The Barrytown Trilogy (11 page)

* * *

There was nothing for a few weeks.

The Commitments rehearsed.

Jimmy did the round of the music pubs in town. One of them only did heavy metal groups. The manager explained to Jimmy that the heavy metal crowd was older and very well behaved, and drank like fish.

A barman in another one told Jimmy that the manager only booked groups that modelled themselves on Echo and The Bunnymen because they were always reviewed and the reviews usually included praise for the manager and his pioneering work.

On the fourth night Jimmy found a pub that would take The Commitments for one night, a Thursday, no fee, but three free pints each. The head barman was a big Motown fan and he and the Northside News headline (Soul Soldiers of Destiny) convinced the owner.

Jimmy couldn’t figure out how it got the name The Regency Rooms. There was only one room, about ten times bigger than his bedroom. The walls were stained and bare. The floor was stained and bare. The stools and chairs showed their guts. The stage was a foot-high plywood platform.

—They won’t all fit, said Mickah.

—I know tha’, said Jimmy. —Billy will, an’ the girls an’ Outspan an’ Derek. Put the piano over there at the jacks door, righ’, an’ Joey an’ Dean can go over there an’ Deco in the middle. An’ the mixer on the table there.

—Good thinkin’.

When the head barman came in to work he went for Jimmy.

—You didn’t tell us it was a fuckin’ orchestra we were bookin’, he screamed.

—I thought yeh’d know, said Jimmy. —Yeh said yeh were a Motown fan.

—The wife has The Supremes’ Greatest Hits. ———It’s the same size as any other record.

—We’ve squashed them all in, said Jimmy.

—Yeah. ——An’ yis still take up half the fuckin’ pub. ——Look. The piano. ——Yeh’d usually get abou’ twenty into tha’ corner.

—Yeh would in your bollix, said Mickah. —Fuckin’ leprechauns maybe. ——Or test-tube babies.

—Mickah.

—Wha’?

—The drums.

—Okay.

—Anyway, said the head barman when Mickah was a safe distance away,—this is the last time yis’ll be playin’ here. Nothin’ personal now but we can’t afford the space. We usually do groups with just three in them.

He thought of something else.

—Another thing. ——There’s no way we’re givin’ yis three pints each. We couldn’t. ——One’ll have to do.

—Ah, fuck tha’! said Jimmy.

—There’s millions of yis, said the head barman. ———You can have the three though. Just make it look like you’re payin’ me.

Jimmy looked around him.

—Okay. ——Done.

There was a good crowd. Thirty would have been a great crowd in this place. The room was packed solid. The ones standing up had to hold their glasses up above their shoulders.

—An older bunch this time, Jimmy pointed out. —This’ll be a better concert ——gig. More adult orientated. Know wha’ I mean?

The Commitments stood around the platform waiting for the go ahead from the head barman.

—These people have votes, said Jimmy. —This is our real audience.

Outspan stood on the platform searching the crowd for his mother. He didn’t think she’d have the neck to come to this one but he wanted to make sure.

Jimmy picked his way over to Mickah.

—Listen, he said. —They have their own bouncer here so——just enjoy the show, righ’.

—I was talkin’ to him, Mickah told him. —He’s goin’ to give me a shout if there’s anny messin’.

—That’ll be nice, said Jimmy.

He got behind his desk. A mike screeched.

It was half-nine. The head barman gave Jimmy the nod. Jimmy got up and took Deco’s mike.

—Ladies an’ gentlemen, The Regency Rooms presents, all the way from Dublin (that didn’t get the laughs he’d been expecting), The Hardest Workin’ Band in the World, The Saviours of Soul ——Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, ———The Commitments.

They were sharper this time. Billy knew what he was doing. Outspan didn’t have his ma gawking up at him. Deco was hemmed in by tables on three sides and by Dean and Joey The Lips behind him. He couldn’t budge. There’d be no accidents tonight.

Natalie fell off the platform. But it wasn’t an accident. Imelda pushed her. They were only messing.

The songs were going down well. They were sticking to the classics, the ones everyone knew. The Dublined lyrics were welcomed with laughter and, towards closing time, cheers and clapping. The Commitmentettes were whistled at, but politely.

One man roared: —Get them off yeh!

Mickah advised him to stay quiet.

Deco’s between-songs chat was better. Jimmy and Joey The Lips had been coaching him.

He was still a prick though, Jimmy had to admit to Mickah.

Night Train was a very big hit. There wasn’t room for an audience train but the ones standing rocked up and down and the ones sitting stood.

It was over. The Commitments couldn’t leave the stage, unless they all piled into the jacks, so they stayed at the platform while the audience clapped and cheered, and waited for Jimmy to take over.

—More!

—Yes, Yes, Yes, ladies an’ gentlemen —— comrades. You’ve heard the people’s music tonight. ———The Commitments, ladies an’ gentlemen. ——The Saviours o’ Soul. ——Do yis want to hear more?

They wanted more.

Jimmy handed Deco the mike.

—Introduce the lads.

—Okay, said Deco into the mike. —I’d better introduce the rest. ——On drums, Billy Mooney. ——On guitar ——If yeh could hear it, ha ha ——Outspan sorry, L. Terence Foster. Derek, there on bass. ——James Soul Surgeon Clifford is the specky guy on the joanna.

Each Commitment was being clapped but The Commitments weren’t hearing it. All Commitment eyes were burning Deco. This wasn’t what they’d rehearsed, at all.

—Dean Fay on the sax there, righ’, an’ Joey The Lips Fagan on the trumpet. Joey on the horn, wha’. ——An’ they’re Tanya, Sonya an’ Sofia, The Commitmentettes. I’m Deco Blanketman Cuffe and we are The Commitments. This one’s called When a Man Loves a Woman.

Deco climbed up on a vacant stool.

—THU —CUDADUNG CUDADUNG CUDADUNG —

Billy blammed out the Reach Out — I’ll Be There beat, then stopped. He got out from behind the drums and went across to the jacks.

James played, then Derek, then Deco started to sing.

—WHEN A MA — HAN LOVES A WO —
MAN——

CAN’T KEEP HIS MIND ON NOTHIN’ EH — ELSE——

HE’LL CHANGE THE WORLD —

FOR THE GOOD THINGS HE’S FOU —HOUND——

IF SHE’S BA —HAD HE CAN’T SEE —
IT———

SHE CAN DO NO WRO — O — ON — NG——

TURN HIS BACK ON HIS BEST FRIEND IF HE PUT HER DOWN ———

It was beautiful. Jimmy blinked. The Commitments were forgiving Deco. Billy was still in the jacks though. The head barman sent a fourth pint over to Jimmy, and even one for Mickah.

—WHEN THIS —
MAN LOVES THIS WO —
      MAN ———

Outspan’s rhythm playing was just right here, light and jangly.

—AN’ GIVES HER EVERYTHING ON EARTH ———

Outspan swayed.

—TRYIN’ TO HOLD ONTO ——
YOUR —
CROCK O’ GOLD ——
BABY—
PLEASE DON’T —
TREAT ME BA—AA—AA—AAD ———

The crowd oohed.

—WHEN A MA — HAN LOVES A WO —
MAN

HE’LL BUY HER LOADS O’ SWE — EE — EETS ——

HE’LL EVEN BRING HER TO STUPID PLACES LIKE THE ZOO — OO——

HE’LL SPEND ALL HIS WAGES ON —
HER——

BUT DON’T LET HIM SEE YEH LOOKIN’ AT HER——

COS HE’LL GET A HAMMER AN’ HE’LL FUCKIN’ CREASE YOU ——

No one laughed. It wasn’t funny. It was true.

—YES WHEN A MA —HAN LOVES A
WO—MAN—

I KNOW EXACTLY HOW HE FEEL — YELLS —

COS —

BABY —

BABY —

BABY

I LOVE YOU ———

It was over. The lights went off and on and off and on. Friends came up to congratulate The Commitments.

—You’ve a great voice, a woman told Deco.

—I don’t need you to tell me that, said Deco.

Billy came out of the jacks. Before he could be asked if he was alright, he’d made it over to his drums and picked up a stick. He stepped over to Deco and started to hit him on the neck and shoulders with it.

He chanted as he walloped.

—I’m Billy—— The Animal Mooney, d’yeh ———hear me? Billy The—— Animal Mooney an’ we all ———have stage names an’ you know fuckin’ ————well wha’ they are, yeh lousy ——bollix yeh, we’re not your group, we’re ———not your fuckin’ ——group——

Mickah held his arms down. Deco got out from under him.

—Yeh were lookin’ for that, said Jimmy.

—What did I do now? Deco asked.

—Oh look it! said Bernie. —He’s after burstin’ one of his plukes.

Most of The Commitments laughed.

—Yeh didn’t introduce the group properly, said Jimmy.

—I forgot.

—Fuck off!

—I was oney jokin’. Yis have no sense o’ humour, d’yis know tha’?

—An’ you have? Outspan asked.

—Yeah.

—You’ve a big head too, pal.

—You’re just jealous——

—Fuck off.

—All o’ yis.

—Enough, said Joey The Lips.

—Jealous o’ you? ——Huh——

—Enough.

—Joey’s righ’, said Jimmy. —We’ll meet tomorrow nigh’ an’ have this ou’.

Deco left.

—Watch ou’ for the fans, Derek shouted after him.

Mickah let go of Billy.

—He’s ruinin’ everythin’, Jimmy, said Billy. —I’m sorry abou’ tha’, yeh know. But I’m sick of him. It was great an’ then he ———He’s a fuckin’ cunt.

—That’s an accurate description, said James.

—I’ll kill him the next time, said Billy. —I will. ——I will now.

—He’s not worth it, said Derek.

—He is, Billy, said Imelda. —Kill him.

—Ah, for fuck sake! said Jimmy.

—I’m oney messin’, said Imelda. —Don’t kill him, Billy.

—Yeah, said Natalie. —Just give him a hidin’.

—I’ll do tha’ for yis if yeh want, said Mickah.

—Brothers, said Joey The Lips.

His palms were lifted. The Commitments were ready to listen to him.

—Now, Brother Deco might not be the most likeable of the Brothers——

—He’s a prick, Joey.

—He is, Brother Dean. I admit I agree. Brother Deco is a prick. He is a prick. But the voice, Brothers and Sisters. ——His voice is not the voice of a prick. That voice belongs to God.

No one argued with him.

—We need him, Brothers. We need the voice.

—Pity abou’ the rest of him.

—Granted.

—I’ll talk to him tomorrow at work, said Jimmy.

—Tell him I’ll kill him.

* * *

The Commitments got a mention in the Herald.

—The Commitments, said the mention,—played a strong Motown(ish) set. New to the live scene, they were at times ragged but always energetic. Their suits didn’t fit them properly. My companion fell in love with the vocalist, a star surely in the ascendant. I hate him! (—Oh fuck! said Jimmy.) Warts and all, The Commitments are a good time. They might also be important. See them.

* * *

Armed with this and the Northside News article, Jimmy got The Commitments a Wednesday night in another pub, a bigger one, The Miami Vice (until recently The Dark Rosaleen). It was a bit on the southside, but near the DART.

The Commitments went down well again. Deco stuck to the rehearsed lines. Everyone went home happy.

They were given a month’s residency, Wednesdays. They could charge two pounds admission if they could fill the pub the first night.

They filled it.

A certain type of audience was coming to see them. The crowds reminded Jimmy of the ones he’d been part of at the old Blades gigs. They were older and wiser now, grown-up mods. Their clothes were more adventurous but they were still neat and tidy. The women’s hairstyles were more varied. They weren’t really modettes any more.

A good audience, Jimmy decided. The mods and ex-mods knew good music when they heard it. Their dress was strict but they listened to anything good, only, mind you, if the musicians dressed neatly.

The Commitments were neat. Jimmy was happy with the audience. So was Joey The Lips. These were The People.

Another thing Jimmy noticed: they were shouting for Night Train.

—NIGH’ TRAIN, Deco screeched.
OH SWEE’ MOTHER O’ JAYSIS —
NIGH’ TRAIN —
OH SWEE’ MOTHER O’ FUCKIN’ JAYSIS —
NIGH’ TRAIN —
NIGH’ TRAIN —
NIGH’ TRAIN ——
COME ON ——

The Commitmentettes lifted their right arms and pulled the whistle cords.

—WHHWOO WOOO ——

—NIGH’

Deco wiped his forehead and opened his neck buttons.

—TRAIN.

—More!

—MORE!

They shouted for more, but that was it. Three times in one night was enough.

—Thank y’awl, said Deco. —We’re The Commitments.——Good nigh’ an’ God bless.

—We should make a few shillin’s next week an’ annyway, wha’, said Mickah.

He was collecting the mikes.

—Brother Jimmy, said Joey The Lips. —I’m worried. ——About Dean.

—Wha’ abou’ Dean?

—He told me he’s been listening to jazz.

—What’s wrong with tha’? Jimmy wanted to know.

—Everything, said Joey The Lips. —Jazz is the antithesis of soul.

—I beg your fuckin’ pardon!

—I’ll go along with Joey there, said Mickah.

—See, said Joey The Lips. —Soul is the people’s music. Ordinary people making music for ordinary people. —Simple music. Any Brother can play it. The Motown sound, it’s simple. Thump-thump-thump-thump. ——That’s straight time. Thump-thump-thump-thump. ——See? Soul is democratic, Jimmy. Anyone with a bin lid can play it. It’s the people’s music.

—Yeh don’t need anny honours in your Inter to play soul, isn’t tha’ wha’ you’re gettin’ at, Joey?

—That’s right, Brother Michael.

—Mickah.

—Brother Mickah. That’s right. You don’t need a doctorate to be a doctor of soul.

—Nice one.

—An’ what’s wrong with jazz? Jimmy asked.

—Intellectual music, said Joey The Lips. —It’s anti-people music. It’s abstract.

—It’s cold an’ emotionless, amn’t I righ’? said Mickah.

—You are. ——It’s got no soul. It is sound for the sake of sound. It has no meaning. ——It’s musical wanking, Brother.

—Musical wankin’, said Mickah. —That’s good. ——Here, yeh could play tha’ at the Christmas parties. ——Instead o’ musical chairs.