‘Calling out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?’ That iconic opening line, synonymous with pure energy and rock royalty, instantly transports you to 1985. For me, it throws me right back into the heart of Westside Studios in Holland Park. I was a young, eager engineer, barely a year into my dream job at a real recording studio – a world away from my dad’s converted cowshed studio back in Hampshire. And there I was, in the control room, perched behind the massive SSL mixing desk, about ten feet from Mick Jagger as he belted out that legendary line from Martha Reeves and The Vandellas’ Motown classic, ‘Dancing In The Street.’ It was surreal. And then came the even more mind-blowing part: David Bowie was up next.
The day had started unusually early for rock and roll, 9 am, at David Bowie’s request. We were already making incredible progress on the backing track for “Absolute Beginners,” the title song for the movie of the same name where Bowie himself starred. The whole day felt charged with creative energy, a whirlwind of productivity orchestrated by my bosses, producers Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley. These were the masterminds behind hits for Madness, Dexys Midnight Runners, Elvis Costello, and Lloyd Cole And The Commotions, and now they were at the helm of the Absolute Beginners soundtrack, with Bowie a frequent and charismatic presence at Westside Studios.
Around midday, a buzz started circulating: Mick Jagger was rumored to be heading to the studio. The whisper was that it was “to do something with Bowie for Live Aid.” By 1 pm, a percussionist arrived, confirming the rumors: “I’m here for the Bowie/Jagger session.” My mind raced. I’d naively imagined a simple radio spot – “Hi, I’m David Bowie,” “And I’m Mick Jagger,” “Donate to Live Aid!” The idea of recording an entirely new track hadn’t even crossed my mind. Bowie, ever the enigmatic professional, remained tight-lipped, though I suspected he’d already given Clive and Alan the nod and sworn them to secrecy. Soon after, two backing singers arrived, their excited announcement echoing the percussionist’s: “We’re here for the Bowie, Jagger session!” The studio crackled with anticipation.
As the afternoon deepened, around 5 or 6 pm, Bowie finally broke the news. We were pausing work on “Absolute Beginners.” “Mick Jagger’s coming down in about an hour,” he announced, “and we are recording a song for Live Aid.” He produced a cassette, handing it to one of the band members. “Learn this, lads.” The cassette label simply read: ‘Dancing In The Streets.’
The band for this impromptu session was a stellar lineup: Neil Conti on drums, the late, great Matthew Seligman on bass, Kevin Armstrong on guitar, and Steve Nieve on piano. They disappeared into the live room, huddled around a cassette player, rapidly absorbing the song and figuring out their parts. I remember Neil Conti, instantly stepping up as the bandleader, his energy infectious as he focused everyone on the task at hand.
Suddenly, the studio began to fill up. Producers from the Absolute Beginners film, movie executives – people who hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the weeks of soundtrack work prior – materialized, drawn by the Jagger magnet. Word had clearly spread. By the time Mick Jagger actually arrived, I counted thirteen extra bodies crammed into the back of the control room, a few of them kids. I wondered if Jagger would be fazed by the sudden audience, but he strode in, perhaps momentarily surprised, but instantly focused. He brought his daughter Jade with him, adding to the slightly chaotic but exhilarating atmosphere.
It became immediately apparent that Mick Jagger’s brain operated on pure musical instinct. As the band ran through sections of the song, stopping and starting to refine arrangements, Mick was a force of constant motion. Even mid-conversation, the moment the music started, he was dancing, completely immersed in the rhythm while still talking and contributing to the discussion. He was clearly energized by the project, throwing himself into it with trademark Jagger enthusiasm. I remember thinking, “I want to be Mick Jagger’s mate!” His sheer passion was infectious.
Soon enough, the band was locked in, and Mick, David, and the backing singers, Tessa Niles and Helena Springs, were ushered into the vocal booth, separated from the band but still feeding off the live energy.
They launched into the first take. The extended drum intro sounded initially unusual, a deliberate choice by Bowie, it seemed, to create a dramatic build-up before the song properly kicked in. Intriguingly, on this first take, neither Mick nor David sang during this extended intro – perhaps they were still figuring out the vocal dynamic.
Hearing the full band and singers performing live together was a revelation. In the 80s, recording was becoming increasingly clinical, often pieced together track by track. This felt raw, spontaneous, a throwback to a more vibrant era of music making. They ripped through two incredible takes and came back into the control room to listen. The consensus was immediate: take one had the magic.
The decision was made to re-record the vocals, not due to performance issues, but for purely technical reasons. Recording everyone together meant vocal bleed onto other microphones, which would complicate the mixing process. Ironically, this live bleed was characteristic of recordings from the 60s and earlier, but the pursuit of sonic perfection in the 80s demanded cleaner separation. The backing singers went first, laying down their parts with professional speed and precision.
Then it was Mick’s turn. And Mick, being Mick Jagger, transformed the recording booth into Madison Square Garden. Witnessing this legendary performer at such close quarters was electrifying. Alan Winstanley tasked me with recording Mick’s vocals, placing me directly in Jagger’s line of sight. Holy crap!
Mick unleashed two takes, each a powerhouse performance. The live room was dimly lit, and he’d sometimes disappear from view as he strutted and moved between lines, only to reappear, perfectly on cue, to deliver the next killer phrase. There was no need to ask for “more feeling” with Mick Jagger; he was pure, unadulterated feeling.
We listened back to both takes, everyone acknowledging their brilliance. However, Clive Langer, perhaps emboldened by a couple of glasses of wine, and in the slightly surreal presence of two rock icons, slurred slightly, “I think there was one word on the second take that was a bit better than on the first.” All eyes swiveled to Clive, then back to Mick, who gamely responded with something like, “Oh yeah? Let’s have a listen.” I honestly can’t recall if a single word was actually lifted from Mick’s second take, but Clive, looking like a mischievous schoolboy, gave me a knowing look that suggested he might have been better off keeping quiet.
Finally, with time rapidly dwindling before Mick and David were due at London’s docklands for the music video shoot, it was David’s vocal turn.
David Bowie was a different artistic creature altogether from Jagger. His recording style, particularly his approach to lead vocals, initially baffled me. He would sing with incredible passion and brilliance alongside the band during the live backing track sessions. Frankly, any of those live takes could have been lead vocals in their own right. He never delivered a phoned-in performance; he was consistently amazing. However, when it came to recording dedicated lead vocals, his method was meticulous and deliberate. He would lay down one line at a time, stop, listen back intently, and then proceed to the next. This painstaking process seemed surprising for such a naturally gifted vocalist. He would often refer back to a demo version, checking his phrasing and intonation before committing to the new take.
At one point, near the song’s climax, I had to execute a tight drop-in and drop-out of record because David wanted to re-record a specific line. The margin for error was minuscule, especially working with analog tape machines where there was no digital “undo” button. But I nailed it. And with that, the vocals were complete.
The immediate priority was to create a rough mix for the sound engineer at the video shoot, who would play back the track for Mick and David during filming. Being a diligent engineer, I instinctively hit record on two cassette players – standard practice for any session, thinking Mick and David might want a reference mix for the journey to the film set. Towards the end of the song, David’s manager, Coco, spotted one of the recording cassettes and exclaimed sharply, “Are you recording a cassette?!!!” “Yes,” I replied, “I thought you might need one.” She didn’t mention the second cassette. “I’ll take that please,” Coco said, a little tersely. I handed over one cassette. As soon as she turned away, I discreetly pocketed the other, stashing it out of sight under the mixing desk. And that, incredibly, is how I came to possess a copy of that very first rough mix of “Dancing in the Street.”
David generously invited everyone at the studio to join them at the film set. The temptation was huge, but I was utterly drained – a cocktail of adrenaline and nervous exhaustion from the whirlwind day. Plus, frankly, I desperately needed a shower after sweating my way through recording those legendary vocals.
After the video shoot, Mick took the tapes to New York, where brass instruments and additional bass parts were added, and, surprisingly, prog rock keyboardist Rick Wakeman contributed further piano layers. The final mix was entrusted to the legendary Bob Clearmountain. Seeing my name in the engineer credits on the sleeve of that single was, to put it mildly, a career highlight. Being a small part of the “Dancing in the Street” story, a moment where Mick Jagger and David Bowie quite literally danced their way into music history, is something I’ll never forget.
