The Commitments b-1

by Roddy Doyle

  Dave continued.

  –We release singles only. At the moment. We’re small, and happy that way, yeah? We’re not in it for the lucre, yeah? You heard the Reality Margins single? Trigger Married Silver and Now They’re Making Ponies? From the Fanning session?

  Jimmy lied.

  –Yeah.—It was very good.

  –That was Eejit.—It didn’t get the airplay.

  They were scared of it, you know.—We sign bands for one single, yeah? No fee, sorry. We pay for the studio time so long as it’s not more than a day, and the producer. We do the package. A good picture cover. You’ve seen the label?

  –Yeah, said Jimmy.

  He wasn’t lying this time.

  –It’s good—very nice.

  Hot Press spoke.—Dave set up Eejit as a springboard for new bands. The Eejit record is meant to be the first step on the ladder. The idea is that the major labels hear it and if they like you they sign you.

  The Eejit single is to help you get a proper contract. It gives you a voice.

  –That’s right, said Dave.

  –Tha’ sounds fair enough, said Jimmy.—That’d be great. Has it worked so far?

  –Yes and no, yeah? said Dave.—Reality Margins are before their time.

  Hot Press laughed.

  Dave explained.

  –My little brother plays percussion for Reality Margins, yeah? But you know The Baby Docs?

  –Yeah.—Bitin’ the Pillow.—Yeah, it’s good, tha’.

  –CBS and Rough Trade are sniffing there, said Dave.

  –That’s good, said Jimmy.—I hope it works ou’ okay for them now.

  –So, Jimmy, said Dave.—Tell me.—Would The Commitments be interested in recording Night Train for us?

  –I’d say they would, yeah, said Jimmy. (And to himself:—Yeh fuckin’ budgie, yeh!)

  –You don’t know for sure?

  –We’re a democratic group, Dave, said Jimmy.—Soul is democracy.

  –Right, said Dave.—We could put that on the sleeve.

  –Good thinkin’.

  –I see a double A-side, said Dave.—Side A, the studio Night Train. The other side A, the live Night Train.

  –I like it, said Hot Press.

  –I’d buy tha’, said Jimmy.

  –It’d get the airplay, Said Dave.—It’d sell. It’d chart, yeah? It’s good, unspoilt roots stuff, you know.—Pure.—And very fuckin’ funny.

  Jimmy washed his giggles back with the last of his pint.

  –Would we have to pay you annythin’, Dave? he asked.

  –No, said Dave.—It’s cool.—We’re funded by the Department of Labour, yeah? Youth employment, yeah? They pay me. Any profit goes back into Eejit.

  –Go ’way! said Jimmy.—That’s grand.

  –I suppose I’m just a hippy, you know, said Dave.—And my parents are rich.—Are The Commitments on the dole?

  –Some o’ them.

  –That’s good, said Dave.—The Department will like that.

  Hot Press laughed.

  –We’d have to sign somethin’, wouldn’t we? said Jimmy.

  –Right, yeah. A simple, one-off contract, yeah?

  –We could do tha’ annytime.

  –Right.

  –Yeh don’t have one on yeh, I suppose?

  –Tomorrow.

  –Okay, righ’.—I’ll see if I can talk the group into it. Will we have to meet annyone?

  –No.

  –No one from Eejit?

  –I’m Eejit.

  Hot Press laughed again.

  –Just yourself?

  –Just myself, said Dave.

  He pretended to type.

  –I’m even the secretary, yeah?

  –Fair play to yeh, Dave, said Jimmy.

  Jimmy went to the door with them. They said their goodbyes and arranged to meet the next night in The Bailey.

  Jimmy took some deep breaths.

  That was perfect. The Commitments wouldn’t be tied to a little gobshite label run by hippies. Just the one single (Night Train would be a big hit in Dublin) and the big boys would be queuing up for The Commitments, readies in hand. Jimmy wondered if they should wait a bit before they gave up their jobs.

  Jimmy took one more long breath, clapped his hands, rubbed them, and went back inside to tell The Commitments.

  But they didn’t exist any more. Somewhere in the quarter of an hour Jimmy had been negotiating with Dave from Eejit, The Commitments had broken up.

  Outspan and Derek were the only ones still at the platform. The rest were gone.

  Jimmy leaned against the wall.

  –Wha’?

  –They all fucked off, said Outspan.

  He was explaining how it had happened.

  –Why?

  –I’m not sure, said Outspan.—It was over before I copped on tha’ ann’thin, was happenin’.—Do you know, Derek?

  –I think it was when De’co seen Joey kissin’ ’melda.

  –Imelda?

  –Yeah.

  –Wha’ abou’ Bernie?

  –She didn’t seem to mind.

  –For fuck sake! said Jimmy.—Real kissin’, like?

  –Oh yeah, said Derek.—They were warin’ alrigh’. Over where you are.

  –I seen tha’ bit alrigh’ said Outspan.

  He shook his head.

  –Nearly puked me ring.

  –Then Deco said he was sick o’ this, said Derek,—an’ he pulled Joey away from her, righ’. An’ he called ’melda a prick teaser. An’ tha’ wasn’t on cos she isn’t, so I went to give him a boot, righ’. But then Deco had a go at Joey. I think he fancied ’melda, d’yeh know tha’?—He gave Joey a dig. Hurt him. Then Mickah went for Deco. He got him a few slaps an’ Deco ran ou’ an’ he said The Commitments could fuck off an’ Mickah went after him.

  –How come I didn’t see annythin’? Jimmy asked.

  –It happened very fuckin’ fast, said Outspan.—I didn’t see ann’thin’ either an’ I was here, sure.

  –Where’s James?

  –He had to go, remember?

  –That’s righ’.—Dean?

  –Dean took it very badly, Jim, said Derek.

  –I heard this bit, said Outspan.—He—Listen to this now.—He said he was fucked if he was goin’ to waste his time jammin’—Jammin’!—jammin’ with a shower o’ wankers tha’ couldn’t play their instruments properly.—Tha’ wasn’t on.—

  I gave him a dig. An’ he fucked off. I think he was cryin’.—Spa!

  –Fuckin’ great, said Jimmy.

  –D’yeh know wha’? said Derek.—I think Dean fancies ’melda too. It’s a gas really when yeh think abou’ it.

  –It’s a fuckin’ scream, said Jimmy.—Where’s Joey?

  –He went to the hospital. He thinks his nose is broke. The girls went with him but I don’t think he wanted them to. He was tryin’ to get away from them. They had to run after him.

  Jimmy sat down on the platform.

  Derek continued.

  –It’s funny.—I think Joey was the oney one of us tha’ didn’t fancy Imelda an’ he’s the oney one of us tha’ got off with her. Fuckin’ gas really, isn’t it?

  Jimmy said nothing for a while. He looked at the ground. Outspan and Derek reckoned that he was thinking, thinking things out.

  Then he spoke.—Fuck yis annyway.—Fuck the lot o’ yis.

  –We didn’t do ann’thin’! said Outspan.

  –Fuck yis, said Jimmy, quietly.—Yis bastards.

  The head barman came out of the room behind the bar.

  –Why aren’t yis gone? he shouted.

  –Most of us are gone, pal, said Outspan.

  –Fuck yis, said Jimmy to the floor.—Just—

  He swept his hand over his knee.

  –Fuck yis.

  –Come on, said the head barman.

  –Hang on a sec, said Derek.

  He bent down to Jimmy.

  –Sorry ’bou’ tha’, Jimmy, he said.

  He put h
is hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

  –Still.—It was good while it lasted, wasn’t it?

  –Ah fuck off! said Jimmy.

  That sort of talk gave Jimmy the pip.

  * * *

  Jimmy phoned Joey The Lips about a week after The Commitments broke up.

  He hadn’t tried to get them together again. He hadn’t wanted to. They were fuckin’ saps. He’d watched telly all week. It wasn’t too bad. He’d gone for a few scoops with the lads from work on the Friday. That was his week.

  He hadn’t gone into The Bailey to meet Dave from Eejit.

  He hadn’t played any soul.

  Now, a week after, he thought he was over it. He’d nearly cried when he was in bed that night. He’d have loved to have seen that Commitments single, with them on the cover, and maybe a video for Anything Goes. But now he was okay. They were tossers. So was Dave from Eejit. He had better things to do with his life.

  But he was phoning Joey The Lips, just to say cheerio, and good luck, because Joey The Lips wasn’t like the others. Joey The Lips was different. He’d taught them all a thing or two.

  Joey The Lips answered.

  –The Fagan household.

  –Joey?—Howyeh. This is Jimmy.

  –Jimmy! My main man. How are you, Brother?

  –Grand. How’s your nose?

  –It’s still hanging on in there.

  –Tha’ was a fuckin’ terrible thing for Deco to do.

  –Forget it, forget it.—When I was leaving the hospital they were bringing Brother Declan in.

  –Wha’?

  –On a stretcher.

  –Go ’way!—Funny. I haven’t seen him since.

  I’d forgot he works where I work.

  –Have you seen the other Brothers and Sisters?

  –No way. I don’t want to.

  –Hmm.—A pity.

  –Wha’ are yeh goin’ to do now?

  –America calls, Brother. I’m going back. Maybe soul isn’t right for Ireland. So I’m not right. I’m going back to the soul.

  –When?

  –The day after tomorrow. Joe Tex called me. You’ve heard Joe Tex?

  –I’ve heard the name alrigh’.—Hang on. He had a hit there. Ain’t Gonna Bump No More with No Big Fat Woman.

  –Correct.—Joe wants me to tour with him again.

  –Fair play to yeh.—Annyway, Joey, I phoned yeh to thank yeh for everythin’, yeh know.—So—thanks.

  –Oh, I blush. Thank The Lord, not me.

  –You thank him for me, okay?

  –I will do.—Will you continue the good work, Jimmy?

  –No way. I’ve learnt me lesson.

  –Hang on one minute.

  –Okay.

  Joey The Lips was back.

  –Howyeh, said Jimmy.

  –Listen to this.—O sing into the Lord, a new song, for he hath done marvellous things. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth make a loud noise, and rejoice, and song praise.—Psalm Number 98, Brother Jimmy.

  –Fuck off, Joey. Good luck.

  Jimmy was in the kitchen filling the kettle when he remembered something, something he’d read a while back. Joe Tex died in 1982.

  * * *

  Jimmy met Imelda about a week after that. She had her sister’s baby with her. Jimmy cutchie-cutchie-cooed it. It stared out at him.

  –Is it a young one or a young fella?

  –A young fella.—Eddie. He’s a little fucker, so he is. He’s always cryin’. Aren’t yeh a little fucker, Eddie?

  Eddie belched.

  –No manners, he hasn’t.—Wha’ have yeh been doin’ with yourself since an’annyway? Imelda asked Jimmy.

  –Nothin’.—Nothin’ much.

  –Have yeh seen anny o’ the others?

  –No.

  –Have yeh seen Joey?

  –Have YOU not? said Jimmy.—He’s gone back to America.

  –Has he? The little fucker.

  –Wha’?

  –He never said bye bye or ann’thin’.

  Jimmy had decided not to mention Joe Tex to anyone.

  –He’s tourin’ again. With The Impressions, I think he said.

  –That’s lovely, for some.—D’yeh know wha’, Jimmy?—Don’t tell annyone this now.

  Jimmy said nothing.

  –Promise not to tell.

  –I promise, said Jimmy.

  –I think Joey left because of us.

  –Wha’ d’yeh mean?

  –Me an’ Bernie an’ Nat’lie.

  –Because yis all got off with him, d’yeh mean?

  –Yeah. Sort of.—He was scared of us.

  –D’yeh reckon?—D’yeh mind if I ask? Said Jimmy.—How come yis all got off with him?

  –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 e
ither. 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.