“Calling out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?” The year is 1985, and I’m in the nerve center of Westside Studios in Holland Park, perched behind the magnificent SSL mixing desk. Just ten feet away, Mick Jagger is unleashing that iconic line from Martha Reeves and The Vandellas’ Motown classic, ‘Dancing In The Street’. It’s a surreal moment. Only a year and a day prior, I was just starting out in a studio in my dad’s cowshed – a world away from this. The sheer luck of it all is staggering. And the anticipation is electric because David Bowie is up next.
At David Bowie’s request, the day began unusually early, a decidedly un-rock ‘n’ roll 9 am. We had already laid down the phenomenal backing track for ‘Absolute Beginners’, the title song for the movie of the same name starring Bowie. The session was incredibly productive and buzzing with creative energy. My bosses, producers Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley, renowned for their work with Madness, Dexys Midnight Runners, and Elvis Costello, were overseeing the soundtrack for ‘Absolute Beginners’, and Bowie had been a regular presence at Westside Studios for some time.
Around midday, a whisper rippled through the studio – Mick Jagger was rumored to be on his way. “Something with Bowie for Live Aid,” someone murmured. By 1 PM, a percussionist arrived, confirming the buzz: “I’m here for the Bowie/Jagger session.” My mind raced. I’d envisioned a simple radio spot – a quick message from Bowie and Jagger urging donations for Live Aid. The idea of recording a brand new track hadn’t even crossed my mind. Bowie, ever enigmatic, remained tight-lipped, though I suspected he’d already coordinated with Clive and Alan, sworn to secrecy. Soon after, two backing singers arrived, their arrival punctuated by the same exciting announcement: “We’re here for the Bowie, Jagger session!” The studio crackled with anticipation.
Around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie finally broke the news. We were pausing work on ‘Absolute Beginners’. “Mick Jagger’s arriving in about an hour,” he announced, “and we’re recording a song for Live Aid.” He produced a cassette, handing it to a band member. “Learn this, lads,” he instructed. The cassette label read: ‘Dancing In The Streets’.
The band, a stellar lineup featuring Neil Conti on drums, the late, great Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano, immediately retreated to the live room. Cassette player in hand, they huddled together, absorbing the song and crafting their parts. I remember Neil Conti, stepping into a natural leadership role, guiding the band and focusing their energy.
Suddenly, the studio was flooded with more people. Producers from the ‘Absolute Beginners’ film, movie executives – everyone who hadn’t shown any interest in the music-making process in the preceding weeks suddenly found themselves drawn to the studio. Word of Jagger’s arrival had clearly spread like wildfire.
By the time Jagger walked in, I counted thirteen onlookers crammed into the back of the control room, some even with children in tow. I worried Jagger might be overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion, but he took it in stride. A momentary pause, a slight widening of the eyes, and then he was all business. He had brought his daughter, Jade, with him.
It became immediately apparent that music was deeply ingrained in Mick’s very being. As the band ran through sections of the song, stopping and starting to refine their parts, Mick was in constant motion. Even mid-conversation, the moment the music started, he was dancing, completely immersed, yet still engaged in the discussion. He was clearly enjoying himself, throwing himself into the project with infectious enthusiasm. “I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!” I remember thinking, captivated by his energy.
Soon, the band was ready. Mick, David, and the backing vocalists, Tessa Niles and Helena Springs, were ushered into a shared vocal booth, separated from the band in the live room.
They launched into the first take. The extended drum intro felt a little unusual at first. Bowie, it turned out, had requested a specific number of drum bars to precede the song’s actual start. In this initial take, neither Mick nor David sang during this extended intro, perhaps still figuring out vocal assignments.
Hearing the entire ensemble perform live in the studio was exhilarating. In the 80s, with increasingly clinical recording techniques, this kind of raw, live energy was becoming rarer. They ripped through two incredible takes and then came into the control room to listen back. The consensus was immediate: the first take possessed an undeniable spark, a superior vibe.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals. Not due to any performance issues, but because recording everyone in the same room had caused vocal bleed onto other microphones, potentially complicating the mixing process. Ironically, this ‘bleed’ was a common characteristic of recordings from the 60s and earlier! The backing singers stepped up first, laying down their parts with impressive speed and precision.
Next, it was Mick’s turn. Mick, true to form, transformed the vocal booth into his personal Madison Square Garden stage. Witnessing this legendary performer up close was electrifying. Alan Winstanley entrusted me with recording the vocals, placing me directly in Jagger’s line of sight. Incredible!
Mick delivered two takes with explosive energy. The live room was dimly lit, and he would occasionally disappear from view as he strutted around the space between lines, only to reappear perfectly on cue to deliver the next vocal punch. There was no need to ask for more feeling; Mick was already giving it everything.
We listened back to both takes, fully aware of their brilliance. However, Clive Langer, perhaps emboldened by a few glasses of white wine in the presence of these music icons, offered a slightly slurred critique. “I think there was one word on the second take that was a bit better than on the first.” All eyes turned to Clive, then back to Mick, who responded with good humor, “Oh yeah? Let’s have a listen.” I can’t recall if that single word from the second take was ultimately used, but Clive, looking like a mischievous schoolboy, shot me a knowing glance, suggesting he might have been better off keeping quiet.
Finally, with time running short before Mick and David were due to be whisked away to London’s docklands for the music video shoot, it was David’s turn.
David was a stark contrast to Jagger in his recording approach. His vocal style baffled me initially. He would sing powerfully and flawlessly alongside the band during the live backing track sessions, delivering takes that, frankly, seemed perfectly lead vocal-worthy. He never delivered a phoned-in performance; his singing was consistently exceptional. However, when it came to recording dedicated lead vocals, he adopted a meticulous, almost piecemeal approach, recording one line at a time, then pausing to listen back before moving on to the next. I could understand this method for a less confident singer, but David’s vocal prowess was undeniable. He would often reference lines from a demo version before committing to a new take.
At one point, near the song’s end, I had to execute a precise punch-in and punch-out of recording because David wanted to revisit and re-record a specific line. I had to drop out of record before the subsequent line began, leaving virtually no margin for error. This was in the days of analog tape machines, with no ‘undo’ button to rely on! I managed to nail it. And with that, the vocals were complete.
It was time to quickly create a rough mix for the sound engineer on the film set, who would play back the track during the video shoot. Being diligent, I set two cassette players to record, my standard practice for any session. I thought Mick and David might appreciate a cassette to listen to en route to the set. Towards the song’s end, David’s manager, Coco, noticed a cassette deck recording. “Are you recording a cassette?!!!” she snapped. “Yes,” I replied, “I thought you might need one.” She didn’t mention the second deck, so neither did I. “I’ll take that, please,” Coco demanded curtly. I handed over one cassette. Then, when she wasn’t looking, I discreetly slipped the second one under the mixing desk, out of sight. This is how I came to possess a copy of that very first rough mix.
David generously invited everyone present to join them at the film set. I was tempted, but exhaustion, mostly nervous exhaustion from the high-pressure day, had set in. Plus, a shower was definitely in order after sweating through the vocal recording session!
After the video shoot, Mick took the tapes to New York, where brass instruments and additional bass parts were added. Prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman also contributed further piano tracks. The song was then mixed by the legendary Bob Clearmountain. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the record sleeve was, to say the least, a deeply satisfying moment.
