When the session was over, Bono sat at the mixing desk with Andy Gill. They began to weave the two vocal tracks together.
As Michael’s recorded voice pleaded to slide away, Bono closed his eyes and began to improvise a response. His voice climbed into that famous, passionate register, cutting through the dark atmosphere of the track like a searchlight.
Michael Hutchence had been gone for two years. The shockwaves of his sudden passing in a Sydney hotel room in 1997 had settled into a dull, permanent ache for those who loved him. He left behind a vault of unfinished solo work—songs that captured a man trying to shed the skin of the leather-clad INXS rock god to reveal something raw, electronic, and deeply personal.
"I'm gonna wake you up..." Bono sang, his voice cracking slightly with genuine emotion. "I'm gonna wake you up, black dog!"
But it was incomplete. It lacked a counterpoint. It needed a voice that could answer Michael from across the void.
Bono didn’t hesitate. Michael hadn't just been a peer; he had been a brother in arms. They were two of the biggest frontmen on the planet in the 1980s and 90s, bonded by the unique, isolating experience of standing at the center of a hurricane. They had shared late nights, philosophical debates, laughter, and the relentless pressure of the spotlight. When Michael died, a piece of that era died with him.
Producer Andy Gill knew there was only one person who could fill that space. He picked up the phone and called Dublin.
When the session was over, Bono sat at the mixing desk with Andy Gill. They began to weave the two vocal tracks together.
As Michael’s recorded voice pleaded to slide away, Bono closed his eyes and began to improvise a response. His voice climbed into that famous, passionate register, cutting through the dark atmosphere of the track like a searchlight. Michael Hutchence feat Bono - Slideaway (NEW)
Michael Hutchence had been gone for two years. The shockwaves of his sudden passing in a Sydney hotel room in 1997 had settled into a dull, permanent ache for those who loved him. He left behind a vault of unfinished solo work—songs that captured a man trying to shed the skin of the leather-clad INXS rock god to reveal something raw, electronic, and deeply personal. When the session was over, Bono sat at
"I'm gonna wake you up..." Bono sang, his voice cracking slightly with genuine emotion. "I'm gonna wake you up, black dog!" His voice climbed into that famous, passionate register,
But it was incomplete. It lacked a counterpoint. It needed a voice that could answer Michael from across the void.
Bono didn’t hesitate. Michael hadn't just been a peer; he had been a brother in arms. They were two of the biggest frontmen on the planet in the 1980s and 90s, bonded by the unique, isolating experience of standing at the center of a hurricane. They had shared late nights, philosophical debates, laughter, and the relentless pressure of the spotlight. When Michael died, a piece of that era died with him.
Producer Andy Gill knew there was only one person who could fill that space. He picked up the phone and called Dublin.
Research Review with Anunta’s CTO | Jan 14 | 12PM PST/3PM EST