by Roddy Doyle
* * *
By now The Commitments had about a quarter of an hour’s worth of songs that they could struggle through without making too many mistakes. They could sound dreadful sometimes but not many of them knew this. They were happy.
Joey The Lips told them that they were ready for the funkier uptempo numbers, the meaner stuff.
–Rapid!
He didn’t say it but Joey The Lips wanted to loosen up Dean, to get him swinging. Dean was the only one still suffering. He stood rigid and even though so far he’d only had three or four note changes at the most per song they usually came too quickly for him and they’d hear him saying Sorry yet again as the rest of them kept going.
A funkier number would force Dean into the open. It would do him good.
Deco was excited. This was where he’d come into his own. He was jumping up and down. He’d started wearing track-suit bottoms during rehearsals. He swallowed teaspoons of honey whenever he wasn’t needed for singing.
–Come on, come on, Deco shouted.—Let’s go.
–Wha’ ’re we doin’, Joey? Outspan asked.
Jimmy handed the lyrics to the girls and Deco.
–Knock on Wood.
–Deadly!
–I know this one, said Imelda.
–Not the disco version, said Jimmy.
–Aaah!
–No way, said Jimmy.—Use the butt-ends of your sticks for this one, Billy.
–Yes, sir.
They listened to the tape of Eddie Floyd.
–You and me together, Dean, said Joey The Lips.—Let’s show these dudes what a horn section does for a living.
–Jaysis, Joey, I don’t know.
Outspan got a chord and hit it.
–THI—THI—
–Is tha’ abou’ righ’, Joey? he asked.
–That’s about right.—Now, Dean, make that baby squeal.
–How?
–We did this one together before.
Joey The Lips put the trumpet to his mouth.
–DUHHH—
DU—
DUHHH—
–Remember?
–Oh yeah.
–Good boy.—Right.—That’s a nipple you’ve got there.
–Wish it was.
–Ready?
–S’pose so.
–DUHHH—
DU—
DUH—DEHHH—
DE—
DEHHH—
–Good good, said Joey The Lips.—And that’s where Brother Deco comes in.—Are we ready, cats?
They were ready.
–A one, a two.
Joey The Lips and Dean blew the intro again.
Billy joined in.
–THU—UNG UNG UNG—THU—UNG UNG UNG—
–I DON’T WANNA LOSE—HUH—
–Stop.
–Why—What’s wrong?
–Brother Deco, said Joey The Lips.—Leave the Huhs till later on, okay. We don’t want to alienate our white audience.—I DON’T WANNA LOSE—Outspan:—THI—THI—
THIS GOOD THANG—
Billy:—THU—UNG UNG UNG
THA’ I’VE GOT—
IF I DO—
–DUH DAA DOOHHH, blew Joey The Lips and Dean, very successfully.
–I WOULD SURELY—
SURELY LOSE THE LOT—
Dean wiped his face.
–COS YOUR LOVE—THI—THI—IS BET HA—THU—UNG UNG UNG THAN ANNY LOVE I KNOW—OW—The Commitmentettes joined in here.—IT’S LIKE THUNDER—DUH UH UHHH, went the homs.—LIGH’—
NIN’—
–DEH EH EHHH, went the homs.—THE WAY YEH LOVE ME IS FRIGH’—
NIN’—
I’D BET HA KNOCK—Billy: THU THU THU THU—ON WOO—O—OOD—BAY—
BEEE—
The horns:—DUHHH—
DU—
DUH—DEHHH—
DE
DEHHH—
Dean didn’t sleep too well that night. He’d got through his solo in Knock on Wood. When they were going through it the third time before going home Dean had arched his back and pointed the sax at the ceiling. He’d walloped his nose but it had been great. He couldn’t wait for the next rehearsal.
* * *
The Commitments were looser and meaner the next night, three days later.
–NOW I AIN’T SUPERSTITIOUS, Deco yelled.
–THI—UH THI, went Outspan’s guitar.
–ABOU’ YEH—
Billy:—THU—UNGA UNG UNG—
–BUT I CAN’T TAKE NO CHANCE—
Outspan:—THIDDLE OTHI—UH THI—
–YOU’VE GOT ME SPINNIN’—
YOU BRASSER—
BABY—
I’M IN A TRANCE—
The Commitmentettes lifted their arms and clicked their fingers while they waited to sing. Derek bent his knees as he bashed away at his string. Dean was wearing shades. James hit the keys now and again with his elbows. Joey The Lips approved and gave James a thumbs-up. Jimmy grinned and danced his shoulders.
–IT’S LIKE THUNDER—
The horns:—DUH UH UHHH—
–LIGH’—
NIN’—The horns:—DEH EH EHHH—
–IT’S VERY FUCKIN’ FRIGH’NIN’—
I’D BET HA KNOCK
Billy:—THU THU THU THU—ON WOO—O—OOD—BAY—
BEEEE—
The Commitmentettes:—OOOOHH—
The horns:—DUHHH—
DU—
DUH—DEHHH—
DE—
DEHHH—
* * *
A week later The Commitments were taking five. Jimmy was talking to Joey The Lips.—Have yeh been in any o’ the music pubs in town?—No, said Joey The Lips.—Not my style.—We prefer somewhere a bit more quieter, don’t we, Joey? said Natalie.
–Behind the garage door, like? said Jimmy.
–Fuck yourself, you.
Natalie went over to Imelda, Bernie and Derek.
Joey The Lips looked straight at Jimmy.
–Rescue me.
–Wha’?
–Rescue me.—I am a man in need of rescue.
–What’re yeh on abou’?
Jimmy looked behind him.
–That woman is driving me fucking crazy, said Joey The Lips.—She won’t get off my case.
–I think that’s the first time I ever heard yeh say Fuckin’, Joey.
–She won’t leave me alone.
–Well, Jaysis now, Joey, yeh shouldn’t of gotten off with her then.
–I had no choice, Brother, Joey The Lips hissed.—She had me pinned to the wall before I could get on my wheels.
–Wha’ abou’ tha’ soul man’s ludo yeh were on abou’?
–What’s the smell?
–Wha’ smell?—Hang on.
–Weed, said Joey The Lips.
He looked around, frowning.
–It’s hash.—Here, Jimmy shouted.—Who has the hash?
–Me, said Billy.
Deco, Outspan, Dean and James were with him, over at the piano.
–No way, Billy.—No way.
–Wha’? said Billy.
The joint, a very amateur job, stopped on the way back to his mouth.
–Hash is out, said Jimmy.
–Why? said Deco.
He was next on it.
–It fucks up your head, said Jimmy.
–Jimmy, said James.—It’s been medically proven—
–Fuck off a minute, James, sorry, said Jimmy.—yis won’t be able to play.
–We’ll be able to play better, said Deco.
–It’ll wreck your voice.
That shut Deco up while he decided if it was true.
Billy took a long drag and held the joint out for any takers.
–BLOW THA’ OU’, BILLY, Jimmy roared.
Billy exhaled.
–I’d die if I didn’t, yeh fuckin’ eejit.
He still held the joint up in his fingers.
–What’s wrong with it? Outspan asked.
Jimmy was
doing some thinking. What had annoyed him at first was the fact that they hadn’t got the go-ahead from him before they’d lit up. He needed a better reason than that.
–For one thing, he said.—Righ’—Yis’re barely able to play your instruments when yis have your heads on yis.
–Ah here!
–Are you sayin’ I can’t sing, son?
–Second, said Jimmy.—We’re a soul group.
Remember tha’. Not a pop group or a punk group, or a fuckin’ hippy group.—We’re a soul group.
–Wha’ d’yeh mean, WE’RE? said Deco.
–Fuck up, you.
Jimmy was grateful for the interruption. It gave him more time to think of something.
–If you’re not happy with the way I’m doin’ things then—
–We love yeh, Jimmy. Keep goin’.
–Righ’.—Where was I?—Yeah.—We’re a soul group. We want to make a few bob but we have our principles. It’s not just the money. It’s politics too, remember. We’re supposed to be bringin’ soul to Dublin. We can’t do tha’ an’ smoke hash at the same time.
–It’s oney hash.
–The tip o’ the fuckin’ iceberg, Billy. Dublin’s fucked up with drugs. Drugs aren’t soul.
–Wha’ abou’ drinkin’?
–That’s different, said Jimmy.—That’s okay. The workin’ class have always had their few scoops.
–Guinness is soul food, said Joey The Lips.
–That’s me arse, Jimmy, said Outspan.
–Listen, said Jimmy.—For fuck sake, we can’t say we’re playin’ the people’s music if we’re messin’ around with drugs. We should be against drugs. Anti drugs. Heroin an’ tha’.
–Yeah, but—
–Look wha’ happened to Derek’s brother.
–Leave my brother ou’ o’ this, said Derek.
He nearly shouted it.
–Okay, sorry. But yeh know wha’ I mean.
–Wha’ happened to Derek’s brother? Billy asked.
–Forget it.
–Wha’ happened your brother?
–Forget it, Billy.
–I was oney askin’.
–Annyway, said Jimmy.—Do yis agree with me?
–Ah yeah—o’ course, oney—
–We’ll get a Heroin Kills banner for behind the drums, said Jimmy.
–Hang on, said Deco.—Wha’ abou’ the niggers in America, the real soul fellas, wha’ abou’ them? They all smoke hash.—Worse.
This was Joey The Lips’ field.
–Not true, Brother. Real Soul Brothers say No to the weed. All drugs.—Soul says No.
–Wha’ abou’ Marvin Gaye?
–Wha’ abou’ him? said Jimmy.
–He died of an overdose.
–His da shot him, yeh fuckin’ sap.
–A bullet overdose, said Billy.
–Sam Cooke then, said Deco.
–I don’t know wha’ happened him.—Joey?
–Died under very mysterious circumstances, said Joey The Lips.—A lady.
–Enough said.
–I’m sure he was lookin’ for it, said Imelda.
–Phil Lynott, said Deco.
–Fuck off, said Jimmy.—He wasn’t soul.
–He was black.
–Ah, fuck off an’ don’t annoy me.—Get ou’ o’ my life.—Annyway, do yis agree abou’ the hash?
An’ the heroin, like?
–Yeah
They all nodded or stayed quiet.
–Can we smoke it after the rehearsal, Jimmy? Billy asked.
–Yeah, sure. No problem.
* * *
It was another week later.
James was late so Joey The Lips was going to put Deco through a new song, James Brown’s Out of Sight.
–You’re sure you know it now?
–O’ course I’m sure.
–Okay then. Off you go.—A one—
Deco put his hands to his ears.
Outspan nudged Derek.
–Fuckin’ tosser.
Deco sang.
–YOU GOT YOUR HIGH HEELED SNEAKERS ON—
YOUR STUFF IS NEW—
YOU GOT YOUR HIGH HEELED SNEAKERS ON—
SIMON HARTS—
YOUR GEAR IS NEW—
YOU’RE MORE THAN ALRIGH—HI—HIGH’—
YEH KNOW—
YOU’RE OU’ O’ SIGH’—Fuck!
Jimmy had come in and made it obvious he wanted The Commitments to notice him when he threw an empty 7-up can at Deco’s head.
–Wha’ was tha’ for? Deco shouted.—I don’t like yeh, said Jimmy.—An’ I’ve a bit o’ news for yis.
–So you hit ME?
–It didn’t hurt, an’ neither will me bit o’ news.
–Ooh! said Imelda.—Sounds good.
–It is, ’melda, it is indeed. An’ you’re lookin’ lovely tonigh’.
–Thank you, Jimmy. An’ you’re lookin’ horrible as ever.
–The news, said Joey The Lips.
–Are we goin’ to have The Angelus first or somethin’? said Outspan.
James came in.
–Sorry.—Puncture.
–Jimmy’s got news, James, said Bernie.
–But he’s keepin’ it to himself, said Imelda. (And she sang this bit.)—BECAUSE HE’S A BOLLIX.
–Are yis ready?
–Ah stop, Jimmy.
–Well, I’ve been busy for the last couple o’ nights.
–Yeh dirty man, said Deco.
Billy thumped him.
–I’ve been negotiatin’, said Jimmy.
–Janey!
–That’ll make yeh deaf.
They laughed, but only for a little while.
–I’ve got us a venue for our first gig.
–Fuckin’ great!
There were cheers and grins.
–When?
–Tomorrow week.
–Fuckin’ hell!
–It has to be then, said Jimmy.—Because the bingo caller—yeh know Hopalong—him, he’s goin’ into hospital for the weekend to get a tap put into his kidneys or somethin’, so it’s the only nigh’ the place is free.
–The community centre?
–Yeah.
–Tha’ kip!
–From little acorns, Brothers and Sisters, said Joey The Lips.
–Barrytown Square Garden, wha’, said Outspan.
–Hang on, said Derek.—No slaggin’. It’ll do for a start.—Thanks, Jimmy.
–Yeah. Thanks, Jim.
–No sweat.
–We bring the music to the people, said Joey The Lips.—We go to them. We go to their community centre. That’s soul.
–No one goes there, Joey, said Outspan.—’cept the oul’ ones tha’ play the bingo.
–An’ the soccer. They change there, said Derek.—An’ the operetta society, an’ the Vinny de Paul.
–An’ Hopalong, said Natalie.
–He’s stickin’ it into your woman from the shop, Colette, did yis know tha’?
–He is NOT, said Bernie.
–He fuckin’ is.
–Good Jesus, that’s disgustin’.
–No wonder he limps, wha’.
–Our first gig, said Dean.—Our first gig.
–Who did yeh have to talk to abou’ the hall, Jimmy? James asked.
–Father Molloy.
–Oh fuck! Father Paddy, said Outspan.—The singin’ priest, he explained to the lads who weren’t from Barrytown.
Derek began to sing.
–MOR—
NIN’ HAS—
BROKE—
EN—LIKE THE FIRST MOR—
HOR—HOR—NIN’—
BLACK BIRD ON—
TREE TOP—
HAS HAD ITS FIRST CRAP—
–The folk mass, Outspan explained to the lads.—Fuckin’ desperate.
–Oh yeah, said Billy.—Is tha’ the one you got flung ou’ of?
–That’s it, said James.
–Did he brown yeh, Jimmy? Outspan asked
.
–No. He just ran his fingers through me curly fellas.
–Aah!! Stop tha’! said Natalie.
–How much is it goin’ to cost? Deco asked.
–Nothin’.
–That’s super.
–How come?
–I told him it was part o’ the Anti-Heroin Campaign.
–Yeh fuckin’ chancer, yeh.
They all stood back and admired Jimmy.
–Well, it is, said Jimmy.—We’ll have our Heroin Kills banner. Me little brother, Darren—he’s an awful little prick—he’s goin’ to do it in school. An art project, like. An’ a few posters for the walls an’ things.
–Good man, Jimmy.
–There’s one thing but, said Jimmy.—I told Father Molloy we’d do a folk mass for him.
–No way!
–Only messin’.—Northside News are sendin’ someone ou’ to see us. An’ a photographer.
–How come?
–I told them abou’ it. Phoned them up.
–Jaysis, fair play to yeh.
–I’ll be scarleh, said Bernie.
–I haven’t saved enough for me suit, said Derek.
–We can hire them for this one, said Jimmy.—
We’ll get the bread back on the door.
–Bread! said Billy.—Yeh fuckin’ hippy.
–Fuck up.
–Well, Brothers and Sisters, said Joey The Lips.—Let’s hear it for our manager, Brother J. Rabbitte, and let’s hear it for Brother Hopalong’s kidneys too.
The Commitments clapped.
–Brother Hopalong’s kidneys are soul.
* * *
The Commitments rehearsed every night of the last week. They began to shout and throw the head when someone made a mistake and they had to start all over again. But Joey The Lips kept them short of panic stations. He said Stay Cool a lot during the week.
–Stay cool, my man, said Joey The Lips.
Deco had just roared at Billy who had just knocked over the snare drum.
–He’s a fuckin’ eejit, Joey, Deco shouted.
–Joey, said Billy.—I said it before, it’s one o’ the risks yis have to take. It’s part o’ me style. These sort o’ accidents are likely to happen. I told yis tha’.
He now addressed Deco.
–An’ here, you, George Michael. If yeh ever call me a fuckin’ eejit again you’ll go home with a drumstick up your hole. The one yeh don’t sing ou’ of.
He started to pick up the drum.
–The one yeh talk ou’ of.
–That’ll be the day, pal.
–It’s comin’. I’m tellin’ yeh.
–Maybe.
–Yeh’d want to have your vaseline with yeh the next time.—Can we continue now, can we, please?