‘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, but this time, it was Mick Jagger’s unmistakable voice delivering the punch. As a fresh-faced studio assistant, just a year into my dream job, I was in the control room, mere feet away from rock and roll royalty. David Bowie was up next. It was a surreal moment, a testament to how far I’d come from recording in my dad’s converted cowshed. This wasn’t just another day at the studio; this was history in the making.
The session had started unusually early for rockstars – 9 am, at David Bowie’s request. We were already making significant progress on ‘Absolute Beginners,’ the title track for the film he starred in. Producers Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley, known for their work with Madness and Elvis Costello, were at the helm, crafting the soundtrack, and Bowie had become a familiar face at Westside Studios. The atmosphere was buzzing with creative energy, but it was about to reach another level.
Rumors began circulating around noon that Mick Jagger might be joining us. Speculation pointed towards a collaboration with Bowie for Live Aid. By 1 pm, a percussionist arrived, confirming the whispers: ‘I’m here for the Bowie/Jagger session.’ My mind raced. I’d envisioned a simple radio promo – ‘I’m David Bowie, I’m Mick Jagger, donate to Live Aid!’ – not a full-blown recording session. Bowie, ever enigmatic, remained tight-lipped, leaving the anticipation to build. Shortly after, backing singers arrived, adding further fuel to the growing excitement. ‘Bowie, Jagger session,’ they announced, and the studio crackled with anticipation.
In the late afternoon, around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie finally broke the news. We were pausing ‘Absolute Beginners’. ‘Mick Jagger’s coming down in about an hour, and we are recording a song for Live Aid,’ he declared. He produced a cassette, its label simply reading ‘Dancing In The Streets,’ and handed it to the band. ‘Learn this, lads.’
The band, a stellar lineup featuring Neil Conti on drums, the late Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano, immediately huddled in the live room. With the cassette player as their guide, they began dissecting the track, Neil Conti taking charge, orchestrating their approach.
Word had spread like wildfire. Suddenly, the control room was overflowing. Film producers and movie executives, previously absent during weeks of soundtrack work, materialized, eager to witness the unfolding spectacle. By the time Mick Jagger arrived, the audience had swelled to thirteen, including children. I braced for a rockstar outburst, but Jagger, though momentarily surprised by the crowd, simply walked in and got straight to work, daughter Jade in tow.
It became instantly clear that music was deeply ingrained in Mick Jagger’s DNA. As the band ran through sections of the song, Jagger was in constant motion. Even mid-conversation, the moment the music started, he was dancing, his energy infectious, his enthusiasm palpable. He was clearly thrilled to be part of this project. ‘I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!’ I thought, captivated by his charisma.
Once the band was ready, Bowie, Jagger, and backing vocalists Tessa Niles and Helena Springs were positioned in a recording booth, separated from the band. The first take commenced. The extended drum intro sounded unusual at first, a deliberate choice by Bowie to create a dramatic build-up. In this initial take, neither Bowie nor Jagger sang during the intro, perhaps still finalizing their vocal arrangement.
Witnessing the entire band and vocalists performing live was exhilarating, a rarity in the increasingly clinical recording environment of the 80s. They delivered two powerful takes. The consensus was that the first take captured the raw energy and vibe perfectly.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals, not due to performance issues, but to address microphone bleed. In the spirit of 60s recording techniques, the initial live performance had captured everyone’s sound on every microphone, which could complicate the mixing process. The backing singers stepped up first, laying down their parts with speed and precision.
Then it was Mick’s turn. He transformed the studio into Madison Square Garden. Witnessing this legend perform inches away was electrifying. Alan Winstanley assigned me the task of recording Jagger’s vocals, placing me directly in his line of sight. Adrenaline surged.
Jagger unleashed two takes, each brimming with his signature dynamism. Despite the dim studio lighting, his iconic strutting would momentarily take him out of view, only to have him reappear just in time for his next vocal cue. There was no need for encouragement; Jagger was all in.
We listened back to both takes, each undeniably brilliant. Clive Langer, perhaps emboldened by a few glasses of wine, playfully suggested that a single word in the second take might have been marginally better than the first. All eyes turned to Clive, then to Jagger, who responded with good humor, ‘Oh yeah? Let’s have a listen.’ Whether a word was actually lifted from the second take remains a delightful studio myth, but Clive, with a mischievous glance, seemed to acknowledge he might have spoken out of turn.
Finally, with the clock ticking down to their video shoot in London’s docklands, it was David’s turn. Bowie’s recording style was a stark contrast to Jagger’s. While he delivered phenomenal live vocals with the band, his approach to lead vocals was meticulous and deliberate. He would record one line at a time, meticulously reviewing it before proceeding. This methodical approach, from such a vocal powerhouse, was initially perplexing. He often referenced a demo version, ensuring every nuance was perfect.
Towards the song’s climax, a precise drop-in edit was required as Bowie wanted to re-record a line. Working with analog tape, there was no ‘undo’ button. The pressure was on to drop out of record before the subsequent line. Precision was paramount, and thankfully, it was executed flawlessly. Vocals were complete.
A rough mix was quickly prepared for the video shoot playback. Being diligent, I instinctively hit record on two cassette players, a standard practice on any session, anticipating Mick and David might want a copy for the journey. As the song neared its end, Bowie’s manager, Coco, noticed a cassette deck recording. ‘Are you recording a cassette?!’ she exclaimed. ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I thought you might need one.’ She didn’t mention the second machine. ‘I’ll take that please,’ Coco said firmly. I handed over one cassette. As soon as she turned away, I discreetly pocketed the other, slipping it under the mixing desk later. This is how I came to possess a copy of that very first rough mix – a tangible memento of an extraordinary day.
David generously invited everyone to the video shoot. While tempted, exhaustion, a mix of nerves and exhilaration, had set in. Plus, a shower was definitely in order after the intensity of the vocal session.
Post-shoot, Mick took the tapes to New York for further embellishment – brass arrangements and additional bass lines. Prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman also contributed piano parts. The legendary Bob Clearmountain mixed the final track. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the record sleeve was the ultimate reward, a badge of honor from a truly unforgettable session, witnessing the magic of David Bowie and Mick Jagger creating ‘Dancing in the Street’ firsthand.
