Freddie Mercury: The Biography

by Laura Jackson

  ‘In this business you must maintain the mystique, and you just can’t do that by trotting someone out at the drop of a hat. The fact that this was right up Freddie’s street was a bonus, I guess. When Fred did do an interview, mind you, it wasn’t that the people got close to him, because he treated these sessions the same as performing. He’d put on a big show for the journalists and photographers, and be wonderfully colourful and camp.’

  As it happened there wasn’t a lot of time to fend off the media, for Queen had a lengthy UK tour lined up for mid-November. Before that there was other work to do. ‘Bo Rhap’ had entered the charts at number forty-seven and was rising fast. Top of the Pops was the obvious next step, but the song’s highly technical make-up ruled out live performance. Director Bruce Gowers, who had previously filmed Queen at the Rainbow Theatre, was approached to make a promotional video.

  The concept of pop promos had hardly moved on from when bands like the Stones played on a beach and people off-camera lobbed boulders down a hill behind them. What Mercury and the others had in mind was different. Having already booked time at Elstree Studios for pre-tour rehearsals, on the morning of 10 November 1975 they put their ideas into practice. What they produced took four hours to shoot, cost £4500 and required one day to edit. The result was semi-psychedelic and eerily dramatic, the prototype hard-rock video promo, which, when premiered on Top of the Pops ten days later, was to change the face of pop-music marketing for ever.

  Already captivated by the single, the public reacted well, and sales rocketed. ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ would go platinum, selling in excess of 1.25 million copies in Britain alone. But amid the gasps, sighs and envy in the music world, there were the odd dissenters. DJ John Peel admired Queen at the outset but had grown to dislike what he felt was their bombastic style. Having made fun of them one night on TOTP, he recalls that soon afterwards Mercury had told reporters he intended punching Peel out next time they met. Far from concurring with the rest of the world that ‘Bo Rhap’ was the making of Queen, in Peel’s opinion it was the end of the band. Brian May has subsequently suggested that it was Peel himself who was too bombastic – and that what Queen actually became was too successful. ‘It’s a problem to do too well in Britain,’ May says.

  Someone else who had a mixed reaction to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ was Dick Taylor, Pretty Things’ lead guitarist and a friend of Mercury’s: ‘I think it’s great now. I mean it’s a classic. You can’t argue with it. But, at the time, I kind of fell in and out of love with it. The first time I heard it, I thought, Blimey! That’s a bit OTT! But that was Freddie, and he was so bloody good at it.’

  The TV première took place one week into Queen’s tour. The next day the single’s album, A Night at the Opera, was released. For the first time Mercury was responsible for the cover concept. Four days later ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ hit the number one spot in the charts.

  It might have been that success had gone to his head, or just that he felt Queen were not receiving the respect they deserved, but Mercury began to show signs of excessive self-importance. Tony Brainsby was an independent PR consultant, which for him had advantages: ‘It’s good to handle other people, because it proves beneficial to everyone. If someone phoned me up for a Freddie Mercury quote that I couldn’t deliver, I might have to say, Well, no-can-do, but I can get you an interview with so-and-so; it equally worked the other way round. I was always talking to people about Queen and had often got them attention when someone had rung up looking for another band entirely.

  ‘The only problem I had with Freddie occurred during this tour. At this point I also represented Wings, and they were touring the UK at the same time as Queen. As a rule I didn’t go on the road with any band, but this was, after all, Paul McCartney and on something like only his second tour of Britain in a long time. The media, of course, went mad, and the national newspapers were giving Wings daily coverage. But although I went on that tour, I was still dealing with all my other business by phone, and neglecting no one, but Freddie got jealous that McCartney was getting loads of attention.

  ‘Queen were basking in all their “Bohemian Rhapsody” glory, but they weren’t yet superstars. But, anyway, I got this imperious summons from Freddie to come to Manchester to see him, and that’s the only time we had – well, I hesitate to call it a falling out as such, but let’s say he tried to give me a right bollocking. We met in a hotel room, and Freddie paced angrily about demanding, “What’s going on? Why are you not on the road with us? And why is McCartney getting all this coverage?”

  ‘Well, what could I say? I told Fred I was getting Queen as much attention as there was to get, and that there was nothing more to do. He still went on about it, so in the end I told him straight that I was talking incessantly to people about Queen, but they were queuing round the block to talk to McCartney, and that was that. Freddie just wouldn’t accept it.

  ‘Harvey Goldsmith was the promoter for both tours, and he was getting it in the neck from Freddie then too. My final word to him on the matter was that I couldn’t be in two places at the same time and left to rejoin McCartney.’

  The fracas with Brainsby over, the Queen tour trundled on through four Hammersmith Odeon gigs, before heading north. Here they were to run into trouble, as personal manager Pete Brown recalls: ‘They’d played Newcastle and were heading for a few gigs in Scotland when our coach was stopped on the motorway by police waiting for us. The police mounted roadblocks, sealing off every exit route, which must’ve cost them an absolute fortune … Nobody had anything, but I remember the silent anxiety that some silly sod in the entourage might have something, however small, on him. But no one had.

  ‘Still, we all got dragged to the cop shop, and my main concern was that the delay might mean cancelling a show. The police thought they had the scoop of the year and were furiously rifling through the bus, even sticking their noses in the ashtrays. When they couldn’t come up with so much as a joint, their disappointment was almost laughable.’

  On the whole they were treated well, particularly when the police began to realise that they’d been hoaxed by someone who had told them that Queen were all high on drugs. Eventually they were released in the early hours of the morning, which left Brown worrying whether they would reach Dundee in time for their date at the City Hall.

  The furthest north Queen ever played in Britain was a gig on 14 December at the Capitol in Aberdeen. By this time it looked as if ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, still at the top, would hold on long enough to be that year’s Christmas number one; a distinction much fought over. Towards the end of the tour, the band had a few days off, and Pete Brown recalls going to Brighton with them to see a gig: ‘We’d all gone to the Dome to see Hot Chocolate. They had a terrific number just out, called “You Sexy Thing”, and it was a good night. Later, back at our hotel, suddenly the restaurant door flew open, and Errol Brown (Hot Chocolate’s lead singer) burst in. He headed straight for Freddie, shouting, “You bastards! My main shot at a Christmas number one! You bastards!” God, it was so funny!’

  On Christmas Eve 1975, Queen returned to the Hammersmith Odeon for a performance that was to be televised live by The Old Grey Whistle Test and picked up for simultaneous broadcast on Radio One. Three weeks before, A Night at the Opera had been released in America, while in Britain it had already gone platinum. The day after Boxing Day, it, too, hit the top slot in the UK album charts. This was Queen’s most successful year to date. For Mercury personally it had been a period of great change, something that would, in crucial ways, cause trouble ahead. But right then, the future meant tomorrow, and wider horizons were at last visible. Mercury had always known that he had been born to live life to the fullest; all he had so far lacked was the opportunity. He had a feeling that was about to change.

  SEVEN

  Excess of Ego

  By mid-January 1976 ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ had reigned over the UK singles chart for nine consecutive weeks. This matched a twenty-year-old record set by the American singer Slim Whitma
n with ‘Rose Marie’ and secured Mercury and Queen innumerable accolades at the annual music-press poll awards. With the confidence, too, that A Night at the Opera had already topped the half-million sales, rehearsals were in progress for the next stage.

  In March they hoped to repeat their triumph in the Far East with their second tour of Japan. This was to be followed immediately with what would be, in effect, their first tour of Australia – baling out after one gig at the Melbourne Festival two years earlier hardly counted. And before all this, there was an extensive tour of North America and Canada. In contrast to the previous whistle-stop itinerary, this time they played at fewer venues but often stayed four consecutive nights in the same city, which cut down on the punishing travel schedule. As they flew out of Britain on 20 January, Mercury was pleased to be working with Gerry Stickells. As ex-tour manager for Jimi Hendrix, no doubt he quizzed him for reminiscences of his late idol.

  Queen opened to a rapturous reception at the Palace Theater, Waterbury, a week after their arrival. Their response there augured well for the rest of the tour. Like true rock stars, everywhere they went now fans mobbed them, the more ingenious among them tracking the band’s whereabouts, on the trail of anything from an autograph to a kiss. A growing army of groupies had even begun bribing their way into hotel rooms, in the hope of making their celebrity conquest for the night.

  Despite Mercury’s increasingly bisexual reputation, on stage his style, especially in America, had become more macho. With his slinky build, luxurious dark hair and lively wicked eyes, women found him incredibly sexy. They could prove determined in their pursuit of him, too, as Freddie learnt the hard way. One day in New York, as he stepped on to the kerb into a frantic gaggle of girls, the scarf around his neck was grabbed at both ends and pulled tight. He could have been choked to death had it not been for the swift intervention of his companions. What amused them most about the incident was Mercury’s subsequent rage at the damage done to his precious silk scarf.

  In New York he teamed up with his old Mott the Hoople mate Ian Hunter at the famous Electric Ladyland Studios, which had been founded by Hendrix. Hunter was working on a solo album All American Alien Boy, with producer Roy Thomas Baker, when he discovered that Queen were in town. He invited his friends along to a recording session, and May and Taylor, accompanied by Mercury, ended up singing backing vocals on ‘You Nearly Done Me In.’

  Mercury adored New York. It was a city he would often roam, exploring especially its seedier sides. He also enjoyed visiting the numerous gay clubs and bars, and loved to cruise the streets at night in a darkened limousine. From the car he surveyed the parade of street life, sipping on his favourite iced vodka. He was living the rock dream as he saw it.

  Queen were going from strength to strength, as news from England revealed an unprecedented four albums in the UK top thirty at the same time; with even Queen reaching number twenty-four, two years after its release. Inspired by this proof of their popularity, at gigs Mercury took to toasting his loyal subjects with brimming flutes of champagne. He drank in the audience adulation, as much as the pale tawny wine in his glass. But behind the scenes it wasn’t all moonlight and roses. Personal manager Pete Brown has his own memories of this tour, particularly of Chicago.

  ‘Wherever we went, when the time came to move on it was my job to settle the hotel bills. We’d been two days in Chicago and were heading to St Louis, but when I tried to use the Queen credit card they said it was overextended. What made it worse was that it was a Sunday with no banks open, and I still had to organise their luggage and transport to the airport. Getting anxious, I argued with the desk clerk, insisting he’d just have to take it now and sort it out later, but he wasn’t having it. I didn’t know what to do and started to turn away when suddenly the guy pulled a gun on me. I can’t remember if I actually threw my hands up, but I certainly froze and said, “Easy, mate! I’ve got all the time in the world.”’

  In the end Pete Brown persuaded the local promoter to come and settle the bill in cash, but by then he faced another problem. ‘We’d missed the flight,’ he explains, ‘and I was scared stiff that they’d not be able to make the next gig. Hours had already slipped by, and my nerves were in shreds. I was convinced I’d be sacked, but I just did what I could to rustle up a string of station wagons to get them on the road.’

  Nothing else major happened to upset Brown for the remainder of this particular tour. But trouble of a different kind lay in wait for him, when, having quit America mid-March for a short but rewarding return to Japan, their globe-trotting took them to the Antipodes.

  This first tour of Australia, kicking off at the Entertainments Centre in Perth, was important to Queen. Wary of their reception this time around, they were also exhausted. They had been on tour for nine weeks already, and Mercury in particular was feeling stressed. When they reached Sydney to play the Horden Pavilion, events turned ugly.

  ‘It was all because when we arrived we discovered that to get to the theatre it meant going through a huge fairground,’ Pete Brown explains. ‘Well, from one look at the set-up, it was obvious that there was no way you could drive through the crowds of people, so I asked the band to get out of their respective cars and walk. Freddie’s immediate response was, “My dear, I can’t possibly walk anywhere!” and he point-blank refused to leave the limo. We had to drive through at a snail’s pace so as not to injure anyone, and Freddie acted up with the champagne all the way. Needless to say, your average male Oz didn’t much care for this, and the catcalls started – shouts like “pommie pussies” and worse. They lunged angrily at the windows, sticking two fingers up at those inside, and banged with clenched fists on the passing cars.’

  When the cavalcade reached the Pavilion safely, despite the fact that his own arrogance had caused much of the trouble, Mercury took his temper out on Brown. ‘When Freddie wanted to be, he was very tough,’ he reveals. ‘He often made me cry during the years I worked for him. This time, when we got inside he was in such a cold rage that he picked up a big mirror and literally smashed it over my head. Then he ordered me to find a brush to sweep up the glass.’

  Mercury once blamed the pressures of fame for his temperament. His growing reputation for throwing things at people was, he stressed, very unlike him. Certainly Pete Brown must have known other, better sides of Mercury, for he held no grudge against the star for this latest abuse, maintaining, ‘You see it was the humiliation he’d suffered. He just had to take it out on someone, and that time it was me. I understood.’

  By their final gig at Brisbane’s Festival Hall on 22 April, there was good reason to celebrate. The tour had been a great success. This time when their Quantas Air flight took off for London, both their single and album topped the Australian charts, marking their first major breakthrough there.

  Queen arrived home to yet more good news. Bruce Gowers’s Queen at the Rainbow was screening in UK cinemas, in support of Hustle, starring Burt Reynolds (the American actor about whom Mercury later confessed often to fantasise). As a result of their recent tour to America, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ had reached number nine in the US singles charts. In addition, the single won the Best Selling British Record category at the twenty-first annual Ivor Novello Awards held that year at London’s Dorchester Hotel.

  Days later Brian May married Christine Mullen at a Roman Catholic church in Barnes. John Deacon was already wed to Veronica Tetzlaff, and Roger Taylor, still the committed bachelor, remained content to play the field. Freddie Mercury, although still close to Mary Austin, was grappling with some serious choices; inner battles he would continue to fight for several more months.

  According to Mercury, the first real financial return he began to see from his music came with Queen’s fourth album A Night at the Opera. Some of that money he was now using to finance his growing use of cocaine. Perhaps his drug abuse partly accounted for the mood swings that had resulted in his assaulting a loyal employee. But, within himself, Mercury must have realised that his life was changing
. As is often the case, it was the band who gave Mercury a sense of continuity – Roger Taylor would later refer to it as ‘like coming home to mother’ – and here something had changed too. Queen’s first five singles had been written by either Mercury or May, but on this occasion John Deacon came up with a beautifully melodic ballad.

  ‘You’re My Best Friend’ was released on 18 June and gave Queen a number seven hit. By this time Queen had reverted to what they called ‘routine time’, when each band member wrote songs that they would then argue about in the studio. Mercury was stubborn, but he wasn’t alone, and these sessions were frequently a lively and spirited debate about the quality of material on offer. Working at The Manor, Wessex Studios, and Sarm East Studios, Mercury also found time to design the future album sleeve.

  The urge to perform live, however, was never dormant for long, and around this time Sir Richard Branson, now the multi-millionaire founder of the Virgin Group, had come up with an exciting proposition. ‘I’d had the idea to try to stage a free open-air gig in Hyde Park, which would promote a few bands at the same time,’ says Branson. ‘The problem was, I wasn’t in a position then to finance something like that, so as I already knew Roger Taylor, I approached him thinking that Queen might go for it.’ Remembering the impact that the Stones 1969 Hyde Park concert had made on him, Branson believed that Queen could really break in Britain with the same sort of exposure.

  Queen agreed and were eager to arrange the gig that next month – which was hardly feasible. But Branson worked through the many stipulations laid down by the Metropolitan Police and the London Parks Committee, gradually pulling the pieces together. ‘When I had all the necessary clearance,’ he says, ‘and the project was a goer, I handed it over to the Queen management to take from there.’