DUUH DU DUHH —
DEH —
DU DU DUUH —
— OOH WHEN YEH FEE — IL LIKE YEH CAN’T GO —
OH ON —
The Commitmentettes: — CAN’T GO OHON —
— JUST COS ALL O’ YOUR HOPE IS —
GOHON
— Ah fuck! Wha’ now?
— Me string’s gone again, said Outspan.
— Fuck you an’ your string.
— Stay cool, said Joey The Lips.
* * *
There was a little saxophone in each corner of the poster.
— Saturday, 24 March, it said across the top. — In The Community Centre, The Hardest Working Band In The World, The Saviours Of Soul, The Commitments. Admission: £2, (Unwaged: £1). Bringing The People’s Music To The People.
* * *
— I hate him, said Billy.
— We all do, for fuck sake, said Jimmy.
— Really, I mean. — I really hate him.
— We all do, I’m tellin yeh.
— Enough to kill him?
— Maybe not tha’ much.
— I’d fuckin’ kill him. I fuckin’ would.
— Who’d do the singin’ then?
— Good thinkin’.
* * *
— It’s a pity we don’t do anny songs of our own, isn’t it? said Outspan, during a break.
— Yeah.
— A song belongs to no man, said Joey The Lips.
— The Lord holds copyright on all songs.
— Me arse, said Outspan.
— We have the Dublin bits, said Derek.
— True.
* * *
— We’ll need a Brother to do the mix, said Joey The Lips.
— We have one, said Jimmy.
— Who?
— Me.
— Good good.
— Wha’ do you know abou’ it? said Outspan.
— Fuck all, said Jimmy. — But I got an honour in science in me Inter.
* * *
Deco had bought his suit. He bought the shirt and bow on the Thursday before the gig. The other Commitments managed to get into town to hire their suits.
Joey The Lips got one of his dress suits dry-cleaned. Dean crawled in under his bed and found the one he’d flung under there. He soaked the jacket till the muck was nearly all gone. Then he brought it down to the cleaners.
Black shoes were polished or bought or borrowed.
* * *
Friday was a dress rehearsal.
Joey The Lips was already dressed when The Commitments got there.
— Oh my Jaysis, Joey, wha’! said Outspan.
— Yeh look like Dickie Davis, said Dean.
— I don’t know the dude, said Joey The Lips. — But I accept the compliment. Thank you, Brother.
— Yeh look gorgeous, Joey, said Imelda.
— Joey? said Outspan. — How do yeh get your hankie to go like tha’? I can’t get mine like tha’.
Joey The Lips let the girls into the kitchen to change. The lads changed in the garage. There was a lot of slagging of underpants and so on. None of them played football so it was a good while since they’d dressed in this way. They enjoyed it.
— Jaysis, look at those skid marks.
— Fuck off.
— Come here till I ride yeh, yeh lovely young fella, yeh.
— Fuck off, will yeh.
— Where’s it gone? said Outspan.
— Wha’?
— Me knob. — I could’ve sworn I tucked it into me sock before I came ou’.
James joined in the crack too.
— Do yeh know wha’ the Latin is for tha’ weapon yeh have on yeh there?
The small door to the kitchen was knocked.
— Can we come in? Imelda asked.
The lads cheered, and thumped and kicked each other.
Deco cupped his crotch in both hands (although one could have done) and roared — I’ve a bugle here yeh can blow on, ’melda.
— Fuck yourself, Natalie roared.
— Jaysis, Cuffe, take it easy. For fuck sake!
— I’ve an arse here yeh can kiss, Imelda shouted back from behind the door. — Can we come in?
— No.
— Enter, Sisters.
— Well, we’re comin’.
Deco cheered.
Imelda was first (—Good fuck!), then Natalie (—Fair fuckin’ play to yis, girls), then Bernie.
— I’m scarleh, said Bernie.
The girls were stunning; very tight black skirts to just above the knee with an extension at the back so they could walk, black sleeveless tops, hair held up, except the fringe, as near to the Ronettes as they could manage, black high heels, loads of black eye shadow, very red lipstick.
They were blushing.
Joey The Lips applauded.
Jimmy spoke. — Well, as James says, It don’t mean nothin’ without a woman or a girl.
— I never said tha’, said James.
— James Brown, yeh dick.
The girls admired the suits. There was lots of giggling and redners.
Joey The Lips did their breast pocket hankies for them.
One of Billy’s trouser legs was longer than the other.
— Ah, fuck tha’, he said.
He looked very disappointed.
— You’ll be behind the drums.
— They’ll still see me legs.
— I’ll fix it up for yeh tomorrow, said Natalie.
— Will yeh? — Thanks.
They played better in the suits. They were more careful, and considerate. Deco’s suit seemed to pin him more to one spot. This was good. In his track-suit he hopped around the garage and got in the way and on the nerves. Dean swapped jackets with Jimmy. (—Why have you got a suit? Outspan asked Jimmy.
— Soul is dignity, said Jimmy.
— This is a great fuckin’ group, said Outspan. — I must say. Even the skivvies wear fuckin’ monkey suits.
— I’m no skivvy, said Jimmy. — I’m your fuckin’ manager, pal.
— An’ don’t you forget it, said James.
— Fuckin’ righ’, said Jimmy.) There was more room in Jimmy’s jacket so Dean could still lift the sax up high. Billy didn’t knock over any drums.
Joey The Lips showed Jimmy how to use the mixer.
— So all I have to do is push these lads up or down a bit when the sound’s a bit gammy?
— That’s correct, said Joey The Lips.
— That’s great, said Jimmy. — There’s nothin’ to it. Anny fuckin’ dope could do tha’. I might even pull a few birds this way, wha’. Wha’ d’yeh think? Blind them with science, wha’.
— It works, my man. — It works.
They finished early, got back into their civvies, and went for a drink.
* * *
Kick-off was at half-seven.
The Commitments said they’d meet at the hall at six. Jimmy was there at five, his dress suit hidden by a snorkel jacket he hadn’t worn since he’d left school.
Billy arrived soon after with Dean. Billy had his van from work. They got the gear out but they left Joey The Lips’ mother’s piano in the van until some more arrived to help them.
At half-five the caretaker appeared out of a door beside the stage.
— Wha’ do youse want? the caretaker asked.
He saw the drums.
— That’s not the bingo stuff.
— There’s no bingo tonigh’, pal, said Jimmy.
— It’s Sahurday but, said the caretaker.
He took his Press out of his jacket pocket and looked at the date.
— Yeah. — Sahurday.
Jimmy explained. — Hopa — The fella tha’ calls the numbers is in hospital so Father Molloy said we could have the hall for the nigh’.
— He told me nothin’ abou’ it, said the caretaker. — So yis can take your bongos off o’ the stage there an’ the rest o’ your tackle with it an’ get ou’. As far as I’m concerned there’s bingo tonigh’. Until I’m officially told otherwise.
— Why don’t yeh go across an’ ask him? said Jimmy.
Father Molloy’s house was right across the road.