The Barrytown Trilogy by Roddy Doyle

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