From early fame in the '50s as part of an R&B duo, this New York-born producer was to change pop music culture forever by creating the world's first ever rap smash hit. Steve Sutherland on the life and work of the woman they call the 'Mother of hip-hop'
A-a-a-a-a-nd… Action! There's this young guy minding his own business outside the McDonald's on the corner of Palisade Avenue in Englewood, New Jersey, when an Oldsmobile 98 pulls up to the kerb. A teenaged boy jumps out, races over to the guy and shouts: 'Casper! Where you been? You were due in the studio on Monday!'.
A succession of happy accidents or always ahead of the curve? However you judge the career of this British-born DJ and producer one thing's for sure: he became a messianic figure to a generation of clubbers around the world. Steve Sutherland has the story...
Try as they might, they couldn't get arrested. They were two albums into a career that was stalling fast. To be fair, their debut, a wan psych indie thing called Sonic Flower Groove had been quite well received but their eponymous new one was going nowhere, given the cold shoulder by pretty much everyone. Everyone, that is, except for this one dude who ran a very cool fanzine and was rapidly gaining a reputation as an inside track clubland scenester.
Whether capturing The Kinks' proto-fuzz guitar on tape or the howl of The Who's feedback on record, this US-born producer's catalogue of firsts were to make him one of the most influential forces in '60s rock. Steve Sutherland celebrates Shel Talmy
Our tale begins in Cuba, or probably on a boat on its way from Havana to Miami. Let's imagine it's a choppy crossing and the rhythm we're here to follow has had a nip or two of rum, its footing unsteady on deck, rocking to and fro in a kind of exuberant stumbling macho strut.
His shimmering guitar soundscapes not only brought the Cocteau Twins fame back in the '80s but would earn him numerous production credits with other bands seeking his trademark touch. Steve Sutherland on the Scottish-born producer Robin Guthrie
One of the '80s most over-the-top critical statements…' That's what the Guardian said.
'That was very naughty of you Steve, very, very naughty…' was what the singer said before she bit me on the arm in the pouring rain outside the Embassy Club in London and drew blood through my jacket, a small rosary of teeth marks tattooed there for a week or two, testament to her displeasure.
Not only was this British-born producer an RAF pilot in WWII but he would go on to become The Beatles' first sound engineer before discovering and producing Pink Floyd. So why did John Lennon christen him 'Normal'? Steve Sutherland has the answer...
The group, it's fair to say, were getting a right rollicking. Their hair was too long, their clothes too shabby, their manners a mite lairy, and as for their equipment... it was a shambles, falling apart.
He has penned a dazzling succession of magical melodies, writing many of the most successful hits in the history of pop with theme tunes and Oscar-winning movie scores to his name too. But let's not forget his work as a producer, says Steve Sutherland
They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks but I know for a fact that's a lie. I mean, I was 40 years old when I suddenly learned the difference between a gig and a concert and that the latter demanded the audience behave a mite more decorously than I'd been previously used to.
From LA scene-maker to success in shaping the early California surf and folk rock sounds, this US-born producer's legacy became overshadowed by the shocking incident that would bring '60s counterculture to its end. Steve Sutherland has the story...
Pop quiz! What was the title of The Golden Penetrators' debut LP? Was it a) 'Posting A Cheque Through A Dead Person's Mail Box?', b) 'All Hail The Thunder!' or c) 'Try Me On For Size?'.
Ha! Gotcha! It was none of the above because The Golden Penetrators weren't a band – though with a name like that they should have been.
Veteran of the late '70s British pub rock scene, this UK-born guitarist began to hone his studio skills when appointed in-house producer for the fledgling Stiff Records label. Steve Sutherland traces the career of the self-effacing pop crafstman they call 'Basher'
What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done? Snog the wrong person at the office Christmas party? Leave the house with your flies undone? Send an email meant for your partner to your boss by mistake?
Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day... it's not easy making albums that sell in their millions while maintaining credibility with your hard-core indie fans. Steve Sutherland celebrates the producer able to 'shift the units while keeping everything cool...'
The singer was suicidal. All he did in his down time was compile list after list of the songs he wanted played at his funeral. Luckily, if you want to put it that way, there was actually very little down time because the singer was labouring in the studio 16 hours a day under the illusion that what was expected of him was to make, in his own words, 'the next album to set the world on fire'.
The producer remembers it this way: 'Billy wanted to make a record that people would put on and say, "What the f*** was that?"'.
His clients have included the cream of rock royalty, so how come this British-born producer is one of the most divisive around? Steve Sutherland on the man who successfully collaborated with the band whose shadow, some say, he never escaped
It was a job you wouldn't wish on anyone, even your worst enemy. A deadly odds-on no-win nightmare. And Jeff Lynne had just been handed the gig.
'Every morning I would wake up with half dread, half exhilaration,' he remembered later. 'The idea of doing it was the most thrilling thing imaginable… but messing it up would be horrible.' The terrible task in hand? To reanimate The Beatles!
The Stones, Beatles, Led Zeppelin's landmark debut LP... pick up a classic album at random and there's every chance it will credit the work of this British-born producer. Steve Sutherland on the man who began as the first freelance engineer in rock history
It's a Sunday afternoon late in 1966 and we're in South London working overtime at Olympic Studios. The band have already done their stuff – the basic track was laid down a few weeks earlier at the RCA Records Studio in Hollywood. So today it's just us, the producer, his chauffeur, the engineer and the singer, who's busy behind that screen putting down vocal takes between hitting on a mighty spliff he's rolled to keep him in the zone.
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