One minute Jimmy Rabbitte was 21. He was the manager of a band called The Commitments,
although they’d just broken up. He’d got over that shock and was just about ready to start a new
band. He’d learnt from the Commitments experience: never let a bollix be your singer, even if he
can sing; and never let your elderly trumpet player ride all, some or even one of the group’s backing
vocalists. Armed with this wisdom, he’d been gearing himself up, listening to new sounds, all set to
knock U2 off their fuckin’ perch.
The next minute he was 48 and he had bowel cancer.