Sinatra! Hendrix! Jerry LeeLewiS!
Welcometothestar-studdedworldoftheSalesbrothers...t
heprospectofworkingwith
DavidBowie,oranyother
majorstarforthatmatter,
neverfazedhuntandTonySales.
ThesonsofAmericancomedian,
actorandTVpersonalitySoupy
Sales,theygrewupsurroundedby
heavy-dutyshowbiz.
“I wasdrinkingwithFrankSinatra
in NewYorkwhenI was 16 years
old,”recallselderbrother,Tony.
“Frankwasa friendofthefamily.
AndDeanMartin’sson,
Deano,wasmybestfriend
whenI was12.Weusedto
ridemotorcyclesoutin LA
andBeverlyhills.hunt
wasnineandI was 12
whenweplayedourfirst
gigtogether.”
Addshunt,whosefirst
eversoloalbum,Get
YourShitTogether,
hasjustbeenreleased:“Ifyou’vehung
outwithDeanMartin,
FrankSinatra,Sammy
DavisandBuddyRichat
sevenoreightyearsold,
noshowbusinessshitis
goingtoimpressyou.
I’mnotgoingto
kissanybody’s
ass.Mydad
waskind
oflikeTheBeatles.I’dgotoseehimplay
gigsandpeoplelikeTheIsley
Brotherswouldbeonthebill.And
everydayhe’dhavea different
musicalguestonhistelevision
show.Onedayit wouldbeJerry
LeeLewis,thenextit wouldbe
someoneelse.At 14 I gottomeet
Jimihendrixanda yearlaterI was
workingwithToddRundgren.So
I gottoseesomecrazyfucking
badassshit.”JULY 2019 • UNCUT• 89
“I was coming from more of an art-rock, prog-
jazz kind of background,” says Gabrels. “But then
David ran into Tony [Sales] at an aftershow party
in LA and got this thought into his head.”
For Bowie, Hunt and Tony Sales represented
another occasion where he had been part of a
collective endeavour. All three had backed Iggy
Pop on 1977’s The Idiot Tour, with Bowie on piano.
“David was a big star, but he liked the idea of just
being one of the boys,” says Hunt Sales. “When
Iggy wasn’t around, the three of us would jam at
soundchecks and just hang out together.” This
low-key camaraderie continued later that year
at Berlin’s Hansa Studios, when the Sales
brothers provided the rhythm section for the
Bowie-produced Lust For Life.
Evidently keen to rekindle this communal
dynamic, Bowie invited the Sales to sessions at
Mountain Studios. It proved to be a fruitful clash
of styles. On one hand, Bowie and Gabrels
represented a more questing, avant-garde spirit,
while on the other the Sales – versed in soul, R&B
and rock’n’roll – favoured a more elemertal
approach. Simply put, the old school met art
school. “It’s all about feel for me, that’s my
groove,” Hunt Sales offers. “It’s not a dweeb
intellectual bullshit thing.”
The Sales also came with a reputation. “They
were a pair of wild cards,” says Kevin Armstrong,
who flew out to join the sessions shortly after.
“They were insanely funny and poorly behaved,
in lots of ways. There was a lot of bickering and
banter between them, based on the fact that Tony
is a recovering addict, but can be a right pain in
the arse if you’re having a beer, whereas Hunt
could take his own weight in toxic substances
every day and couldn’t be happier. They were the
crazy element of Tin Machine.”
“The first day I met them, Hunt was wearing
a T-shirt that said ‘Fuck You, I’m From Texas’,”
remembers Gabrels. “And he had a six-inch knife
on his belt. He had a mild sort of prison yard vibe- the denim coat and matching jeans with cuffs.
Everything but the tear tattoo.
“Their father was [US TV comedian] Soupy
Sales and they grew up on the periphery of the
Rat Pack,” Gabrels continues. “So they were
showbiz kids and I was just this guy from Boston
with glasses. I was in the studio doing a guitar
thing and the Sales brothers kept getting on the
talkback mic: ‘No, you should play that more
like BB King. No, play it more like Hendrix...’
Every time I did a take it was a different,
diametrically opposed instruction.
I finally had enough.
I stepped up to the
closed-circuit camera
and said, ‘Look, I
appreciate your input,
but I’ve got a bunch of
ideas of my own that
I’m going to try first. So
just shut the fuck up!’
When the talkback came back up, they were
laughing hysterically. Everything was fine after
that. They just wanted to see how far they could
push me.”T
HE Lower Third, The Riot Squad, The
King Bees. The Konrads, The Manish Boys,
The Buzz. In the ’60s, Bowie had gonethrough a string of bands, with little success.
Nevertheless, in 1988, being part of a group once
again presented an opportunity to move further
outside the creative cul-de-sac of superstardom.
“He didn’t want to do that Vegas shtick any
more,” says Tony Sales. “He just wanted to get
back to his roots.”
Hunt recalls: “It just organically came together.
I know the lead singer happened to be a giant
superstar, but I didn’t give a fuck about that. Get
some fucking heathens around you and keep it
real. It was one big dysfunctional family.”
But, you might ask, could David Bowie ever
really agree to collective responsibility? Even in
this apparently democratic outfit, wasn’t Bowie
always going to be first among equals? Aged 41,
how much of all this was, essentially, a rock star
in midlife crisis? Whatever, in the studio, a
collaborative atmosphere prevailed. The band
fleshed out sketches and jams together or else
created songs on the fly. Overdubs were kept to
a minimum. The guiding imperative was
simple: first thought, best thought.
“There wasn’t too much talk about
arrangements,” Palmer confirms. “Hunt and
Tony weren’t the sort of people who took direction
too well. They knew what they wanted to do and
David was enjoying the fact that it was slightly out
of control. He liked letting people do their thing.”
Gabrels believes this was a crucial aspect of
Bowie’s creative vision: “Apart from being an
amazing singer, David felt that his prime talent
was as a really good art director. He
would select people to do what they
do, then put them in a context that
was unusual for them. Sometimes
it’s like casting a movie. It’s the
way you make the discrepancies
work that counts. That’s where the
sex and all the juice is.”
“Heaven’s In Here”, the first
thing they worked up, set out the
band’s stall. “Under The God”,
initially called “Night Train” in
tribute to James Brown, took aim
at far-right politics while riding a
punky Sonny Boy Williamson riff.
“Prisoner Of Love” was as good a pop tune as
anything Bowie had come up with for some time.
Another gem was “I Can’t Read”, on which
Bowie’s elliptical narrative finds a mirror in
Gabrels’ terse guitar lines. Recorded live in one
take after the sessions had moved to Compass
Point, “I Can’t Read” had been written by Bowie
and Gabrels during a boat trip from Mustique to ROBIN PLATzeR/TWIN IMAGeS/The LIFe IMAGeS COLLeCTION/GeTTY IMAGeS; ABC PhOTO ARChIVeS/ABC VIA GeTTY IMAGeSTIN MACHINE
Bowie with Louise
Lecavalier of dance
group LA LA LA
Human Steps at the
Dominion Theatre,
London, July 1, 1988Soupy
Sales