Last week,
Trevor Horn and Steve Lipson explained how to get the best from a
singer. This week, they turn their attention to conjuring the perfect
cut from the instrumentalists
Holly Johnson performing with Frankie Goes to Hollywood in 1980. Photograph: David Redfern/Redferns
When the legendary producer Trevor Horn first saw
Frankie Goes to Hollywood on the 80s TV show The Tube
he was intrigued, though, he says, he did think their performance was
very sexist. After hearing them again, doing a live session of Relax on
the radio, he was convinced they had something special. "It was quite a
different version of the track, but Holly [Johnson] was a good singer.
And then we discovered nobody wanted to sign them – mainly because they
were pretty hardcore gay.
Their pictures were … their bums came through their trousers and there was a guy with a knife instead of a penis."
"Even the guys who weren't gay were pretty hardcore," adds Horn's longtime collaborator Steve Lipson.
Horn, however, wasn't put off by the bands risqué image, and signed them to his new label,
ZTT,
in 1983. What no one had told him was that the band he signed wasn't
the same band that played on the demos he'd heard. The guitar player had
left just two weeks before. No problem – Horn put together a session
band of his usual collaborators, including Lipson, to record the backing
tracks.
"The Frankies were very affable about it," shrugs
Horn. "We played them a mix where we'd put an audience track on it,
telling them: 'This is you playing at Madison Square Garden.' They
laughed and declared: 'We're fucking great!'
"As time went
by they started to play. They started to get better, but just as they
got to a place where they could play their own music they fell out. They
fell out in a way that they've never been able to fix up ever since. I
remember backstage at Wembley, when Holly [Johnson, the singer] had a
bodyguard in case Mark [O'Toole, the bassist] tried to kick him."
By
the time they recorded their second album, Johnson was largely absent
from the studio, Lipson says. He even said he'd need two days' notice if
they wanted him there. Soon after, the band members went their separate
ways, but one of the tracks they'd recorded but not released became a
worldwide hit – albeit with a different artist, who herself was not
adverse to controversy.
Grace Jones's million-selling record
Slave to the Rhythm
created a whole new sound for her – a sound many others tried, and
failed, to emulate. Creating it was an arduous task, however (though not
for Jones, who, according to Lipson, showed up for as many hours as the
number of months he and Horn worked on the record: nine).
Though
the track eventually spawned a concept album, featuring different
interpretations of the track, it was only brought to the attention of
Chris Blackwell, the owner of Jones's record label, Island, when he was
looking for a single for her greatest hits album. Horn dug up a track
Bruce Woolley had written for Frankie Goes to Hollywood.
"The
original recording had a very Germanic beat, and it was pretty obvious
it wasn't going to work for them," says Horn. "I thought that if it was
called Slave to the Rhythm it should be a better rhythm – and the only
rhythm I could think of that was good enough was
Go-go music, which was really happening at the time.
"It was such a daft idea when I look back on it. We had a band of really great Go-go musicians: some people from
Experience Unlimited, some from
Trouble Funk
… and they could all really play – but nobody could remember an
arrangement. In fact, they were baffled by the idea of an arrangement.
They just started, kept going and then they stopped."
And
they'd all play together all the way through, with all instruments
leaking into the drum microphones. "At one point the guitar player went
to the toilet for about two or three minutes, and that ended up being
the only time we had the groove without the guitar all over the drums,"
says Lipson. "That was our window of opportunity to make a loop out of
that little bit and make a rhythm track out of it."
"Story of our lives," sighs Horn.
Horn
had recorded the bits he liked on his cassette player and played it for
Woolley, who swiftly rewrote the song over it. "I loved it when he
played those chords at the start," Horn reminisces. "We left the studio
went back to the Parker Meridian hotel with a load of equipment, went
upstairs and finished the song. Literally, the first day we got
everything out of that Go-go band we were ever going to get."
Whether it's waiting for an artist to come into the studio with a new "girlfriend" at 2am, after a night out, to be able to
record their vocals
or playing all the instruments on the record because the band can't
play, Horn and Lipson have spent far, far more time in studio than any
of the artists they worked with, perfecting their records.
"I
was having a conversation with an old rock star, who shall remain
nameless, a couple of weeks ago in the kitchen at Sarm [Horn's studio],"
Horn says. "He was talking about how they spent a year making a record
and how they all got completely wasted. He said: 'But you know all about
that – you got wasted and took ages over things.' I shook my head, and
said: 'I took ages over things but they were generally successful – and I
was working, not getting drunk.'"