–Right, said the sap.

He had a notebook.

–When were you formed?

–Some months back, said Joey The Lips.

–How did the band come about?

Jimmy spoke.—Well, I put an—

–Destiny, said Joey The Lips.—It was destined to happen.

Jimmy liked the sound of that so he let Joey The Lips keep talking.

–My man, said Joey The Lips.—We are a band with a mission.

–A mission?

–You hear good and you hear right.

The sap looked to Jimmy but Jimmy said nothing.

–What kind of mission d’you mean?

–An important mission, Brother.

Jimmy leaned over to Joey The Lips and whispered:—Don’t mention God.

Joey The Lips smiled.

–We are bringing Soul to Dublin, Brother, he said.—We are bringing the music, the Soul, back to the people.—The proletariat.—That’s p,r,o,l,e,t,a,r,i,a,t.

–Thanks a lot.

Jimmy spoke.—We’re against racial and sexual discrimination an’ heroin, isn’t tha’ righ’, Joey?

–That is right, said Joey The Lips.

–We ain’t gonna play Sun City, said Jimmy.

–Tell the people, Joey The Lips told the sap,—to put on their soul shoes because The Commitments are coming and there’s going to be dancing in the streets.

–This’ll make good copy, said the sap.

–And there’ll be barricades in the streets too, said Joey The Lips.—Now you’ve got great copy.

–Wow, said the sap.—Nice one.—When’s your next gig?

–My friend, said Joey The Lips.—We are the Guerrillas of Soul. We do not announce our gigs. We hit, and then we sink back into the night.

Jimmy tapped the sap’s shoulder.

–I think there’s a U in Guerrillas.

–Oh yeah.—Thanks a lot.

–Do yeh want to take a few photographs?

–Yeah, right.

–Joey, make sure their ties are all on straigh’, will yeh?

–I obey.

Joey The Lips sat on a chair. The Commitments kneeled and stood around him. Bernie sat on his knee. Imelda lay in front of him, leaning on an elbow, chin in her hand, hair in her eyes. Natalie did the same, in the opposite direction. Jimmy, Mickah, the caretaker and Mrs Foster stood at the sides, like football managers and magic-sponge men. That way they all fitted.

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.