Becoming Free - How I Got Into The Rock 'n' Roll Music Industry

I wrote this little account for anyone who has a dream that seems impossible.

When I was 17 years old I succeeded in landing a job in a prominent UK residential recording studio, enabling me to leave home and start a brand new life working with some amazing musicians, producers and engineers. This is how I did it. If you want something bad enough you can surely make it happen.

I'd left school as soon as possible as it had bored me senseless. Despite my attempts to get a life going for myself by getting out there at an early age working in shops and as as a software tester I found myself at aged 16 still living at home and working as a trainee service engineer at disc drive manufacturing company Cumana - for a salary of 4,000 pounds a year. Even back then in 1989 that was å dire yearly wage and the work was very repetitive and dull. I desperately needed a big change as I couldn't imagine myself continuing to live like this.

I had always loved music and through seeing the owner of The Model Shop's son, Michael Day, begin a career in music recording at Stock, Aitken and Waterman (home of Kylie Minogue and Rick Astley). I had direct exposure to someone who was working in something that sounded fun and exciting. I decided I would too become a recording engineer and start a new life hanging out with the rich and famous. Michael told me that the recording industry was very hard to break into but I was determined and I figured the only way I thought I could possibly make this happen is by trying. So I started making phone calls.

I procured a bunch of music magazines featuring the names of recording studios in and around the South East of the UK. Every lunch time at Cumana I took a walk down to the local phone box in Wood Street in Guildford and rang as many studios as I could before I was due back at work for the afternoon shift. On Wednesday's I was studying electronics (a system known as 'day release') at Guildford College of Technology near the town centre so my phone calls to studios on those days took place from the public phone box there.

I must have called 40-50 different recording studios over the course of a month or two, each time expressing my enthusiasm for working as a tea boy for them, for next to no money. “I am so dedicated to this, if you just give me a chance I promise I will not let you down” I would say. As you can imagine, nearly every time I would be turned away. On some occasions I would pretend to be a friend of the artist currently recording there as the magazines in those days listed the current sessions. I remember calling a studio in London and asking to speak to the singer Sam Brown who was in the charts at the time with her hit single “Stop!” - claiming to know her. Of course they didn't put me through to her but as fate would have it once I had later gotten into the business I was lucky enough to actually work with Sam on her extraordinary and very personal '43 minutes' album (1992) and become acquainted to her, her husband Robin and her brother Pete.

So, one of the many phone calls I made was to 'Ridge Farm Studios' – a residential recording studio situated in between Dorking and Horsham, not too far away from my home town of Guildford. I got through to the studio manager, Ann, and was met with a welcoming response.

“We may need someone at some point.”

Oh my god, I thought. This is not an outright “no” for a change. I had goosebumps thinking about moving away to the country to make records. “You have to hire me.” was all I could say. I went on and on about my love for music, my unhappiness back in Guildford, how I was desperate to move away and start a brand new life in a live-in recording studio.

Although she could make no promises of employment, Ann was gracious enough to grant me a visit so we could have a chat. This was incredible news, dear readers, and I was determined to capitalise on this opportunity. She told me to come up after work, about 7pm next Wednesday.

What then transpired completely changed my life. A colleague at Cumana who lived in the vicinity of Dorking drove me to Ridge Farm that Wednesday night. Dropping me off, I was in awe the moment I arrived. A long gravel drive led to a series of black and white 16th Century buildings, beautiful gardens surrounding them. It felt electric and I wandered towards the warm glow of what looked like the main house.

http://www.aahorsham.co.uk/content/ridgefarm

Having knocked at the door and been greeted by Ann I was ushered down a red carpeted corridor, past the kitchen where a busy smiley lady said hello, then up a staircase with walls featuring a series of framed shiny hit records by artists like Peter Gabriel, Status Quo and Wet Wet Wet - into a small cosy office. Ann called the studio owner, Frank, on the phone and he soon joined us.

We chatted about music, recording sessions and me. Why did I want to work here so badly? Did I realise it's very long hours and little pay? I told them I didn't care about those things and that I had explained everything in my letter. Ann then opened up the letter I had sent to her the day after she'd invited me for a chat, a few days earlier.

I don't remember the exact contents of the letter; perhaps I will see if I can track it down. But apparently it had made quite an impression on Ann and Frank. It was definitely a very honest outpouring from a desperate 16 year old. I most certainly had expressed that they really need to hire me on account of me doing such an incredible and dedicated job. After around an hour the meeting ended with no guarantees but 'they would think about it' and I took an expensive cab ride home back home to Guildford. I was so happy in the back of that taxi; all I could dream about was starting a new life in rock n' roll at Ridge Farm.

A few days later after not hearing anything from the folks at Ridge Farm I couldn't contain myself. I had to make another plea to Ann so I called her from the lunch time phone box down the road from Cumana and tried to sell on an offer she couldn't refuse. I rang, Ann picked up and said hello. “How do either of us know it would work out?” I said. “I believe I can do a great job but how do I know for sure? How do you know for sure? It would be a gamble for you.”

“How about I come work there for a weekend, for free, just to see how it goes?” I said. “If it doesn't work out, we'll both know. If it does work out, there's still no obligation for you to employee me. But please just let me help out over a weekend, for free”. Ann seemed on my side and as far as I can recall agreed to this idea there and then. I had made serious inroads towards succeeding in my mission!

The weekend in question came around and 'excitement' does not do justice to the way I felt. My Dad drove me up to Ridge Farm on the Saturday morning and dropped me off in the car park at the end of the gravel drive. Overnight bag in hand, I walked into a new world.

That morning I met Paul Cuddeford, the in-house assistant engineer I would be 'working' with in the studio, and some of the kitchen staff. I could hardly believe what was happening as I entered the recording area then the control room for the first time. I was introduced to an engineer and two music legends who were sat together in front of the huge mixing console, listening back to their work. Firstly a leather-clad Paul Rodgers – best known for being the lead singer in bands Free and Bad Company, and Kenney Jones - best known as the drummer of bands Small Faces and The Who. They were in collaboration on a new project called The Law. Hairs stood up on the back of my neck as Paul's classic rock vocals screamed out of the huge speakers into the room that day.

Paul and Kenney were very friendly to me as I struggled with the concept that I was in the company of a couple of rock stars at work. Besides Phil Collins, who graced our presence at The Model Shop one day, I hadn't met any celebrities before – let alone been a part of their world. As I sat down on the sofa at the back of the control room I noticed a guitar case covered in thick silver metal chains which were wrapped around the case and the thick legs of the mixing console. A massive padlock held it firmly in place. “Guess who that guitar used to belong to Ade” said Paul 'the voice' Rodgers. “John Lennon”.

As the weekend unfolded I fell in love. Everything about the recording sessions from the late night boozy atmosphere to the smell of the jazz cigarettes and the warmth and multi-coloured coloured lights of the mixing desk appealed to me. On account of me knowing nothing about recording or studios I wasn't really helping much during the recording sessions but when I asked Paul the in-house engineer if he thought I had a chance of landing a job there he told me he thought if I'd got this far that I had as good as already gotten the job. Besides, he told me, he was actually a guitarist and not planning to stick around Ridge Farm too much longer anyway.

Sure enough, I must not have rubbed anyone up the wrong tree too much that weekend as Ann and Frank offered me a job soon afterwards. They were right. The pay was crap at 15 pounds a day and the hours were gruelling; sessions often starting around 10am (after I'd cleaned the studio and lined up the tape machines) and wrapping up around 2am, sometimes not ending at all as work continued through the night into the next morning. But I was happy to work my ass into the ground day and night in my new fantastic and exciting home the recording studio.

I started work at Ridge Farm shortly after my 17th birthday and I got to spend nearly four years of my life working with all kinds of incredible people including Beatles' engineer Geoff Emerick, singer-songwriter genius Paddy McAloon (Prefab Sprout), production pioneer Trevor Horn, man-mountain Seal, sassy hit makers Sade (Sade, Stuart, Andrew, Paul and Mike), rock gods Pearl Jam, wonderful human being and inspirational producer Tim Palmer, pop stars T'Pau (Carol Decker and crew), wonderful woman and incredible singer Sam Brown, the legendary Black Sabbath, Echo & The Bunnymen (without Ian McCulloch although I did work on his solo record later) and Roddy Frame of Aztec Camera.

One day on my first full session with the band Energy Orchard the phone rang and I picked it up to Van Morrison asking to speak to Mick the producer. Another time while working on a Tin Machine record with producer Tim Palmer and guitarist Reeves Gabrels the phone rang and I picked it to find myself talking to David Bowie. He was on his yacht and wanted to check in on how things were going. These were far-out experiences for a teenager.

During those years I obviously hadn't given up the hope of random phone calls turning into life changes. When I was about 20 years old my greatest ambition was to work at Paisley Park with my number 1 music idol, Prince. One night from the back room of Ridge Farm I called up Paisley Park pretending to be Bobby Z, asking to speak to Prince himself. The phone line went quiet for a while as the receptionist went away to see if Prince wanted to speak but he didn't come to the phone. I should've known it wouldn't work as why does the American music legend Bobby Z suddenly sound like a teenage boy from England, ringing long distance?

Still, I had to try :)