I received a phone call from Denise Mills, who was Chris Blackwell's personal assistant at Island Records and also looked after Steve Winwood and Bob Marley. "I want to know if you'll do a couple of days with Winwood," she said. "I've no idea what he is up to, but evidently he would like to record a track called 'Walk Me to the Lilies' with a friend of his called Mark Miller-Mundy, a neighbor I think. It's Mark who has suggested this song - he describes it as an 'old country song'. Mark will be there himself, by the way, to help out."
Denise knew Steve Winwood well. He had not worked on his own material for the past three years and she was worried that he might not even show up. "But I'm not paying you those Robert Palmer rates you know" she continued. "I'm not even paying you a daily rate, because I don't know how long this idea might last. I'll pay you by the hour - let's say £6.50 an hour."
I turned up at the Fallout Shelter as instructed on Monday the 11th of October at about 2 pm. Steve and Mark arrived and we set up - piano, Hammond, a guitar amp, and a basic rhythm box. Steve then played around with the song, mainly on piano, for about 8 hours and we packed up at about 11 pm. That accounted for the first day, during which Steve had hardly said a word. I was used to some sessions taking a while to get going and was not surprised at Steve's seeming lack of enthusiasm. The next day passed in more or less the same way, although we did get as far as putting a couple of ideas to tape, and Mark had some comments to make. Mark seemed pleasant enough and had that over-politeness and English camp of the born rich. He asked many questions about the desk and studio equipment and was friendly and flattering. By contrast Steve was very quiet - perhaps he didn't want to be in London, didn't like the studio or was not keen on the song, but he never said. He was, as usual, very shy. Steve tried out Mark's ideas, exhibiting very little personal opinion, and again we finished at about 11 pm. We took a day off, meeting at 3 pm on the 14th to continue. We spent another day trying different arrangements and approaches to "Walk Me to the Lilies" but nothing special appeared and by 11:30 pm the session had ground to a halt. Maybe Denise had been right.
Just before leaving for the night, Steve said quietly, "'Walk Me to the Lilies' isn't really for me, but I do have a bunch of ideas that I've been working on. How do you feel like moving out to my home studio, or to the studio at Chipping Norton to try them out?" Mark and I nodded in agreement with this suggestion and, after a short discussion, decided to use Chipping Norton Studios which, as a residential studio, could provide everything necessary to accommodate any other musicians that might become involved. I had worked there before and liked the layout and sound.
Two weeks later, on the 27th, we were in Chipping Norton, working five-day weeks from 2 pm to 3 am each day with a congenial band consisting of John Susswell on drums, Alan Spenner on bass, Brother James on percussion and Junior Marvin (soon to join Bob Marley) on guitar. I was still being paid by Denise at Island, on an hourly basis. The studio was built in an old school house and had a large rectangular studio area which gave a good live sound. Above, and built parallel to the live room, was a small compact control room and various small rooms and offices. There was a maze of corridors that ran the full length of the building and connected two stairwells and, ultimately, the studio to the control room. At the far end of the building there was a large kitchen where the band and staff would eat in the evenings. Outside there was a group of buildings that had been converted into apartments. These, along with the bedrooms in the main building, could accommodate about ten people. We were well looked after by the friendly studio staff and it was an easy and relaxed place to work.
As the band started to run through Steve's songs and ideas, the ambience was good and at times quite magical. While we were recording, Steve said little to anyone and just played, hunched over the Hammond, Fender Rhodes or piano, often wearing a dark blue duffel coat with the hood up. This seemed to accentuate his isolation and made it difficult for the musicians to make any eye contact with him. I had known Steve for almost ten years and we had, during that time, worked on many sessions together including Traffic, Amazing Blondel and more recently Stomu Yamash'ta's GO project. I had become used to Steve's withdrawn and shy manner (although this time he appeared to be more so than usual) and always enjoyed working with him. I regarded him as a very talented musician and singer, and for a long time he had been a hero of mine.
Steve had invited me to stay, while we were working on these sessions, at his imposing stone manor house in the hamlet of Turkdean, about twenty miles away. The main living room of the house was a 30' by 30' old-style stone hall. There was also a cozy sitting room, a small study, a well- equipped kitchen, bathroom, two utility areas and a large access hall. On the first floor, there were four or five bedrooms, some en-suite. During my time here, I only saw two bedrooms and the main stone room. The house was large and had apartments for live-in staff. Outside, in the extensive grounds, there were a collection of timber buildings, including sheds and greenhouses, and two large barns. In one of the barns an impressive home studio had been built, while the other housed Steve's splendid collection of cars - a 1930's Fleetwood Cadillac, two Ferraris, four French sports cars from the '60s, a Mercedes saloon and a Lancia fastback.
Each day Steve would roll out his valuable but delicate Ferrari Dino and after coaxing it to start in the damp and misty Gloucestershire mornings, we would drive the half-hour to Chipping Norton. We traveled down narrow country lanes, barely four inches off the ground, at speeds of over 100 mph. I was sure I was going to die, but my ego consoled me with the thought that at least I would be remembered as the engineer who crashed with Steve Winwood. We never spoke on these journeys, which was hardly surprising. When we arrived I always needed a cup of tea and a joint with Alan Spenner before I felt calm and ready for work.
At night, after sessions and an equally scary drive home, Steve and I would sit in the vast stone room at Turkdean Manor with a blazing fire, until 5 or 6 in the morning, smoking ourselves into a stupor. The room was built from large stone blocks and incorporated massive 7' high leaded windows, heavy oak doors, a carved ingle-nook fireplace and twelve-foot-high ceiling. Fanning out from the fireplace were three large armchairs, a dining table (capable of seating 10) an old sofa and a couple of wooden pews. The wood fire appeared to be going continuously and by the time we arrived home each night it would be stacked with wood and giving off maximum heat. There were four or five large wall hangings and portraits on the walls, and several rugs on the stone floor, to try to make it feel warm and cozy. This had worked to some degree, but near to the outside walls, or by the windows, the room could still feel cold and damp.
