The Commitments (13 page)

—It’s the flowers on his shirt he’s protectin’ his eyes from, said Deco.

—Leave him alone. It’s lovely.

Jimmy clapped his hands.

—Let’s get goin’. ——Come on. We’ll keep it short.

—Yeah, said Bernie. —Rehearsals are borin’.

—We need some fresh tunes, said Joey The Lips. He patted Bernie’s shoulder.

—Let’s break Mickah in first, said Jimmy.

—That’s Washin’ton D.C. durin’ office hours, said Mickah.

He was behind the drum. There was only the one.

—Can we call yeh Washah for short? said Outspan.

—Yeh can, said Mickah, —but you’ll get a hidin’ for yourself.

—Washin’ton D.C., said Derek. —That’s a deadly name, Mickah.

Mickah smacked the drum.

—Nothin’ to it.

He smacked it again.

—That’s fuckin’ grand. ——Child’s play.

—Try it with both sticks.

He did.

—There. ——How was tha’?

—Grand.

—Can we go home now? said Mickah.

Mickah was a good addition. The Commitments liked him and his enthusiasm came at the right time.

They enjoyed his mistakes and his questions. They
rehearsed again on Monday night. They wanted Mickah ready for Wednesday.

Mickah took the drum home with him. His da, the only harder man than Mickah in Barrytown, burned the sticks. His ma bought him a new set.

*   *   *

The Commitments were a revitalized outfit on the third Wednesday of the residency. They all arrived on time. The Commitmentettes had new tights, with little black butterflies behind the ankles. Mickah wore Jimmy’s suit. James had a bottle of Mister Sheen. He polished the piano.

—More elbow grease there, said Outspan.

Jimmy took in the money at the door, one hundred and forty-six pounds. That meant thirteen more people than the week before. And that didn’t include Hot Press and the three others with him he’d let in for nothing.

The Commitments played well.

Outspan and Derek had become very confident. The Commitmentettes were brilliant. They looked great, very glossy, and their sense of humour showed in their stage movements.

They were enjoying themselves.

Mickah tapped and thumped happily on the drum, sometimes using his fingers or his fist, once his forehead. His shoulders jumped as he drummed, way up over his ears.

One thing spoiled Jimmy’s enjoyment: Dean’s solo in Stop in the Name of Love. The Commitmentettes were at their best. They raised their right hands every
time they sang STOP. Then they’d spin quickly before they continued with IN THE NAME OF LOVE. Mickah kept his eyes on them and his timing and their timing were perfect.

Dean’s solo was good. It was really good, but it was new. It wasn’t the one he’d always done.

Joey The Lips explained what was wrong with it later.

—Soul solos have corners. They fit into the thump-thump-thump-thump. The solo is part of the song. Are you with me?

—No.

—Strictly speaking, Brother, soul solos aren’t really solos at all.

—Ah, Jaysis, Joey ——

—Shhh——There are no gaps in soul. If it doesn’t fit it isn’t used. Soul is community. As Little Richard says, If It Don’t Fit Don’t Force It. Do you understand now?

—Sort of.

—Dean’s solo didn’t have corners. It didn’t fit. It spiralled. It wasn’t part of the song. ——It wasn’t part of anything. It was a real solo. Washington D.C.’s drumming wasn’t there as far as it was concerned. ——That’s jazz, Brother. That’s what jazz does. It makes the man selfish. He doesn’t give a fuck about his Brothers. That’s what jazz is doing to Dean, said Joey The Lips. —Poor Dean.

The Commitments finished with It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World. Mickah stood back. James gave the beat out here.

—DOOM — DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH —

  DOOM — DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH —

Deco sang: —THIS IS A MAN — AN’S WORLD——

The Commitmentettes shook their heads.

—DOOM — DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH —

  DOOM — DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH —

—THIS IS A MA — AN’S WORLD ——

The girls shook their heads again. Some men in the audience cheered.

—BUT IT WOULDN’T BE NOTHIN’ —

  NOTHIN’ ——

  WITHOU’ ——

   A WOMAN OR A GURL ——

The Commitmentettes nodded. They turned to look at Deco. He was facing them.

—YEH KNOW ——

  MAN MADE THE CAR —

  THA’ TAKES US ONTO THE RO — OAD ——

  MAN MADE THE TRAY —AY — YAIN —

  TO CARRY THE HEAVY LOAD ——

—DOOM — DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH —

  DOOM —— DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH ——

The Commitmentettes turned their backs on Deco. He pleaded with them.

—MAN MADE THE ’LECTRIC LIGH’ ——

The girls looked over their shoulders at him.

—TO TAKE US OU’ O’ THE DA — HARK ——

  MAN MADE THE BOAT FOR THE WAT — HAH ——

  LIKE NOAH MADE THE AH — ARK ——

Outspan plucked the guitar like a harp.

—COS IT’S A MAN’S —

MAN’S —

   MAN’S WORLD ——

  BUT IT WOULDN’T BE NOTHIN’ —

  NOTHIN’ ——

  WITHOU’ A WOMAN OR A GURREL ——

The girls swayed and nodded. Mickah swayed and nodded.

—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. They’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.