The Eejit

Chapter 15: Got To Get You Into My Life

Chapter 15: Got To Get You Into My Life

Blood, Sweat & Tears was released in 1992 to great reviews. Time Out called it a 'must have for anyone wanting to know what the singer songwriter genre should sound like' which was vague, but nice of them all the same. Even the Guardian was nice about it. Life was good.

We had mixed the album back amongst the seemingly endless luxury of the RG recording studio in Wimbledon. I say endless luxury because, as most artists will vouch, the recording studio experience that you encounter as a fledgling artist is, I imagine, a bit like visiting a brothel. Facilities are basic and friendless, there's usually a funny smell, there's usually a weird looking bloke hanging about that you never meet, you have to pay for any extras and they just want you to finish as fast as possible. You seldom get what you went in for from the experience and, as you leave, they tell you in joyless and unconvincing terms that you're the best they've had in there.

RG Jones was anything but brothel - esque. It reminded me more of a smart office and it even had a reception area. And comfortable sofas too. It had a massive live room for recording, big enough for orchestras to play in, which happened regularly. Nothing smelt of the last heavy metal band to have passed through the place and because I wasn't paying, I couldn't have been happier. I was even given a dedicated spot in which to park my (mum's) car. And you actually got to meet the weird bloke too. John Carroll came in and out but handed the body of this part of the project over to his colleague, Ben Robbins.

Actually, I jest; Ben was the opposite of weird. He was immediately friendly and good humoured, very well spoken, confident and efficient. He could have been anything between 14 and 20, but no more. In reality, he was the same age as me but had a boyish effervescence and a mischievousness that belied his years. He was thin and wiry in appearance and had spiky hair that sat up on his head excitedly. He reminded me of a posh Bart Simpson. More importantly, he was also an incredible musician in his own right and possessed a set of lug 'oles that could hear a pin drop at 50 yards. His mixing was exquisite. He also worked all the time. I mean all the time, often not leaving the studio for days at a time particularly if the studio's two biggest patrons, Nordic mega pop band Aha and Britain's own Elvis, the one and only Cliff Richard, were in town.

Here is a little known fact. Cliff Richard was the very first grown up to ever tell me to 'Fuck Off'. He certainly wasn't the last by a long, long shot, but he was the first. As a young prep - school boy, I played school rugby twice a week at the Harrods Sports Ground on Lonsdale Road in Barnes. In addition to the many rugby pitches, there were large warehouse buildings, catering facilities and substantial rehearsal studios for film and musical productions. Walking back to our bus from the changing rooms one afternoon, me and a number of my friends were drawn towards the very loud music coming from a large room with an ever so slightly open door. We stood at the door and peered through utterly dumfounded, as one of the biggest pop stars on the planet rehearsed in front of us with his band. He was in double denim and was wearing shades. To a 12 year old boy, he looked very cool. Despite the enormity of what we were witnessing, I couldn't help myself from using the occasion to act like a little bollix, and started faux swooning, and saying 'Oh Cliff' in a high pitched, woman type voice, all the time turning to my friends and mock wiping my brow. Whilst this amused my friends, for some reason, it seemed to upset the artists in front of us, who stopped playing. We all stopped. Cliff was incandescent. He came striding over towards us shouting "Just fuck off!" and slammed the door shut in our faces.

Fucking Cliff Richard though, eh?

Ben had plenty of experience in guiding Cliff through sessions and patiently guided me through my first ever album mix. He even invented a Toby fader for when I asked him to make some inappropriate or indiscernible alteration to the mix.