‘Calling out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?’
It’s 1985, and I’m planted in the engineer’s chair at Westside Studios in Holland Park. The legendary SSL mixing desk is my command center, and about ten feet away, Mick Jagger is pouring his heart into the iconic opening line of Martha Reeves and The Vandellas’ Motown classic, ‘Dancing In The Street’. It’s a surreal moment. Just a year and a day prior, I was working in a makeshift studio in my dad’s cowshed in the Hampshire countryside. Now, I’m here, witnessing music history in the making. And the anticipation is electric because David Bowie is up next.
The session had an unusually early start at 9 am, a request from David Bowie himself – hardly the rock ‘n’ roll hour one might expect. We had already laid down the backing track for ‘Absolute Beginners’, the title song for the film of the same name starring Bowie. The day was already incredibly productive. My bosses, Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley, the acclaimed producers known for their work with Madness, Dexys Midnight Runners, Elvis Costello, and Lloyd Cole And The Commotions, were at the helm, producing tracks for the Absolute Beginners soundtrack. Bowie had been a regular presence at Westside Studios during this period.
Around midday, whispers started circulating – Mick Jagger might be dropping by. The rumor mill suggested it was “to do something with Bowie for Live Aid.” By 1 pm, a percussionist arrived, confirming, “I’m here for the Bowie/Jagger session.” My mind raced. I imagined a radio promo – “I’m David Bowie,” “I’m Mick Jagger,” “Donate to Live Aid!” – not a full-blown recording session. Intriguingly, Bowie remained tight-lipped, though I suspected he had briefed Clive and Alan, instructing them to keep the secret under wraps. The excitement escalated further when two backing singers arrived, also announcing their presence for the “Bowie, Jagger session”! Something momentous was clearly unfolding.
Around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie finally broke the news. We were pausing work on ‘Absolute Beginners’. “Mick Jagger’s coming in about an hour, and we’re recording a song for Live Aid,” he announced. He produced a cassette, handing it to a member of the band. “Learn this, lads.” The cassette label read ‘Dancing In The Streets’.
The band, a stellar lineup of Neil Conti on drums, the late Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano, retreated to the live room. Cassette player in hand, they huddled together, dissecting the song and crafting their parts. Neil Conti, with natural leadership, took charge, ensuring everyone was focused and prepared.
Word had spread like wildfire. Suddenly, the studio was buzzing with more people. Producers from the film ‘Absolute Beginners’ and various movie personnel, who hadn’t shown much interest in the preceding weeks of soundtrack work, now flocked to Westside Studios, eager to witness the music magic. Jagger’s impending arrival had clearly become the hottest ticket in town.
By the time Mick Jagger walked in, I counted thirteen onlookers crammed into the back of the control room, some with children in tow. I wondered if Jagger would be fazed by the sudden crowd, but he took it in stride. Perhaps momentarily surprised, he quickly shifted into professional mode, ready to work. He had brought his daughter, Jade, with him.
It became immediately apparent that music was deeply ingrained in Mick Jagger’s being. As the band ran through sections of the song, stopping to refine arrangements, Jagger was in constant motion. Even mid-conversation, the moment the music played, he’d be dancing, all while continuing the discussion. His enthusiasm was infectious. I remember thinking, ‘I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!’ His energy was captivating.
Soon, the band was locked in, and Mick, David, and backing vocalists Tessa Niles and Helena Springs were guided to a shared vocal booth, separating them from the band in the live room.
They launched into the first take. The extended drum intro initially sounded unconventional. Bowie, it seemed, had requested a specific number of drum bars before the song officially kicked in. On this first take, neither Mick nor David sang during this extended intro – perhaps they were still figuring out vocal assignments.
Hearing the full band and singers performing live was exhilarating, a refreshing departure from the increasingly clinical recording practices of the 80s. They delivered two powerful takes. After listening back, the consensus was that the first take had a superior raw energy and vibe.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals. Not due to performance issues, but because recording everyone together had resulted in vocal bleed across microphones, potentially complicating the mixing process. While this ‘bleed’ was common in 60s recordings and earlier, cleaner separation was the goal in the 80s. The backing singers stepped up first, laying down their parts with impressive speed and precision.
Then it was Mick’s turn. Mick Jagger approached his vocal performance as if he were commanding a sold-out Madison Square Garden. Witnessing this legendary showman at such close quarters was incredible. Alan Winstanley entrusted me with recording Mick’s vocals, placing me directly in Jagger’s line of sight. It was a ‘pinch-me’ moment.
Mick unleashed two takes, each bursting with his signature energy. The live room was dimly lit, and he would occasionally disappear from view as he strutted around during lines, only to reappear precisely on cue to deliver the next vocal punch. There was no need to ask for more emotion; Jagger was fully committed, giving it his all.
We listened back to both takes, acknowledging their brilliance. However, Clive Langer, perhaps emboldened by a couple of glasses of white wine amidst the rockstar presence, 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 a word was actually lifted from Mick’s second take, but Clive, looking slightly sheepish, gave me a knowing glance, suggesting he might have been better off keeping his observation to himself.
Finally, with time running short before Mick and David were due at London’s Docklands for the music video shoot, it was David’s turn.
David Bowie’s recording style was markedly different from Jagger’s. His approach to lead vocals initially baffled me. He sang powerfully and flawlessly with the band during the live backing track sessions – any of those takes could have been a master vocal performance. He never delivered a phoned-in vocal; his singing was consistently exceptional. Yet, when it came to recording lead vocals, he preferred to record line by line, meticulously listening back to each before moving on. I could understand this method for a less confident singer, but Bowie’s vocal prowess was undeniable. He often referred to a demo version, checking lines before recording the new take.
Near the song’s climax, I had to execute a tight punch-in and punch-out to re-record a line David wanted to revisit. I had to drop out of record precisely before the subsequent line began, leaving virtually no margin for error. This was in the era of analog tape, with no ‘undo’ button to save the day! I nailed it. And with that, the vocals were complete.
The immediate next step was creating a rough mix for the sound engineer at the video shoot, who would play back the track for Mick and David during filming. Being diligent, I also set two cassette players to record – my standard practice for any session, thinking Mick and David might want a reference mix for the journey to the film set. Towards the song’s end, David’s manager, Coco, spotted a cassette deck recording and snapped, “Are you recording a cassette?!!!” “Yes,” I replied, “I thought you might need one.” She didn’t mention the second deck, so I remained silent about it. “I’ll take that, please,” Coco said curtly. I handed her one cassette. Then, when she wasn’t looking, I discreetly pocketed the other, later stashing it safely under the mixing desk. This is how I came to possess a copy of that initial rough mix – a piece of music history salvaged from the studio floor.
David generously invited everyone to join them at the video shoot. I was tempted, but exhaustion, mostly from the day’s nervous energy, had set in. Plus, the thought of a shower after a long, sweaty evening recording vocals was incredibly appealing.
After the video shoot, Mick took the tapes to New York, where brass instruments and additional bass parts were added, and prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman contributed further piano embellishments. The legendary Bob Clearmountain then expertly mixed the track. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the record sleeve was, to say the least, a deeply satisfying moment.
