‘Calling out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?’ The iconic opening line of Martha Reeves and The Vandellas’ “Dancing In The Street” echoed through Westside Studios in Holland Park in 1985, belted out by none other than Mick Jagger. Just a year and a day into my role at a professional recording studio – a monumental leap from my dad’s makeshift studio in a Hampshire cowshed – I found myself in the producer’s chair, a mere ten feet from rock royalty. David Bowie was up next. It was surreal.
Unusually early for rock and roll, we’d kicked off the day at 9 am at Bowie’s request. The session had already been incredibly productive; we’d laid down the backing track for “Absolute Beginners,” the title song for the movie starring Bowie. My bosses, Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley – renowned for their work with Madness, Dexys Midnight Runners, and Elvis Costello – were producing the soundtrack, and Bowie was a regular presence at Westside.
Around midday, whispers began circulating about a possible Jagger visit, something to do with Live Aid. By 1 pm, a percussionist confirmed the rumors: “I’m here for the Bowie/Jagger session.” My mind raced. I’d envisioned a simple radio promo, a quick “I’m David Bowie,” “I’m Mick Jagger,” plea for Live Aid donations. The idea of recording a new track hadn’t even crossed my mind. Bowie remained characteristically enigmatic, though he must have informed Clive and Alan, entrusting them with the secret. Shortly after, backing singers arrived, further solidifying the buzz: “We’re here for the Bowie, Jagger session!” Excitement crackled in the air.
Late afternoon, around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie made the announcement. “We’re pausing ‘Absolute Beginners’,” he stated, “Mick Jagger’s arriving in about an hour, and we’re recording a song for Live Aid.” He handed a cassette to a band member. The label read “Dancing In The Streets.” The band – Neil Conti on drums, the late Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano – scrambled into the live room, huddled around the cassette player, deciphering their parts. Neil Conti, taking charge, steered the impromptu rehearsal.
Suddenly, the studio filled with more people – producers from “Absolute Beginners” and various film industry types, all suddenly keen on the music-making process. Word of Jagger’s arrival had clearly spread. Their earlier indifference to the soundtrack sessions was now replaced by palpable interest.
When Jagger arrived, the control room was packed – thirteen onlookers, including children. I braced myself for a rock star outburst, but Jagger, after a momentary pause, simply got to work. He’d brought his daughter Jade along.
It became immediately clear that music was hardwired into Mick Jagger’s being. As the band ran through sections, stopping to discuss arrangements, Jagger was constantly moving. Mid-conversation, the music would start, and he’d be dancing, still talking, completely immersed. His enthusiasm was infectious. “I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!” I thought.
Soon, the band was ready. Mick, David, and backing vocalists Tessa Niles and Helena Springs were ushered into the vocal booth, separated from the band. They launched into the first take. The extended drum intro sounded unusual initially. Bowie must have requested a specific number of drum bars before the song properly kicked in. On this first take, neither Bowie nor Jagger sang during this intro – perhaps still figuring out vocal distribution.
Hearing the band and singers perform live together was exhilarating, a rarity in the increasingly clinical recording environment of the 80s. They nailed two takes. The first, everyone agreed, had the superior energy.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals, not for performance reasons, but to isolate them for mixing. The live recording had resulted in vocal bleed across microphones, a mixing challenge, even though this was common practice in earlier decades. The backing singers quickly laid down their parts.
Then it was Mick’s turn. He transformed the vocal booth into Madison Square Garden. Witnessing this legend up close was electrifying. Alan Winstanley assigned vocal recording duties to me. Suddenly, I was directly in Jagger’s line of sight. Incredible!
Jagger unleashed two takes, moving dynamically in the dimly lit live room, sometimes disappearing from view mid-line, only to reappear precisely on cue for his next vocal burst. “More feeling” was unnecessary direction for Mick. He gave it everything.
We listened back to both takes, both undeniably brilliant. Clive Langer, emboldened by a few glasses of wine, offered a slightly slurred, “I think there was one word on the second take that was a bit better.” All eyes turned to Clive, then back to Mick, who good-naturedly agreed to a listen. I can’t recall if that single word from the second take made the final cut, but Clive, looking sheepish, shot me a look that suggested perhaps he should have kept his critique to himself.
Finally, with time running short before their scheduled video shoot in London’s docklands, it was David’s vocal turn. Bowie’s approach contrasted sharply with Jagger’s. He’d sing powerfully and flawlessly during the live backing track recordings, any of those takes seemingly lead vocal worthy. Yet, for dedicated lead vocals, he adopted a meticulous, almost piecemeal method, recording line by line, listening back intently before proceeding. This deliberate approach, from such a gifted vocalist, was perplexing. He often consulted a demo version for line references.
Near the song’s end, I had to execute a precise punch-in and punch-out for a line Bowie wanted to re-record. Analog tape recording offered no “undo” button, demanding absolute precision. I nailed it. Vocals were complete.
Next, a rough mix was needed for the video shoot sound engineer to play back during filming. Being thorough, I set two cassette recorders to capture the mix, standard practice for any session, thinking Mick and David might want a copy en route to the set. Towards the song’s end, David’s manager, Coco, spotted a recording cassette and snapped, “Are you recording a cassette?!” “Yes,” I replied, “thought you might need one.” She didn’t notice the second recorder. “I’ll take that, please,” Coco demanded, grabbing one cassette. As she turned away, I discreetly pocketed the second cassette, later stashing it safely under the mixing desk. And that’s how I came to possess a copy of that initial rough mix.
David generously invited everyone to the video shoot. I was tempted, but exhaustion, mostly from the day’s nervous energy, won out. Plus, a shower was definitely in order after the vocal session intensity.
Later, Mick took the tapes to New York for brass overdubs and additional bass parts. Prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman also added piano. The legendary Bob Clearmountain mixed the track. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the sleeve was, to say the least, incredibly rewarding.
