“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, not from a record player, but from the unmistakable voice of Mick Jagger. For a young recording engineer like myself, perched behind the SSL mixing desk just ten feet from the legendary frontman, it was a surreal moment. Barely a year into my “proper” studio job, a world away from my dad’s cowshed-turned-studio in the Hampshire countryside, I was witnessing music history in the making. And the anticipation was palpable: David Bowie was up next.
The day had begun unusually early for rock royalty – 9 am, at David Bowie’s request. We were already laying down tracks for “Absolute Beginners,” the title song for the film starring Bowie himself. The session was incredibly productive, buzzing with creative energy. 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 had been a regular presence at Westside Studios.
Around midday, the studio air crackled with a rumour: Mick Jagger was on his way. Whispers circulated – “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 joint appeal for Live Aid – “I’m David Bowie, I’m Mick Jagger, please donate!” The idea of recording a brand new track hadn’t even crossed my mind. Intriguingly, Bowie remained tight-lipped, though I suspected he’d already orchestrated the surprise with Clive and Alan, sworn to secrecy. The excitement escalated further as two backing singers arrived, also announcing themselves for the “Bowie, Jagger session!” This was rapidly transforming from a standard recording day into something extraordinary.
Around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie finally dropped the bombshell. We were pausing “Absolute Beginners.” “Mick Jagger’s coming 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.” The label read simply: “Dancing In The Streets.”
The band, a stellar lineup of Neil Conti on drums, the late, great Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano, swiftly retreated to the live room. Cassette player in hand, they huddled together, dissecting the track, figuring out their parts. Neil Conti, ever the confident musician, stepped up as impromptu bandleader, focusing everyone on the task at hand.
Suddenly, the studio was no longer just about music. Producers from “Absolute Beginners” and various movie types, who hadn’t shown much interest in the soundtrack sessions previously, materialized, drawn by the Jagger buzz. Word had undeniably spread. By the time Jagger arrived, I counted thirteen onlookers crammed into the back of the control room, some even with children. I wondered if Jagger would be fazed by the unexpected audience. He entered, perhaps momentarily surprised by the crowd, but immediately focused on the music. He was accompanied by his daughter, Jade.
It became instantly clear that music was hardwired into Mick Jagger’s being. As the band ran through sections of the song, stopping and starting to refine arrangements, Jagger was in constant motion. Mid-conversation, the moment the music started, he’d be dancing, still talking, completely immersed. He seemed genuinely thrilled to be part of this spontaneous project. His energy was infectious. “I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!” I thought, captivated by his vibrant presence.
Soon, the band was tight, ready to roll. Mick, David, and the backing vocalists, Tessa Niles and Helena Springs, were guided to a communal vocal booth, separated from the band. They launched into the first take. The extended drum intro felt initially unusual. Bowie, it seemed, had requested a specific number of drum bars before the song properly kicked in. On this first take, neither Mick nor David sang during this extended intro – perhaps they were still figuring out vocal duties.
Hearing the entire band and vocalists performing live together was exhilarating, a refreshing contrast to the increasingly clinical recording practices of the 80s. They nailed two incredible takes and came in to listen back. The consensus was immediate: the first take had the magic, the raw energy.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals. Not due to performance issues, but to address microphone bleed – the singers, performing in the same booth, were spilling onto each other’s tracks, a common issue in earlier, more live recording styles, but less desirable for modern mixing. The backing singers stepped up first, delivering their parts flawlessly and efficiently.
Then it was Mick’s turn. Mick Jagger transformed the vocal booth into Madison Square Garden. Witnessing this legend unleash his performance inches away was electrifying. Alan Winstanley assigned me to record the vocals, placing me directly in Jagger’s line of sight. Incredible.
Mick powered through two takes. The live room was dimly lit, and he’d occasionally disappear from view, strutting around the space between lines, only to reappear perfectly on cue for his next vocal burst. There was no need to ask for “more feeling” – Jagger poured everything into every line.
We listened back to both takes, everyone acknowledging their brilliance. However, Clive Langer, perhaps emboldened by a few glasses of white wine, and feeling the pressure of musical royalty in the room, offered a slightly slurred, “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 to Mick, who responded with good humour, “Oh yeah? Let’s have a listen.” I can’t recall if a word was actually lifted from the second take, but Clive, looking sheepish, gave me a knowing glance, suggesting perhaps he should have kept his observation to himself.
Finally, with time running short before Bowie and Jagger were due at London’s docklands for the music video shoot, it was David’s vocal turn.
David Bowie was a different artist entirely. His vocal recording approach fascinated me. He’d sing powerfully and brilliantly with the band during the live backing track sessions – any of those takes could have been lead vocals. He never delivered a phoned-in performance; his singing was consistently exceptional. Yet, when it came to recording dedicated lead vocals, he adopted a meticulous, almost painstaking method. He’d record one line at a time, then stop, listen back intently, before moving onto the next. This level of micro-management seemed surprising for such a gifted vocalist. He often referred to a demo version, checking lines before committing to the final take.
Near the song’s outro, I had to execute a tight drop-in and out of record, surgically inserting a re-recorded line. Analog tape recording in those days offered no “undo” button. Precision was paramount. I nailed it. Vocals were complete.
The immediate priority was a rough mix for the video shoot playback. Being a diligent engineer, I instinctively set two cassette players to record, standard practice for any session. I figured Mick and David might want a reference mix for the journey to the film set. As the song neared its end, Bowie’s manager, Coco, spotted a cassette deck in record. “Are you recording a cassette?!” she snapped. “Yes,” I replied, “thought you might need one.” She didn’t notice the second deck. “I’ll take that please,” Coco demanded. I handed over the visible cassette. As soon as she turned away, I discreetly slipped the second cassette under the mixing desk, out of sight. This is how I came to possess a copy of that first, raw mix of Bowie Jagger Dancing In The Street.
David generously invited everyone to the video shoot. I was tempted, but exhaustion, the nervous energy of the day finally catching up, won out. Plus, a shower was definitely in order after the intensity of the vocal session!
Post-video shoot, Mick took the tapes to New York. Brass and additional bass parts were added. Prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman later contributed piano. The legendary Bob Clearmountain mixed the track. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the sleeve of bowie jagger dancing in the street was, to say the least, a career highlight.
