The Joy Of Madness: Happy Days In The Studio With The Nutty Boys
After meeting The Farm on a TV show, Suggs produced the band's first single, Hearts And Minds. The experience was as much fun as you'd expect
Just about the only thing as surreal as a Madness video was interacting with the band in real life. I was walking down the Caledonian Road on a bright summer's day with George Maher, the trumpet player with The Farm. We were looking for a recording studio. In 1984, this part of north London was decades away from gentrification.
Suddenly, a bike skidded to a halt right in front of us. The rider was wearing a flat cap, sunglasses, very tight shorts, sandals and nothing else. Forty years ago you didn't see sights like this in uptight Thatcher's Britain. “You the horn section?” he asked, looking at our instrument cases. “The studio’s there.” It was Lee ‘Kix’ Thompson, saxophonist extraordinaire and the first man in drag whenever the music video cameras started rolling. “Ta-ra,” he said and headed off towards Camden.
Madness. The most aptly-named band ever. In a good way.
The Farm had met Suggs and Carl (Chas Smash) at the Oxford Road Show earlier in the year. This was a live BBC programme broadcast from Manchester and this episode featured The Smiths and Marillion as well as us and the two Nutty Boys.
Suggsy and Carl were promoting Michael Caine, an underrated Madness classic. Most people barely listened beyond the actor’s “My name is Michael Caine” voiceover, but the song is a dark story whose inspiration came from the British policy of recruiting supergrasses in Northern Ireland. Like most of Madness’s work, the light froth disguises serious and disturbing themes.
The green room at the Oxford Road studios was filled with scals who’d come along to support The Farm. They purloined all the drink that was provided for the bands. Suggs and Carl were pop royalty, though, and scallywags were prepared to share their booty with the pair.
The north Londoners were very complementary about our performance (we mimed) and then invited us to record our first single at their new studios. It was one of those occasions when you think people are being nice but it will never happen. Roll on a few months and we’re being directed to a terraced shopfront doorway by a near-naked Lee.
There are a number of things that were memorable about the recording sessions. Madness gave us free studio time and Suggs produced the songs. Their generosity was boundless.
That was also reflected in the slabs of cans stacked against the wall: they made sure we weren’t short of ale.
We went in the kitchen when we weren’t needed. George was looking to make a cup of tea and opened a cupboard. There was no crockery, just stacks of framed gold and silver records. They were crammed into every bit of spare space. I was looking at one in awe. It was from Japan. Every ragarse who’s been in a band dreams of getting one of these. Suggs came in and was, like, “keep it, take it home. We’ve got too many.”
I put it back, thinking it would be uncool to accept. Boy, have I regretted that ever since.
The recordings were relaxed. Some producers we'd worked with on BBC sessions clearly thought pop was a serious business. Not Madness. Listening to the playback, Suggs would call out “Bury it!” Reverb would be applied and his response was a change of mind, “Dig it up!” Carl was chipping in, “Give it the kiss of life!” And so on. Everything was a laugh and they had their routines down pat.
For me, it was the first recording where I’d used a trombone. I wasn’t a great exponent of that instrument but I was a dreadful trumpet player. To make things worse, George was a fine trumpeter. Up until then, I’d take a step back at recordings and let Georgie double track the parts. Now, I felt I could contribute properly.
We put the brass down quickly. Steve ‘Snowy’ Levy, who was famous for his work with China Crisis, was on sax. He was a proper professional. The first time we practiced together, he took us aside and said: “Is there any reason you play the line differently every time?”
Cue dumbarse shakes of the head from the two of us. “Can we try and do it one way and keep to that?"
We were pretty pleased with our performance and me and George went off to explore the hellholes that were King’s Cross pubs in those days. We couldn’t wait to hear the result.
A few days later we got a call from Peter Hooton, The Farm’s singer and leader. We were needed on the Caledonian Road again.
The mixing of tracks had been conducted in a party atmosphere. During the merriment, the brass had been erased. It was back to London for the three of us. No wonder Madness lost money on the studio.
Suggs later went on to manager The Farm during the band’s successful years. I was long gone by the time Groovy Train and All Together Now stormed the charts. That’s another story.
Madness, a great band and greater people. Don’t be fooled by their jovial exterior. They made some of the best and most thoughtful pop of the 1980s and continue to produce brilliant work while having maximum fun. Just don’t leave them alone with your brass track.