVIN’ ON OU’ TO KILLESTER—Everyone jumped in time, including Dave from Eejit. And Jimmy.
–HARMONSTOWN RAHENY—
AN’ DON’T FORGET KILBARRACK—
THE HOME O’ THE BLUES—
HOWTH JUNCTION BAYSIDE—
GOIN’ HOME—
THEN ON OU’ TO SUTTON WHERE THE SNOBBY BASTARDS LIVE—
OH YEAH—
OH YEAH—
The crowd sang with Deco.—NIGH’ TRAIN—
COMIN’ HOME FROM THE BOOZER—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
COMIN’ HOME FROM THE COMMITMENTS—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
GETTIN’ SICK ON THE BLOKE BESIDE YEH—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER COS HE’S ASLEEP—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
CARRIES ME HOME—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
CARRIES ME HOME—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
TO ME GAFF—
NIGH’ TRAIN—
CARRIES ME HOME—
OH YEAH—
OH YEAH—
Then The Commitments did it all over again. There wasn’t time for an encore but it didn’t matter.
The Commitments were delighted with themselves.
–You’re professionals, Brothers and Sisters, said Joey The Lips.—You ooze soul.
–That’s a lovely thing to say, Joey. You ooze soul too.—I blush.
Dave from Eejit came over to the platform.
–Great show, said Dave.
–Thanks, pal, said Mickah.
–Very visual, said Dave.
–Didn’t sound bad either, did it? said Mickah.
–It sounded great, said Dave.—Ladies, wonderful. Amazing.
–Thanks very much, said Natalie.
–Yeah, said Bernie,—thanks.
–See now, said Natalie.—We’re wonderful.
–Amaaazing, said Imelda.
Dave went over to Jimmy.
–Can we talk, em?
–Jimmy.
–Jimmy, right. Can we talk? Over here, yeah?
They went into a far corner. Hot Press came with them.
–Did yeh like tha’, Dave? Jimmy asked.
–Great, terrific.—Great.
–They’re not bad at all, sure they’re not, Dave? said Jimmy.—They need a bit o’ polishin’ maybe.
–No, no, said Dave.—That’d ruin them. Leave them as they are. Raw, you know.
–Fair enough. Wha’ever yeh say. You’re the expert.
–The senior citizen. The trumpet, yeah? He’s a terrific idea.
–That’s Joey The Lips Fagan.
–Yeah.
–He played with James Brown.
–Right.
–Among others.
–The ladies too.—Great visuals.
Jimmy nearly laughed. He hid behind his glass. Then he asked Dave a question.
–Would yeh be interested in us, Dave?
–Yeah, right. Definitely.
Jimmy held his glass to his chest. He knew it would rattle if he put it on the table.
