–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.

–What’s Dean been listenin’ to? Jimmy asked.

–Charlie Parker.

–He’s supposed to be good but.

–Good! Joey The Lips gasped.—The man had no right to his black skin.

Joey The Lips was getting worked up. It was some sight. They stood back and enjoyed it.

–They should have burnt it off with a fucking blow lamp.

–Language, Joey!

–Polyrhythms! Polyrhythms! I ask you! That’s not the people’s sound.—Those polyrhythms went through Brother Parker’s legs and up his ass.—

And who did he play to? I’ll tell you, middle-class white kids with little beards and berets. In jazz clubs. Jazz clubs! They didn’t even clap. They clicked tbeir fingers.

Joey The Lips clicked his fingers.

–Like that.—I’ll tell you something, Brothers.—I’ve never told anyone this before.

They waited.

–The biggest regret of my life is that I wasn’t born black.

–Is tha’ righ’, Joey?

–Charlie Parker was born black. A beautiful, shiny, bluey sort of black.—And he could play. He could play alright. But he abused it, he spat on it. He turned his back on his people so he could entertain hip honky brats and intellectuals.—Jazz! It’s decadent.—

The Russians were right. They banned it.

Joey The Lips was calmer now. He stopped picking at his sleeve.

–The Bird! he spat.—And that’s what poor Dean is listening to.

–Sounds bad alrigh’.

–Oh, it’s bad.—Very bad. Parker, John Coltrane—Herbie Hancock—and the biggest motherfucker of them all, Miles Davis.

–Em, why does it worry you, exactly?

–We’re going to lose him.

–Wha’ d’yeh mean?

–Dean is going to become a Jazz Purist.

The words almost made Joey The Lips retch.

–He won’t want to play for the people any more. Dean has soul but he’s going to kill it if he listens to jazz. Jazz is for the mind.

–Wha’ can we do? said Jimmy.

–We can give him a few digs, said Mickah.

–Mickah.

–Wha’?

–The drums.

–Okay.

Hot Press came to the second gig of the residency, and paid in because Mickah wouldn’t believe him.

–I’m from the Hot Press.

–I’m from the kitchen press, said Mickah.—It’s two quid or fuck off.

Mickah took in one hundred and twenty pounds. It made a great bulge in his shirt pocket. He showed it to James.

–The big time, wha’.

Jimmy studied Dean for tell-tale signs. There weren’t many, but they were there. Dean hunched over the sax now, protecting it. He used to throw it up and out and pull himself back, to let everyone see its shininess. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be sitting on a stool when he was playing. The stool definitely wasn’t soul furniture. Jimmy was upset. He liked Dean.

Deco was his usual self. It was a pity his voice was so good. Jimmy didn’t pay much attention to Billy.

This was a pity. Because Billy left The Commitments, just before the encore.

–On yeh go, Bill, said Jimmy.

–I can’t, said Billy.

–Why not?

–I’ve left.

A long gap, then—Wha’?

–I’ve left. I’m not goin’ back on.—I’ve left.

–Jaysis! said Jimmy.

When a Man Loves a Woman didn’t need drums.

–James, Jimmy roared.—Fire away.

–Now, said Jimmy.—Tell your Uncle Jimmy all abou’ it.

–I just—

Jimmy could see Billy thinking.

–It’s just—I hate him, Jimmy. I fuckin’ hate him—I can’t even sleep at nigh’.

Billy’s face was clenched.

–Why’s tha’?

–I stay awake tryin’ to think o’ better ways to hate him.—Imaginin’, yeh know, ways to kill him.

Billy looked straight at Jimmy.

–I phoned his house yesterday. Can yeh believe tha’? I never done ann’thin’ like tha’ before. No way.—His oul’ one—I s’pose it was his oul’ one annyway—answered. I said nothin’.—I just listened.

–Yeh’d want to get a grip on yourself, son. You’re talkin’ like a fuckin’ spacer.

–I know, I fuckin’ know. Do yeh not think I know?—That’s why I’ve left. I never want to have to look at the cunt again.—Want to get him ou’ o’ me life, know wha’ I mean?—I made up me mind durin’ I Thank You. The way he was shovin’ his arse into your women at the front. It was fuckin’ disgustin’.—Annyway I’ve left, so—I’ve left.

–He’s not worth hatin’.

–He fuckin’ is, yeh know.

Jimmy looked at Billy. He’d left alright. There was no point trying to talk him back in. That made Jimmy angry.

–Annyone can play the drums, Billy.—So fuck off.

–Ah, Jimmy!

–Go an’ shite.

–I want me drums.

–After the gig.

–It’s my van, remember.

–We’ll hire a van. No, we’ll buy one. A better one than your scabby van.

Jimmy was going over to the platform but he turned back to Billy.

–A light blue one with The Commitments written on the side in dark blue. An’ Billy The Animal Mooney Is A Bollox on the back, righ’.

Billy said nothing.

When a Man Loves a Woman was over. They were going to do Knock on Wood now.

Jimmy got a drum stick and stood behind a snare drum.

The others watched.

–Righ’, said Jimmy.—Are yis righ’?

–BLAM—

–Come on.

–BLAM—

–James, come on.

–BLAM—

By the end of Knock on Wood Jimmy thought he’d proved his point: anyone could play the drums.

It had been a great gig, Hot Press told Jimmy. Dublin needed something like The Commitments, to get U2 out of its system. He’d be doing a review for the next issue. Then he asked for his two pounds back.

The Commitments didn’t see Billy again. He didn’t live in Barrytown.

Mickah called for Jimmy on Friday. There was a rehearsal in Joey The Lips’ mother’s garage. When they got to the bus stop Mickah spoke.

–Jimmy, have I ever asked yeh for annythin’?

–Yeah.

Mickah hadn’t banked on that answer.

–When?

–Yeh asked me for a lend o’ me red biro in school. To rule a margin because E.T. said as far as he was concerned your homework wasn’t done till it had a margin.

–Jimmy, said Mickah.—I’m bein’ serious. Now will yeh treat me with a little respect, okay. Now have I ever asked yeh for annythin’?

–No.

–That’s better.—Well, I’m goin’ to ask yeh for somethin’ now.

–I’ve no money.

–Jimmy, said Mickah.—I’m tryin’ me best. But I’m goin’ to have to hit yeh.

He was leaning into Jimmy.

–Wha’ is it? said Jimmy.

–Let me play the drums.

–I was goin’—

–Let me play the drums.

–Fair enough.

So Mickah was the new drummer. He even had a name for himself.

–Eh, Washin’ton D.C. Wallace.

The Commitments laughed. It was good.

–The D.C. stands for Dead Cool, said Mickah.

–Oh yeah, said Imelda.—That’s very clever, tha’ is.

They were waiting for Dean and James.

Joey The Lips spoke.—We have lost The Animal, Brothers and Sisters. We’ll miss him. But we have a goo’d man in his place, a city of a man. Washington D.C.

Jimmy took over.

–We’ve had our first crisis, righ’, but we’re over it. We’re still The Commitments. An’ we’re reachin’ our audience. Yeh saw tha’ yourselves on Wednesday.

Jimmy let them remember Wednesday for a bit. It had been a good night.

–We’ll dedicate our first album to Billy.

–We will in our holes, said Outspan.

–Ahh—why not? said Bernie.

–We’d have to pay him.