Arthur Baker Collection

In the late ’90s, Arthur Baker was approached by Bernard Sumner of New Order—with whom he’d first collaborated on 1983’s “Confusion”—and Johnny Marr of the Smiths to produce their third album as Electronic. Among those contributing to the sessions for what would become 1999’s Twisted Tenderness was a young Kieren Hebden, who had recently completed his first album as Four Tet. 

As it happened, Baker, who’d moved from New York to London several years earlier, in part to open a group of American-style pool bars called the Elbow Room, was beginning work on an album of his own as well. Hebden, along with his band Fridge, would be among the musicians and collaborators Baker would invite to sessions at London’s Mayfair Studios and Coach House in Bristol. A short list of the others includes spiritual jazz oracle Pharoah Sanders; Peter Hook of New Order; Rob Merrill and Si John of Reprazent; the Scottish band Mogwai; bassist Gary “Mani” Mounfield of Stone Roses and Primal Scream; Sabres of Paradise’s Jagz Kooner; Suicide’s Alan Vega; and the late singer Denise Johnson. The recordings, which continued on well into the Aughts, were shelved, but more than twenty-five years after commencing the project, Baker has returned to these sessions to complete what he has now titled The Lost London Album.

Such a union of musicians might seem incongruous, but Arthur Baker has always reveled in experimentation, pushing himself and others into unfamiliar territory. Alongside his seminal electro productions for Tommy Boy Records and his own Streetwise label, including Afrika Bambaataa and the Soul Sonic Force’s era-defining “Planet Rock” and “Walking on Sunshine” by Rockers Revenge, and his influential collaborations with Freeez (“I.O.U.”) and New Order (the aforementioned “Confusion”), were genre-jumping projects for the likes of Dr. John, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Hall and Oates, and even the Rolling Stones. 

By the mid ’80s, Baker, working from his own Shakedown Sound Studios in New York, had become the producer of choice for legacy artists looking to move in new, electronic directions. But the Boston native, having been deeply immersed in the club scene of the ’70s and ’80s, also clung resolutely to his underground roots, founding Criminal Records as a home for early house music and other underground dance sounds in 1986. Having never lost his itch for both innovation and collaboration, he has kept an ear towards emerging artists and sounds through to today.

With the now Miami-based Baker set to release his Lost London Album this year via New State Music, alongside an autobiography, Looking for the Perfect Beat (Faber & Faber), we connected with the legendary producer, songwriter, DJ, and creative instigator to discuss this once-missing chapter from his life story and reminisce on highlights from his ever-evolving, nearly fifty-year career. 

How did the Lost London Album project come about?

Arthur Baker: I was living in Primrose Hill, where I worked from Mayfair Studios. It was by Creation Records and also near the studios of Primal Scream. It was a really cool environment with Neneh Cherry and [producer] Cameron McVey living right opposite me. That became my hood for a while and I started meeting all these musicians. At the time, I had a girlfriend who was really into indie stuff and introduced me to groups like Mogwai. It was a magical time for me with music and meeting all these great people.

The track you wrote and arranged for Mogwai used the Jewish hymn “Avinu Malkeinu.” Where did that idea come from?

As a child, that hymn was the first music I ever heard in the temple at Yom Kippur, and I had always loved its beautiful melody. The song always resonated with me. When I heard Mogwai, I thought this would be an amazing track for them to handle. So I made them a demo just playing it on my bass and they loved the concept. [After recording the version which appears on The Lost London Album] they then went off and took the track to another level [as 2001’s “My Father My King” with producer Steve Albini]. 

These DJs used the clubs as testing grounds for their own productions, as you would at the Fun House at the height of electro.

Yeah, the Fun House really was our sound stage where we would watch the reaction of the dancers. I knew the crowd and was aiming my records for them. They were very open to lots of different music being played by Jellybean, who was another great DJ. But we also went into the club when it was empty and tested records on the system. We would go back and forth from my studio on West 37th Street to the Fun House on West 26th Street. That was definitely the case with New Order’s “Confusion.” That was made specifically for the Fun House.                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

It’s a scene captured wonderfully in that video for “Confusion.” I’ve always thought that was one of the most important documents of New York in the ’80s. Kind of like Taxi Driver for the club scene.

You’re right, man, nothing else captures New York at that time like it. Nobody else thought of doing something like that. [Factory Records founder] Tony Wilson somehow convinced me to be in that video because I really didn't want to be. Without him that would never have happened. I’m so pleased he did convince me, though.

“Confusion” was one of many records where you used the Roland TR-808, the machine you became most associated with. Can you take yourself back to first using it on “Planet Rock”?

I had heard Kraftwerk’s “Numbers” at the Music Factory [on Fulton Street in Brooklyn] and loved that sound. We were going into Intergalactic Studios with Afrika Bambaata but they didn't have a drum machine, nor did I at that time. So we looked in the Village Voice and saw an advert for a man with a drum machine. I called the guy, whose name was Joe, and he had an 808. So we took it to Manny’s Music store to try it out. Then we went into the studio and I programmed the beats with Joe and Bambaataa, and that was the start of “Planet Rock.” It had that Latin feel I loved. Once we made that record we owned that sound for a little while. Then [Jimmy] Jam and [Terry] Lewis began using it and it became their sound. So when I went to do “Breaker’s Revenge,”[from 1984’s Beat Street soundtrack] I switched to the [Oberheim] DMX. I didn’t just want to be known for the 808.

You’ve always thrived on collaboration and bringing people together. When you look back, what projects have you been most proud of?

I would definitely say [the 1985 Artists United Against Apartheid album] Sun City, which we recorded at Shakedown. Steve Van Zandt originally wanted to have four rappers and four rockers but I wanted to make sure it was much more. I really wanted it to be a big statement with the artists we could collaborate with [including Miles Davis, Peter Gabriel, Gil Scott-Heron, Herbie Hancock, Run-DMC, and Keith Le Blanc]. We heard rumors Miles might turn up, then one day he did. It wasn’t like you booked Miles in for 8 p.m. for a session. Sun City was my finest hour as not only was it musically cool but it made a difference, I think.

Growing up against the backdrop of the Vietnam War/Civil Rights struggle, you experienced the power of music as a weapon. Do you think musicians have a responsibility to address what is going on in the world today?

I always thought it was important to give a message in the music. That is why I loved Gamble and Huff and Norman Whitfield creating those dance protest songs. Chuck D famously said rap was “the CNN of the ghetto.” I mean the world is fucked up right now. It would be good if some artists stood up.

Has writing the book made you look back at your life differently or brought things like the Lost London Album sessions into focus?

The thing is, without having the photos, films, track sheets, and data on cassettes written by engineers at that time, I wouldn't have been able to write the book in the same way. With all this documentation from back then, it’s enabled me to reconnect with that time and it’s been much easier to go back. Writing the book has been like being a private investigator into my own life.