–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 tha’, 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 tha’, said Jimmy.

–Wha’ did I do now? Deco asked.

–Oh look it! said Bemie.—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.