Freddie Mercury: The Biography

by Laura Jackson

  ‘Killer Queen’ had reached number five in the US charts, and this success was mirrored by demand for tickets at each scheduled gig, with extra dates being squeezed in to accommodate the band. Yet many rock critics compared them unfavourably to Led Zeppelin. But, according to Brian May, this wasn’t the whole picture. He claims that what he calls ‘the Anglophile element and the new A&R generation’ had already made them heroes, adding that on the whole it was the only place they got good reviews.

  Although delighted at the demand for extra dates, by the end of the first month, on four separate occasions Queen had been required to play twice on the same day. It was double work for all, but the burden was greatest for Mercury, who not surprisingly developed voice problems. Coming off stage at the end of the second day’s performance at the Erlinger Theatre in Philadelphia, he was in such pain that a throat specialist was brought over from a nearby hospital to examine him.

  He was clearly suffering from voice strain, but the doctor suspected that he was also developing nodules on his vocal cords. His recommendation was for the star not to sing, but it was advice Mercury rashly ignored: ‘I’ll sing until my throat is like a vulture’s crotch,’ he vowed.

  So saying, he appeared the next evening at the Kennedy Center, Washington, and promptly paid for his folly. He tried to excel as usual, but it was obvious that he was struggling. When the performance was over, he was in agony again. A Washington consultant had little patience, knowing that Mercury had ignored his Philadelphia colleague’s advice. Unimpressed with his sense of duty to his fans, he diagnosed him as suffering from severe laryngitis and ordered him to rest. This time Mercury had no option and gave in; the next six gigs were cancelled.

  Impatient at the delay, Mercury was heartened by news from England that Queen had just been voted Band of the Year by Melody Maker. He was convinced that this was to be their time in America and could hardly wait for the tour to resume. When it did, though, the rest proved to have been too short, as he discovered on launching into his first number at the Mary E. Sawyer Auditorium in La Crosse. Yet more cancellations were necessary, and the last four weeks operated on this stop-start pattern, with the final date in Portland on 7 April having to be cancelled at the last moment. Because of the tour’s erratic nature, it was hard for Mercury to assess its impact.

  The news about Trident, too, was still not encouraging. Among the people with whom they had come into contact during the trip was the colourful showbusiness manager Don Arden. Impressed by Queen, he headhunted them with promises of lucrative deals if he could be their manager. Before they left America he had got all four band members to sign letters of authorisation for him to act on their behalf and deal directly with the Sheffields.

  This experience of the States seems to have affected Mercury in different ways. Contact with a cosmopolitan cross section of people was something he had always loved, and such opportunities were numerous on tour. It appears likely that although in his private life he still enjoyed a heterosexual relationship with Mary Austin, while abroad he had started to indulge his homosexual desires. On his later trips to America, he certainly enjoyed such encounters, but, according to one close friend, by 1975 Mercury had realised he was gay.

  By mid-April Mercury was relaxing with the others on a brief holiday in Hawaii, before tackling their debut tour of Japan; a country and culture that would play a huge part in his life. All the optimism in the world could not have prepared them for the reception they would receive on their first visit to Tokyo. Pandemonium broke out among the 3000-strong crowd of teenagers cramming the airport to greet them, as they screamed themselves hoarse under the uncomprehending gaze of the airport security guards.

  The first gig was at the Budokan Martial Arts Hall. Prior to going on stage, the promoter had warned them that the audience would be very quiet at first, but they were not to worry. As it turned out, the show was the start of something new in Japan, and the experience, in various ways, remained with Queen for ever.

  The night itself was certainly one to remember. Transferring the blind hysteria from the airport to the hall, the fans lost themselves in a sea of delirium, drowning out the music with their screams and working themselves into such a frenzy that finally they lost control and stampeded the stage. Alarmed as much for the fans’ safety as their own, Mercury stopped the show and appealed for calm. That night, this eventually worked – but Queenmania spread to Nagoya, Okayama, the ancient city of Kobe and beyond.

  Japan was the first country to recognise Queen as a major force in music. Off stage their hosts, with an excess of polished decorum, treated the band with enormous deference, showering them with expensive gifts. Queen reciprocated in the best way they could – by appearing on stage for the encore on their final night, again at the Budokan, dressed in traditional kimonos. The audience went berserk, but certainly in Mercury’s case, he was paying more than lip service. His fascination with this country was to grow, and in time he became respected as an expert in Japanese art. When they returned to Britain at the beginning of May, both ‘Killer Queen’ and Sheer Heart Attack topped the Japanese charts. The album was also a hit in the States.

  Back home the stalemate with Trident was sobering, but as summer wore on, Mercury was more interested in working on their fourth album. They had all benefited from their foreign tours, the adulation fuelling an increased sense of self-confidence. The fresh material they were putting together in the studio felt the most exciting yet, and Mercury in particular would discover a new dimension in creativity – later securing him legendary status.

  By autumn, Queen were working hard in six different studios. Equally intensive were the attempts to release them from Trident. In August severance agreements were drawn up for signature. EMI would assume more direct control of recording and publishing, and the band were at liberty to find themselves new management. Glad to be free, there was a payment of £100,000 in severance fees to Trident, as well as the rights to 1 per cent of album royalties. In effect Queen had to trade in their income from the first three albums so far for their future.

  They were broke again. The planned American tour had been called off, due to the upheavals. And, with such discord around, rumours circulated that Queen were about to disband. But nothing could have been further from the truth. They were, however, in urgent need of new management, and as Don Arden’s offer had fallen through, the band had to think again.

  They drew up a shortlist of three names, which included 10cc’s manager, and Peter Grant, who handled Led Zeppelin, but for different reasons both possibilities were discounted. This left John Reid, who looked after the affairs of Elton John. Reid’s initial reaction was not encouraging, but he agreed to a meeting. Apart from Queen’s conviction that they’d be superstars, on paper the reality was that they were simply an impressive live act with a couple of hits and healthy album sales to their credit. As such they were better than many and not as successful as others. But something inspired Reid, for by the end of September 1975 he had become Queen’s new manager.

  Mercury’s view on parting from Trident was characteristically blunt: ‘As far as Queen are concerned,’ he announced, ‘our old management is deceased. They cease to exist in any capacity with us whatsoever. One leaves them behind, like one leaves excreta. We feel so relieved!’

  His reaction to John Reid, according to Queen’s new personal manager, Pete Brown, was rather different: ‘I can vividly remember Freddie saying, “I decided John Reid was the right man for the job of our manager the moment he fluttered his eyelashes at me!” Freddie was always kidding around.’ Brown had previously worked with Reid who had asked him, on signing Queen, if he would return and take the job as their personal manager. ‘From that moment,’ says Brown, ‘I was with them every day for the next seven years.’

  Developments moved fast under Reid. With Jim Beach he addressed the problem of where to find the huge sum owing to Trident. Before the November deadline expired, he had persuaded EMI to provide it as an advance against futu
re royalties. Having secured this, he then threw a party at the London Coliseum. Here, amid a blaze of publicity, Queen received a barrowload of gold and silver discs in honour of record-breaking sales of ‘Killer Queen’ and their first three albums.

  Mercury had also become involved for the first time in producing a record for singer/songwriter Eddie Howell, whose manager, David Minns, knew John Reid. Through this connection, Mercury had seen Howell perform ‘Man From Manhattan’ in a Kensington club. He was so impressed that he kept asking Howell if he would let him produce it. It was an unusual step for Mercury. In time he would produce for a handpicked few outside of Queen, but only among his friends.

  He listened first to an acoustic four-track demo of ‘Man From Manhattan’, then a few days later invited Howell to Sarm East Studio, where part of Queen’s album was in the making. Already familiar with the song, Mercury played it straight through on the piano for Howell, who was delighted that he had sensed the precise feel of the song.

  Watching Mercury take control in the studio – and amazed at the amount of pre-production work he had already put into the song’s arrangement – Howell was struck most by the meticulous way in which he incorporated the harmony. Sitting at a table, a pencil in his hand, he worked incessantly until he felt he had it just right. Unfortunately, he invited Brian May to the recording session, and the combination of May and Mercury felt to Howell too much like a Queen takeover. He was careful to ensure that Taylor and Deacon weren’t also involved.

  Recording the song took an age, but Mercury was an unusual producer. Whereas Howell and the others came to work in everyday clothes, Mercury treated the occasion as a performance. He arrived as flamboyantly dressed as if he were about to step on stage. But the way he worked could not have been more serious, and if he couldn’t spontaneously achieve the effect he was looking for, he would abruptly adjourn the session.

  Howell later remarked, ‘Freddie had generosity of spirit but was a little volatile underneath.’ When the single was released the following year, Warner Brothers made mileage of its Queen connection. But, just as it seemed set to chart, a bureaucratic hitch forced its withdrawal. It never saw the light of day again for almost twenty years.

  The time had come to choose an album track to release as Queen’s next single. After missing the top slot with ‘Killer Queen’, ‘Now I’m Here’ had peaked at number ten, and they were determined to improve on that. It was a bold decision, but by October the band unanimously agreed to opt for another Mercury composition, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

  The boldness of the choice was not so much about the lyrics – instead of the usual boy-meets-girl love song, it tells of a murderer full of remorse for the consequences of his act – rather, the fact that in its uncut state it was an unheard-of seven minutes long, and distinctly operatic. Not surprisingly Pete Brown was shocked, and actively tried to dissuade them: ‘I tried to make Freddie see that they were quite mad proposing “Bohemian Rhapsody” as their next single. I personally thought it spelt the kiss of death, and actually John Deacon privately agreed with me. But Freddie, Brian and Roger all felt strongly that they needed to establish their credibility and were stubborn about the whole thing.’

  Someone who corroborates this intransigence was record producer Gary Langhan: ‘My connection with Queen goes back to mixing the track “Now I’m Here” in 1974 for their album Sheer Heart Attack. By the following year I was tape operator and assistant at Sarm Studios, where they were finishing off their new album, and I vividly recall being at the back of the control room when “Bohemian Rhapsody” was nearing completion. I just knew I was hearing the greatest piece of music I was ever likely to. There’s two feelings you get about a record. One’s in your head, and that can often fool you. But then there’s the sensation you get in the pit of your stomach when you know. That time, I felt it in my gut. They felt it too.

  ‘As far as arguments over the song’s length were concerned, they just dug in their heels. There was a touch of arrogance, I suppose, but it was more like sheer belief in the number, and their attitude was, well, if it’s twice the usual time slot allocated to each record on radio, they’ll just have to play one less record a day. And if they play “Bohemian Rhapsody” three times, that’s just three less records they can play that day.’

  John Reid might admire Queen’s determination to defend their professional integrity, but as the band’s manager it was his job to anticipate, and try to avert, possible disaster. No one in his position could have felt anything but anxiety in the circumstances. Initially he tried to persuade Mercury to edit the song down. Getting nowhere, he soon realised the depth of their collective faith in the number. With his blessing, the record went to press.

  No one has ever admitted that Mercury had any inner doubt that he’d made the right decision. However, it is possible that he did, unconsciously, feel slightly anxious. In the autumn of 1975 Queen were not superstars and in no position to demand special treatment. They needed airplay, just like any other artiste.

  With an advance copy of the single, Mercury went to see his friend DJ Kenny Everett. On discovering how long it was, privately Everett doubted that any station would respond well to it. But he said nothing to Mercury as he placed ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ on the turntable. ‘Forget it! It could be half an hour long,’ he enthused when he’d heard it. ‘It’s going to be number one for centuries!’ Mercury knew what he was doing when he left Everett with the leaked copy of the yet to be released record. Capital Radio hadn’t officially accepted it, but Everett was a law unto himself. Pete Brown recalls, ‘Kenny was great. He’d yabber about this record he had but couldn’t play, then say, “Oops, my finger must’ve slipped,” and on it would come.’ Everett accidentally played ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ so often that Capital’s switchboard was blocked with callers. They wanted to know one thing: when could they expect the new single to be released?

  Everett’s agent, Jo Gurnett, confirms: ‘Kenny was hugely instrumental in getting Queen airplay for “Bohemian Rhapsody”. He was incredibly enthusiastic about the record and played it all the time at home too.’

  And Tony Brainsby recalls how ‘Everybody now says what a great record, but Kenny Everett was the only person brave enough to play it at first. It was the kind of record that would either go to number one and make Queen, or it’d die a death and be their epitaph. My first reaction was, Hey, good number, but who the hell is going to play it? It’s ridiculously long, and what on earth is Freddie playing at with this opera bit in the middle? I mean, let’s face it, it just wasn’t what was going on at the time.

  ‘Freddie realised it was a risky move, but underneath it all he was astute enough to take a chance with it. Other records were nice and safe and regulation length. This was stunning and a whole EP on its own. But we were sure radio would block it.’

  On 31 October ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, sporting a picture cover, went on sale. It knocked the music industry sideways. Already 1975 had spawned an odd mix of musical styles, but no one was ready for this. From its ballad beginning, the song segued into complicated multi-tracking harmonic operatics, which had involved almost 200 vocal overdubs, before exploding into gut-busting hard rock. Incomparable to anything else around, its impact on the music scene resembled that of the Beatles’ 1967 watershed album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

  ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ was Mercury’s most positive creative statement and remained so until the day he died. Future Mercury solo and Queen compositions forever strived to match it, but despite their subsequent success, this never happened. Mercury’s response to queries about the inspiration behind it always varied. It had a touch of fantasy about it, he said, and gently scoffed that people should be taking it so seriously. But at the first hint of criticism, he would bristle, ‘Who can you compare it to? Name one group who’ve done an operatic single!’ He would grow irritable and snap that it hadn’t been plucked from thin air. But he refused repeatedly to go into any detail. The grandiose pomp of the song squares w
ith Mercury’s love of drama and passion, but it is worth considering if there were other forces at work.

  In 1969 when he innocently made himself that tea laced with marijuana, friends testified to Mercury’s total avoidance of drugs. Six years on his horizons had broadened through travelling and meeting new people on tour. His exposure to drugs and drug-taking must have also increased. Before long he was known to be using cocaine, which had to have started sometime around the mid-seventies. Is it possible that his early experiments with cocaine coincided with writing this song? He would not have been the first or last performer to believe that drugs unlocked the mind and released his best work.

  Whatever influenced ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, its effect on the public was polarised. A decade later, one Midlands radio station poll revealed that the single topped both the Best Ever Record and the Worst Ever Record categories. This was typical of the extreme reaction Freddie Mercury, as a person and performer, elicited all his life. In 1975 reviewers were split in their response, but what did prove unfounded was the fear that radio would not play the single in its entirety. Demand for it was so great that it received massive exposure on the airwaves.

  ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’s’ phenomenal impact had journalists clamouring for interviews. This time, to tackle Mercury’s resistance to talking to the media, Tony Brainsby adopted a new strategy: ‘By the time Queen started to get themselves a name, then Freddie began doing just the major interviews. He became a commodity only to be brought out when the big guns were around, like national newspapers, NME front cover, that sort of thing. When they were interested, then I could talk him into doing interviews. Later, Brian and the others became cover material, but in those days it was very much Freddie who was the focus.

  ‘Their fame came quickly by comparison to some and with “Bo Rhap”, as it became known, Fred was suddenly a star. Even so we didn’t have to use him all the time. We simply wouldn’t have dreamt of asking him to do something that wasn’t considered big enough so we worked around it.