Revisiting “The Commitments”

St. Patrick’s Day may have come and gone, but it’s never too late to celebrate one particular film of Dublin’s musical scene, circa 1990. The story of the fictional band known as The Commitments mirrors the history of literally thousands of real-life bands throughout the British Isles. In industrial cities especially, from Dublin to Liverpool to Glasgow, unemployment among young people was remarkably high at the time, allowing precious few dreams for them to pursue with any realistic hope of breaking out from the bleakness. But one of those dreams has come via music, which has been a compelling outlet for restless (and sometimes talented) young people on both sides of the Atlantic since the late 1950s. In the eyes of many of those unemployed and disillusioned young people, music was an equal opportunity gateway to success, albeit with no guarantees.

The Commitments is simply a laugh-out loud funny and wonderful film, directed by Alan Parker (Fame, Mississippi Burning) who vividly captures the sights, sounds, and spirit of working-class Dublin as it was at the dawn of the 1990s. He helps us understand the circumstances under which bands sprang up in hope of finding a way out. The screenplay, by Roddy Doyle (based on his 1987 novel, part of his Barrytown Trilogy) was co-written by the legendary British comedy writing team of Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais.

The story first introduces us to Jimmy Rabbitte (Robert Arkins),   a young, ambitious music aficionado determined to organize and manage a soul band, and unwilling to let anything get in his way (whenever he finds himself alone, such as taking a bath, he carries on imaginary interviews with reporters eager to hear about his path to success). Jimmy places an ad in the local paper and, in a hilarious montage, is besieged with musical hopefuls of every size, shape, and style knocking at his door for an audition. Gradually, he sifts through Dublin’s more colorful characters and finds those with the most promise. He discovers his lead singer, Deco Cuffe (Andrew Strong)

singing in a drunken stupor at a wedding reception. Deco is a coarse, obnoxious slob, but Jimmy quickly spots his natural singing talent, and even a warped sort of charisma (Strong’s singing voice, facial expressions and body language instantly bring Joe Cocker to mind, even though Strong was only sixteen when the film was shot).

A bit later in the audition process, a trumpet player, Joey “The Lips” Fagan (the late Johnny Murphy), arrives. At least twice as old as the other fledgling band members, Joey talks like a homespun evangelist, and may or may not have played alongside most of the soul greats when he was in his prime, as he often claims.

As Jimmy assembles the band, he makes clear one unwavering rule: they are to play American soul music, and only soul music. He has no use for anything else. “Soul music is the music of the working class,” he explains,adding that it is the only real music Dubliners will connect with. He even has the group study films of James Brown performing onstage, including his oft-repeated mock collapse from prostration, and being escorted off by his assistants, draped in his cape (“He’s hurt, look–they’re helping him off!”) Jimmy prods them to aspire to such lofty heights, but the task has them all shifting uncomfortably.  “Aren’t we a bit…white for that kind of thing?” comes an inquiry. “The Irish are the blacks of Europe,” Jimmy explains, “and Dubliners are the blacks of Ireland. And the north side Dubliners are the blacks of Dublin.” He concludes by telling the bewildered band, “So say it once, and say it loud: I’m black and I’m proud.”

The Commitmentettes, l. to r.: Bernie (Bronagh Gallagher),Imelda (Angeline Ball), and Natalie (Maria Doyle Kennedy).

Once Joey christens the band The Commitments (which soon includes their three fetching female singers, The Commitmentettes), Jimmy guides them through the uncertain early stages of rehearsals, in a hall above the neighborhood poolroom, as he also finds venues for them to play. As if that’s not enough, he also needs to keep peace among all ten members.

What makes this such an enjoyable film, aside from the music–classics by the likes of Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, and Wilson Pickett, as sung and performed by the cast themselves–is seeing this ragtag group of hardened, foulmouthed, but well-meaning and likeable young people working together to realize their common dream, recognizing the need to set aside personality conflicts, egos, and jealousies for the good

of the band. This is particularly evident in their attitude towards Deco, whom they detest as a person, but who has earned their respect for his abilities as a singer, and who can whip just about any crowd into a joyous frenzy.

However, the band’s drummer, Bill Mooney (Dick Massey) becomes so fed up with Deco that he quits the band, taking his drums and van (which has served as their transportation) with him. The incident rattles Jimmy, but the band carries on, replacing Bill with their “savage” roadie, Mikah, who takes his aggressions out on the drums when he’s not enjoying a good barroom brawl.

As the group gains local recognition and support, it becomes impossible for us not to pull for them and cheer them on, hoping they’ll be able to suppress their intensifying personal clashes as they continue their climb. Above all,

Maria Doyle, the most experienced singer in the cast.

the music is the thing, and the musical performances themselves are full of energy and conviction. In addition to Strong, the fabulous and beautiful Maria Doyle as Natalie shines as she takes a turn or two on lead vocals, as does Angeline Ball. Considering how most of the cast at the time were either musicians with no acting experience, or actors with no musical experience, they are all superb, and gel wonderfully together, including those in smaller, quirky roles (you might recognize Colm Meany from the Star Trek TV spinoffs as Jimmy Rabbitte’s dad, and a young Andrea Corr, of the musical group the Corrs, as his younger sister).

So, if you’ve somehow missed out on this musical treat (which concludes with a thrilling, adrenaline-pumping performance) since its release in August of 1991, its about time to discover it for yourself; or, if it’s been a

number of years since you’ve seen it, revisit these underdog characters and enjoy their victories and defeats all over again (here are two clips to whet your appetite). Either way, make the commitment to see it.

Until next time…

Retro Review: The Musical Genius of Joe Jackson

For those of us who remember the musical explosion of the 1980s, due mostly to New Wave from the U.K., the name Joe Jackson should ring a bell. It’s been 40 years since he released his first album, Look Sharp!, which spawned the singles “Sunday Papers,” and the even bigger hit, “Is She Really Going Out With Him?”

Jackson’s early musical influences and training ranged from Beethoven to Duke Ellington. From the age of 11, when he first began learning to read and write music, taking violin lessons, and learning virtually any instrument placed before him, he had a voracious appetite for music.  With that first album, he was a little too conveniently lumped into the Punk Rock category, along with “angry” singer/songwriters like Elvis Costello. “Everyone was trying to tag me this bleedin’ ‘angry young man’ on the first album,” he told Musician magazine in ’82, “and it never made sense to me. I’m not an angry young man! I get angry sometimes, like anyone else. How can I be angry all the time?” In fact, he enjoyed injecting humor and irony into his lyrics, just for fun, which often escaped listeners’ attention. For instance, Is She Really… boasts a catchy melody and terrific blend of hard rock guitars and self-deprecating lyrics, as Jackson tells us:

“Tonight’s the night when I go to all the parties down my street/ I wash my hair and I kid myself I look really smooth…”

He quickly followed up with the LP I’m the Man, which included the catchy and thoughtful role-reversal single “It’s Different For Girls.” A third album, Beat Crazy, didn’t have a hit single or fare well commercially, but Jackson was never in it for piles of money and rock star adoration. He just wanted to write, arrange, and record the best music his could, without being pigeonholed into categories. His next several albums, indeed his work throughout the ’80s, gave us music that demonstrates remarkable talent, growth, and experimentation, with each album unique in style, presentation, and recording techniques.

In 1981, after making three rock albums in quick succession, he decided to recharge his creative batteries with Joe Jackson’s Jumpin’ Jive, an homage to the swing and “jump” jazz of the 1940s, popularized by the likes of Cab Calloway and Louis Jordan. Throughout the album of novelty songs and full-out stompin’ numbers, the band of young jazz musicians maintains an often hair-raising pace, with only occasional slower-tempo tunes to provide a respite from the wonderfully upbeat, often manic nature of the others. Jackson himself seems to be having a great time romping through a genre that, in its way, laid the groundwork for modern rock & roll.

In the 1982 release of Night and Day, Jackson’s original compositions mine the musical wealth and spirit of the great songwriters who flourished during the Jazz Age, such as the Gershwins and Cole Porter. In another daring move by the  erstwhile rocker, there are no guitars on the album, which centers instead on an array of keyboards and extra percussion to provide an impressively full sound. The Grammy-nominated single “Steppin’ Out,” followed by the plaintive “Breaking Us In Two,” aired often as videos on MTV, helping to keep the album in the spotlight. But these would be the last “concept” videos Jackson would make

The band for “Night and Day,” including Jackson’s longtime bassist, Graham Maby, seated in front.

(perhaps to the detriment of his future LP sales), as he was disappointed by how videos were overtaking the music industry, at the expense of musical quality.

He continued his exploration further afield from conventional rock with his next, and perhaps most powerful album, 1984’s Body and Soul. Recorded in a Masonic lodge in Manhattan to take advantage of the acoustical qualities provided by the hall’s stonework, the album’s first track, “The Verdict,” opens with thunderous drums and a dramatic fanfare by Michael Morreale on trumpet, and Tony Aiello on saxophone, setting

the tone for a sonically intense and beautifully melodic album, mixing upbeat songs of optimism (“Go For It”), and melancholy songs of heartbreak (the breathtaking “Not Here, Not Now”) and emotional vulnerability (“Be My Number Two”). The gorgeous instrumental “Loisada” builds to a crescendo that would send chills down the spines of all but the most stubbornly unreceptive of listeners.

Always one to keep things interesting, Jackson’s next collection of new songs, in 1986, pretty much takes on the entire world.  The appropriately-titled  Big World album features songs that literally cover the globe. The title song takes us to the Far East, with all of its exotic beauty and sometimes unnerving cuisine. “Fifty Dollar Love Affair” transports us to a night in Amsterdam, against a backdrop of café patrons, prostitutes, and assorted lowlifes. In “Jet Set,” he even enjoys poking fun at obnoxious American tourists, as they trample though foreign cities with their crass ways. Jackson even takes on a few of the hot political issues of the mid-1980s, throwing sharp jabs at Ronald Reagan (“Right and Wrong”) , and The Falkland Islands war between Britain and Argentina (“Tango Atlantico”). Perhaps the most poignant song on the album is the wistful “Hometown,” in which he bemoans the clutter and stress of his adopted home of New York City, while allowing his mind to drift back to his more tranquil hometown in England (“‘Cause it’s been so long, and I’m wondering if it’s still there…”). See the video below.

Jackson recording the “Big World” album.

Jackson decided to record Big World in front of a live audience, at the Roundabout Theatre. However, while he thrived on the energy provided by performing live, he didn’t want it to sound like a concert album, so he carefully instructed the audience not to applaud at the end of each song–at least not right away, so the track could end properly without the first audible claps or hollers. The finished album also stands out for other reasons. Firstly, Jackson had recorded more songs than could fit onto a single LP, but not enough to fill out a double LP. The solution was to press two disks, leaving side 4 completely blank, with the label simply stating “There is no music on this side.” Also, to help enhance international concept of the collection, all of the songs’ lyrics are printed in six languages.

With his next album, Willpower, he returns to his roots in classical music, composing and arranging extended instrumentals as played by a full-sized symphony orchestra.

After contributing the rousing jazz soundtrack to the film Tucker: A Man and His Dream, he rounded out the 1980s by returning to more familiar, eclectic pop/rock with the albums Blaze of Glory, on which he continued to experiment with song styles and narrative techniques to great effect, and Laughter and Lust, the more conventional “rock” album of the two, packed with mini-classics including “The Obvious Song.” Both albums contain his typically clever, often sardonic,

and always fascinating reflections on life and love.

His career  didn’t end with the ’80s, of course; he’s been living and recording in Berlin, Germany for the past decade or so, after spending nearly twenty years in New York and the U.K., and he still tours to promote his new albums (the U.S. included).

Of all the great singer/songwriter/musicians who have been with us for the past forty years, Joe Jackson’s talents should have had his music omnipresent ever since 1979. In truth, though, it is necessary to seek him out, but extremely rewarding should you decide to do so.

Until next time…