Queen Unseen Read online

  Now it is show time – Queen show time, what today has been all about. The next couple of hours are all that matter. Shortly Queen will be on stage in your town playing for you – just for you, you privileged ticket holders. The four faces that have been spread over the media will be up there on stage attached to their instruments, in moving, living person – and colour. They have travelled over land and sea and overcome all manner of obstacles and hangovers to give you this special personal experience. So be sure and enjoy it!

  The stage is ready; everything taped down, the carpet vacuumed, all equipment powered and humming, everybody on standby at their assigned station. The crew are standing to attention – but not in uniform, despite attempts to get us to wear things to camouflage ourselves on stage. Influenced by their first visit to Japan, Queen gave the crew black ‘Happy Coats’: short kimonos, with Queen printed in red Japanese letters on the back. Very stylish, but not very practical loading-out attire and it would be hard to gain the respect of a six-foot-plus, 300-pound union teamster or truck loader while wearing a boudoir garment. All the spotlight operators on stage and in the lighting rig wore fitted black overalls, but I found them restrictive, as I was constantly scuttling under, over and about during the show; so jeans and a T-shirt – preferably a Queen freebie, to show some mark of loyalty and respect – were what I wore.

  The final check of instruments was done in conjunction with a line check. Not that kind of line, but a check that all the instruments were placed back into the correct channels after use by the support act and that everything was in working order. That’s why you often hear chords crashing on guitars, drums banging and pianos tinkling before a band takes the stage. There is a distinct art and calculated procedure to these exercises; knowing too much is dangerous, but so is knowing too little. Don’t play a recognisable riff (poseur) and, if it’s a Queen riff, you run the risk of getting a cheer from the audience, your 15 seconds of fame and enraging the band. It would also brand you as a total wanker to the rest of the crew. The middle path of single notes and one or two chords was preferable, as that way the audience could be fooled into thinking you could maybe really play. However, there was still an enormous temptation to crank the volume up and let rip with a couple of bars…

  Despite what people may think, it is very important to check instruments immediately prior to the show as things do change after the sound check. The positioning of speakers has to be exact and the acoustics can be altered dramatically. The classic sound engineer’s excuse is ‘Don’t worry – it will sound fine when the audience are in.’ All types of radio transmitters can suddenly become operational, which affect the ‘wireless’ systems for guitars and mikes. Temperature and humidity can cause tuning problems, and with drums an awful booming feedback. The local cab company or radio station could now be broadcasting through Brian’s amplifiers, or the freight lifts being operated in the building could be on the same phase of electrical power as the sound system and be transmitting a spluttering ‘motor boat’ noise. It’s guaranteed that all manner of unexplained electronic gremlins only come out of the darkest depths of Mordor to plague you two minutes before show time.

  ‘ONE – ONE – TWO – TWO.’ A familiar call shouted by onstage sound monitor guy Jim Devenney, into Fred’s trademark silver Shure 565 SD microphone, as he wandered the stage with the famous ‘wand’: a chrome-plated tubular section of a microphone stand that Fred used together with the mike as his stage prop. It could be a sword, guitar, machine gun, golf club, baseball bat or whatever Fred wanted to convey with it. Most commonly it was ‘My cock, darling’.

  The stage manager, having checked with the relevant crew that all was definitely ready, would call by crackling walkie-talkie to the dressing room to bring the band up.

  Having emptied their bladders, Queen, flanked by minders, wardrobe ‘mistress’ and assistants, were now bouncing on the balls of their feet in their hidden position off stage, and itching to be let out of the traps. A message was conveyed by headset to the house electrician to ‘kill the house lights’. As those lights went down, it created a huge adrenaline rush for both crew and audience, and Queen would be swept by a combination of this energy and torch light on to the stage and into the Dolls House: a freestanding aluminium frame covered in black drapes, located in the back corner of stage right. This eight-foot-square concealment cube was for the band to rest in, or hide from view when not active on stage. Not even Access All Areas gained access into here.

  The intro tape would now be rumbling through the PA and monitors and battling for level with the audience noise, as smoke machines hissed out an atmosphere for the lights to cut through as they came pulsing to life. No going back now. The hundreds of lamps in the rig flashed and flickered but remained tethered, not yet releasing their full power until the dormant metal monster slowly began to rise in the air, spitting light beams of multicoloured fire.

  Queen would now be taking up their positions: Roger crouching low down on a drum stool, hidden behind his gleaming kit; Brian, with his homemade red guitar plugged into its extended umbilical curly cord, was concealed behind a large black monitor on stage left. I would put John’s Fender bass on him and he would pace nervously up and down behind his stacks of speaker cabinets like an expectant father in the corridor of a maternity ward.

  On cue with the intro tape, the trio would crash perfectly into the chords of the opening song as Brian and John bound energetically on to the stage. Then fractionally after the opening bars, Fred would glide out of the Dolls House like a cat, and swoop his wand mike from my hand as he effortlessly strode on stage. The initial roar for the band was pushed to another level as Fred took his place upfront, and when the overhead rig manoeuvred into its final position, blazing and scorching with light as the pyrotechnics exploded, the energy created was truly tremendous. Queen’s mantra of ‘Blind ’em and deafen ’em!’ worked every time.

  Queen are here to entertain you! BIG show, BIG hits and right now – THE BIGGEST BAND IN THE WORLD! Queen may have played the venue before but, like secretly agreeing to meet an ex-lover, there is a certain expectation from both sides – how far will it go? The air is charged with energy and sexual tension – who will make the first move?

  Fred. He was the master. He would tease and cajole his audience like an experienced lover, using strength, stealth and power to take control. Drawing his conquests in closer, he would slow the pace to show his own vulnerability, before taking them back to the heights of excitement and final consummation.

  Hence his announcement: ‘I’d like to fuck you all!’

  A promise he did his best to keep. Having adjusted my eyes to the dimness of the blackout, they are now on orgasmic overdrive. Here we go again – another day at the office. Most nights Queen were very good, and on occasion absolutely magnificent – or not quite so good. However, they were undoubtedly a great live band that were exciting to watch. The secret to this was quite simple: they could play. Musicians who had mastered and applied their instruments, firmly believing in quality in all they did. When Queen took to the road after a new album was released, they always strived to give their best to the paying public as these four guys unashamedly wanted to be The Biggest Band in the World.

  The first song was naturally a little tense; was everything working OK? Presumably – as it was audible to me, but could the band hear themselves well enough? This was the point when you would catch their eyes or they, yours. The system of nods, winks and gestures between us would indicate the level of band satisfaction. The discomfort of the smoke and showers of dust hailing down from the pyrotechnic explosions and building ceilings were brushed aside as concentration intensified. The first song always seemed to speed by like lightning, and often lead directly into a second hi-tempo number without break or introduction. After the final chord crash of that song, Queen would bow and acknowledge the audience, Fred offering a shrill ‘Thank – YOU!’ before enquiring:

  ‘Are you ready to rock?’

  YES!
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br />   ‘Are you ready to roll?’

  YES!

  ‘OK – let’s (fucking) do it.’

  Another fast-paced rock ’n’ roll number (or two) sustains the crowd’s excitement, followed by the first piano song, which gives Fred and the audience a brief rest, and him the chance to give me any relevant message.

  ‘Tell him he’s out of tune – how can I pitch my voice??!!’

  ‘Who would that be, Fred?’

  ‘You know! And the other one – he can’t even pick the beat up! What’s wrong with him?’

  I would simply nod in agreement.

  ‘Never mind – never mind, how do I say Good Evening in Belgian?’ he would pant.

  ‘It’s written in pen on the back of your hand, Fred.’

  ‘I can’t see that in the fucking dark, can I!?’

  (Roadie: mind reader, whipping boy and infrared linguist?)

  ‘No – and it seems to have rubbed off with all that sweating you do.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Uuuuh – Guten Soir, senoras?’ I’d shrug.

  ‘Oh fuck ’em!’ Fred would splutter, then take the safe option – and use English.

  The hand-over exchange I made with Fred was his microphone on a stick for a freshly made drink of hot honey and lemon. A sip was taken to ease the throat and he would sit down, shuffling himself to adjust to life at the piano. A major testing time – was Fred happy with how things were going? Was all well in his Mercurial world? As he gently tinkled the keys, got comfortable and threw morsels of comment to his hungry public, I would be crouching at the end or in the curve of the black Steinway grand, focusing on him intently and trying to avoid the multicoloured glare and hypnotic reflections from the highly polished piano lid.

  The rest of the band would take this opportunity to catch their breath, have a drink and give their instructions about the onstage sound. John’s instructions were minimal and usually about the snare drum and hi-hat in his floor monitor. Fred’s first piano song was one of the most crucial parts of the show and, when I got the look, which was a series of nods, hand waves and expressions. I could tell if Fred wanted his vocal louder, if the piano sound was too hard, if he was tired from the previous night’s escapades or even how he felt the rest of the band were playing… all from his facial contortions, finger twirls and head inclinations. One Mercurial twirl was very similar to Her Majesty the Queen’s regal wave. Fred’s rotating fingers meant he was hot and I was to turn on the fan which was under the piano to cool him down. When Fred gave me an unscripted nod, wink or smile, it was like an older brother showing confidence and support.

  I freely admit it gave me a glow, a buzz and made me feel good. So what did I do in return? I took the piss by staging a glove puppet show at the end of the piano with Crystal or wearing a baseball cap given by a fan in Japan that had a giant pair of large clapping hands protruding from the front. I would pop up from the end of the piano, pull the string to operate the hands and applaud Fred along with the audience. He laughed. Fred laughed a lot. Then he chased me into the wings to administer a playful slap or punch. In any other job, if your boss thumped you it would be seen as a serious incident regardless of the circumstances, but when Fred whacked me it was seen as part of the job and him releasing some fired-up energy, and the strikes were just playful and didn’t hurt. And of course I was dead hard myself in those days!

  The onstage crew could clearly see the audience as they were illuminated by the glow from the stage lights, but for the band, however, this was difficult as they were constantly being tracked by powerful spotlights focused directly into their eyes. A dozen or more could be on Fred alone, so he would gauge the crowd by audible response and feel, as he could rarely see further than the first few rows. But that was enough.

  Post-show, provincial US town, Mr Mercury comments: ‘Did you see those people at the front! Did you? They were all ugly! I will not have that at a Queen show!!’

  So, are audiences to be vetted at a casting session before premium Queen concert tickets get released? Check with the promoter on that, will you…

  It was always tempting to glance into the audience to see the reaction of the ‘ugly people’ or to check out the ‘talent’, but, if Fred caught me straying, the glare I received across the stage or piano would freeze me. I was expected to watch him like a hawk and be prepared to scuttle urgently on stage, half crouching, to release him and his mike cable from the onstage obstacle course, while attempting to avoid detection by the audience. I looked like I had a permanent lumbar condition, so, between me and the front row ‘uglies’, we could have made the perfect Quasimodo.

  Nevertheless, Fred was very sharp and aware when on stage, and could keep himself out of potentially embarrassing situations in a practical way despite being caught up in his expressive creativity. Brian, however, would go charging back and forth across stage, oblivious to the surroundings and totally into his playing, a black curly umbilical cord thrashing in his black curly-haired wake. Fred would deftly side-step so their cables didn’t cross, get tangled and then embarrassingly inhibit each other’s movements. As Brian returned across stage, still on Planet May, Fred would even pass his ‘wand’ under Brian’s cord to avoid being locked together. When tangles did unavoidably happen, Fred would drop the mike on the stage, give me the eyebrows raised signal and take his spare mike. Sometimes he’d sit on top of me and laugh while I was on my hands and knees unravelling the mess in the middle of the stage, then bounce up and down on me and chuckle. Most amusing. Fred, enough of that – people are beginning to talk…

  John was not involved in this tangled-cable fracas and usually kept upstage or on the steps of the drum riser; he didn’t use a cable for later Queen tours and utilised Nady radio transmitter packs on all his guitars. John had an electronics degree – no fooling him if technical things went wrong!

  However, an early experiment in the late 1970s using a radio pack on John’s bass was not quite successful. I was trying the then state-of-the-art Schaeffer system at sound check, and after trying different notes on the bass called over the PA system to Trip Khalaf, Queen’s sound engineer.

  ‘What’s it sound like – is there much compression?’

  ‘It’s like an alligator farting’ was the less-than-enthusiastic reply.

  Back to the cable for now then…

  Fred always loved a microphone cable, using it as another prop on stage by gripping and twisting it with levels of intensity, cracking it like a whip or flicking it like a lasso. Only on the final Magic tour with its vast outdoor stages and walkways did he switch to using a wireless microphone:

  ‘Mmmmm yes – it’s very modern’ he exclaimed when shown the latest piece of very expensive technology during rehearsals: ‘And quite horny as well!’

  The phallic-shaped Sony microphone was different to his classic Shure one; longer, fatter and matte black, it would not have looked out of place in a Soho sex shop.

  Queen’s show continued with the medley – sections of old and new material generally based around piano-oriented songs, which helped Fred pace himself. After an intense bout of rushing around, a spotlight picked him out in the darkness collapsed over the top of the piano. ‘I’M FUCKED!’ he would scream into the microphone and get a roar of approval from the crowd, which would inspire him to rise and thrust himself at the piano as if shagging it. More choruses of audience appreciation followed.

  Fred did not address the audience from the piano, just the occasional acknowledgement, thank you or reference; he liked to do it centre stage, on the extended catwalk with all the spotlights focused on him. This is where he could use his body, presence and voice to communicate so well. He was never predictable and surprised occasionally by asking the front rows: ‘Any requests?’

  Somebody once asked for an old Queen song that was never included in the live show: ‘Play that? Hah! Yoooooou’ll be lucky!’ he replied in a shrill, camp, rising voice as he threw his head back and walked away. ‘Yoooooou’ll be lucky!’ becam
e a Queen catchphrase that traversed many tours. And beyond.

  Back at the piano, I’d hand Fred another soothing hot drink that he’d asked for.

  ‘How are we going down – how is it?’

  ‘Good, it’s going great, Fred.’

  ‘Good, that’s good – and so it should be!’

  However, occasionally the expected audience response would not go to plan during a show, so in response Fred would force himself to work even harder to get the crowd on his side – as he had to for Queen’s first ever show in Madrid in 1979. One would expect a Latin audience to be hot blooded and responsive. No. After each song, the crowd response and light applause faded rapidly. This enraged Fred, so he tried a different approach by walking to the edge of the catwalk and toasting the paying public with his champagne glass (full of local water) and a few limited local phrases. It didn’t get any better, so he threw the water over the front rows and snapped: ‘Take that! That’s for being Spanish!’ He then gestured to the sound engineer in the middle of this sedate mob, and screamed: ‘TURN IT UP!’

  The volume increased and Fred then worked with fervour to get the Spanish going, and the rest of Queen too. It worked and from then on the show and crowd response was as Fred thought it should be. Fred always led by example. Returning to the piano in the blackout having won them over, and amid the screaming and calling that followed the applause, he banged his fist hard on the piano lid to emit a low hollow resonance through the speakers and pronounce loudly off mike: ‘That’s the way to (fucking) do it’. Self-reassurance of the magnificent talent and formidable presence that he held.

  ‘Is everything all right now, Fred?’

  ‘Yes – yes, but tell Brian to turn it down, I can’t hear myself fucking sing!’

  And just how do you get a rock guitarist to play softer or slower?