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The following is an extract from a book on Dire Straits I came accross just by chance in Helsinki book store and bought it. It was writen by Michael Oldfield in cooperation with the band. If you'd like to buy it, try to go through its publisher Sidgwick & Jackson Limited, 1 Tavistock Chambers, Bloomsbury Way, London WC1A 2SG  (ISBN 0-283-98995-5 for softcover and 0-283-98990-4 for hardcover).

   Summer 1977. Four hungry musicians gather in a crumbling flat in a condemned South London tenement block. Tacking carpet to the walls to deaden the sound, they begin to rehearse a song written by their guitarist, Mark Knopfler. The song is "Sultans of Swing", shortly destined to echo around the world on a classic single.
    Here for the first time is the full inside story of how Dire Straits became one of the world's most successful bands, with million-selling records and sell-out tours.

    It's a freezing December evening in London, and small knots of people, huddled deep in winter coats, spiral up the hill from Wembley Park underground station. They gather in the parade ground outside Wembley Arena, faces pinched with cold, feet stamping away the rising frost, breath streaming away like smoke in the icy air.
    The billboard reads:"Dire Straits. December 18, 19, 20, 21. Sold out". Touts flit from group to group offering tickets up to five times the face value. Hands vervously pat pockets to ensure the precious paper is still there. Eyes glance surreptitiously at small print and confirm that the doors should have opened ten minutes ago.
    Inside the entrance security men, arms folded resolutely over beribboned chests, stand guard over turnstiles, waiting to click in tonight's audience. In the horseshoe thoroughfare that flanks the seating area, shops and stalls are ready for business. Beer taps drip, frankfurters bob in steaming water, and Dire Straits T-shirts sit in neat piles, stacked in order of size.
    Inside the auditorium itself, tiers of empty seats banked up on three sides stare bleakly down on to the central area. Security men in orange Day-Glo jackets are dotted around, watching the stage with desultory interest. At the far end, two deskd face the stage, one controlling the lights, the other the sound. It's from the latter that Pete Granger, Dire Straits' sound engineer, announces over the PA system:"It's absolutely essential that we run through again!" There's desperation in his voice.
    On-stage, marooned amongst tons of equipment, miles of cable and thousands of pounds worth of instruments, Dire Straits await a decision. Centre back, behind his drumkit, is Terry Williams, flanked by Tommy Mandel on his left and Alan Clark on his right, both surrounded by keyboards.
    On the stage proper stand three guitarists. Below Tommy is Hal Lindes, earnestly discussing his guitar with a roadie. Below Alan is John Illsley, leaning against a riser and keeping his bass ticking over with the odd strum. To John's right is sax player Mel Collins, waiting patiently as his mike is adjusted to the correct height. Mel is playing on "Two Young Lovers" at the Wembley shows, and it's this number that has yet to be checked.
    Stage centre, Mark Knopfler, manager Ed Bicknell and tour manager Paul Cummings are deciding whether to run through the song once more or to let the audience in. Music wins out - it always does with Dire Straits - and "Two Young Lovers" blasts out across thousands of empty seats as the final touches are put to the technical side of the show.
    Finally, the doors are opened and the frosen fans allowed in. Musicians and roadies clamber off the stage and disappear into the safety of their backstage world. Security is tight here, with guards on all exits and entrances, only those with special plastic photo passes can reach this area. Even distinguished visitors have to be led down through the VIP section by a pass-holder.

    To anyone familiar only with the records, the pull and power of Dire Straits on-stage comes as a shock. Above all, they are a rock band, and they can beat it out with the best of the high-energy groups. But they never resort to the sliched tricks of the rabble-rousers who reduced songs to repetitive riffs and elongated them with pretentious solos.
    The songs themselves are the most important element of their music, and everything is tailored to fit them. They're complex creations, each with an emotional life of its own. On record, the songs are portraits, descriptions, words adn music. On-stage they live and breathe.
    Tonight, the audience is completely immersed in the ebb and flow of emotion pouring from the stage, adrift on the tide of music. From the opening chords of "Once Upon A Time In The West", the lushness of the keyboard instrumentation and the throbbing riff wash out to all four corners of the arena......

Well, that should be enough to give you an idea of the style, the book is written in... It is a great book and definitely worth reading for anyone who wants to learn about the band.

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