Gordon Lorenz From Daily Post, by Alun Pritchard, Jun 2004
If someone had told me that one day Shirley Bassey would be lying on top of
me, I'd have never believed it
Record producer Gordon Lorenz on how he was destined to be a preacher, how he
helped discover Charlotte Church... and how he had one Welsh diva literally
jumping for joy
As the music played she sat motionless. Through song after song her expression
didn't change and not a word passed her lips, feeding the unease of the man
behind the recording studio desk. His nervousness increased as an hour went by
without her betraying any hint of her emotions. Then the final song finished.
Silence stole studio time and she turned toward the man - and leapt on him.
The woman was Dame Shirley Bassey, the man Llandudno's Gordon Lorenz, the music
her album, produced by him and heard by her for the first time.
"She had sat there unmoved, listening, which was just nightmarish for me. Then
at the end she came across to the mixing desk and literally threw herself onto
me and said, 'It's wonderful, I'm so pleased'. And I lay there with Shirley
Bassey on top of me thinking that if somebody had told me as a little lad that
one day I'd be in this position, I'd never have believed it," says the
51-year-old father of three, relaxing in orange check shirt and shorts without
shoes or socks.
Few would believe they could one day be sandwiched between the floor and Shirley
Bassey in a recording studio, but it was perhaps a greater surprise to Lorenz to
be in such a position as he had started out on life's path to be a preacher.
"Being brought up in the Salvation Army, my parents wanted me to become an
evangelist. I used to go around the country preaching.
"They encouraged it and because they wanted me to learn about voice projection
and how to speak in front of people, they sent me at the age of six to drama
school.
"That was probably their big mistake, because it was there I got the showbiz
bug. But I was in my 20s before I had the nerve to say to my mother - my father
had died by then - 'I'm going to go into showbiz'," he says with a stutter,
echoing his nerves at the time.
"I knew once I'd said it I wouldn't be able to stay in the Salvation Army and it
would be a calamitous blow to her knowing she'd brought me up to it and I'd worn
the uniform."
Although the bible is still prominent on his book shelf - interestingly next to
The Legend Of Desperate Dan - it is overshadowed by the numerous gold discs that
adorn his office walls, each one a momento to his 25 years in showbusiness, a
landmark he celebrates this year.
His big break, he says, came when the controller of Border Television, who was
presenter of TV's Mr and Mrs, offered him work writing and producing 28-second
tunes to frame low budget cookery, gardening or keep fit programmes. It was in
this time that Lorenz fell in love with the recording studio.
"I always liked working in studios. They don't have any windows, they're always
very quiet, deliberately conducive to concentration and work," he says.
But it was his work outside the studio that really changed his fortunes when in
1980 he wrote There's No One Quite Like Grandma to tie in with the Queen
Mother's 80th birthday, and sent it to a record company.
"It's quite amazing because I'd never sent a song to any record company or music
company. They first of all turned it down, which didn't surprise me because I
didn't think it was that good anyway.
Then the managing director rang me and said he decided to put it out because he
said he couldn't get this 'grandma, we love you (Lorenz sings at this point) out
of my mind. If it's caught in my mind chances are that it will with the public,
and we'll put it out for Christmas'."
Despite Lorenz's fears that the song would be lost in the avalanche of Christmas
singles, it went on to sell over a million copies - one of the last Christmas
songs to do so - and sits in the record books as the best selling children's
song of all time.
And the understated Ivor Novello award for highest selling record of 1980,
beating Barbara Streisand's Woman In Love and the Police's Don't Stand So Close
To Me, peers over his paper strewn desk that looks out over his swimming pool
and a great view of Llandudno Bay.
The success of There's No One Quite Like Grandma gave Lorenz greater freedom in
the industry and he was invited by EMI to write and produce for them. A quarter
of a century later and Lorenz holds the record for producing the greatest number
of albums - over 750 - and his own songs have sold over eight million records.
But much of his success is due to his versatility as a producer, making records
in almost every musical genre from classical, through jazz and show tunes to
pop.
"I think the only thing I can say on how I've filled such a wide spectrum of
musical nuances is I always believe music is music, no matter whether it's jazz
or whether it's pop. At the end of the day it's either good or it's not,
enjoyable to listen to or it's not. So I look for something that, from a quality
point of view, is the best I can produce and hope that it meets the public
expectation."
The list of artists who trust him - think Howard Keel, Shirley Bassey, Atomic
Kitten, Harry Secombe and jazz greats, Johnnie Dankworth, George Melly, Humphrey
Lyttleton, Kenny Ball, Acker Bilk - shows he's got it right. And his opinion of
upcoming artists is often sought.
"I remember getting a call from Jonathan Shallit and he said: 'I've just
discovered a 12-year-old girl and I just want you to take her into the studio
and tell me what you think. She's never been in the studio before, why don't you
do Pie Jesu and Abide With Me.' So I took this little girl in and she wasn't at
all fazed when the red light came on. What intrigued me was her confidence and
she knew when she'd got it right and she knew when she could do it better. The
little girl was, of course, Charlotte Church.
"No one could have envisaged that she would become the world star that she has
but the fact remains that she was someone very special, and I was the first
person to produce her."
This may sound like a boast, but Lorenz is not prone to being egotistical,
although he does admit to enjoying the thrill of seeing his name on a record
sleeve in the early years of his career. His name has adorned many records but
few recordings have made as great an impact with him as the one he did with
Anthony Newley.
"He rang me and said he had been diagnosed with cancer, from which he eventually
died. He said, 'I've got so many songs I've written over the years and I want to
be able to record them so that when something does happen to me and I can't sing
any more at least I've got them on tape'."
But Lorenz is not a man to be maudlin and swiftly moves on to talk about his own
mistakes when he first met girl band Atomic Kitten.
"Before I worked with them I didn't know what to expect in terms of their
personal vocal ability and I expected that I would need to do a good
deal of work in production. When they went to the studio I was amazed. I thought
I'll never have preconceived ideas again, here were girls who really could
sing."
While you may hear a handful of Lorenz-produced songs each day on the radio you
may be forgiven for thinking him to be the silent man behind the controls, but
he does appear on more than a few records. "EMI used to call me the Alfred
Hitchcock of the record business," he laughs, referrig to Hitchcok's penchant
for appearing in all his films. His is the whistle in the Dixon Of Dock Green
theme and the laugh in the disco version of the Laughing Policeman.
But while we may hear him time and again, he won't. "Once I've produced a record
I never listen to it again. I never go back - I feel I have to move on and I
don't want to become self indulgent about work I've done," he says.
But neither will he listen to anybody else's work. "Music is my work, the last
thing I want to do when I'm I'm driving, for instance, is to listen to music. I
suppose it's like a dentist; when he goes home he's not going to examine his
family's teeth every night."