But it’s been no bed of roses
A love letter to the lyrics of We Are The Champions by Queen
We Are The Champions.
It is melodramatic and majestic.
It is perfectly glorious, and it is gloriously perfect.
It is scientifically proven to be one of the catchiest songs of all time.
It is universal and it is timeless. Everyone sings it, everywhere, after every victory, great or small. When France won the 2018 World Cup final, I watched three generations of deliriously happy French people sing it, word-perfect, in English, in Annecy Football Stadium. Most of them would not have been born when the song was released. But there is more to its enduring appeal than its eternally topical theme and a catchy melody.
We Are The Champions is an heroic speech, of Shakespearean grandiosity, that also happens to be a rock song. Every lyric is deployed to dramatic effect. Plot is advanced. Character is revealed. The words form a bridge between the mouse this character was and the man he is to be.
The leading man, let’s call him Freddie, commands the stage. His body snaps into every movement. The performance is taught and emphatic. He delivers the lines that are part soliloquy, part stirring speech. The verses are reflective and intimate, an act of introspection that is shared conspiratorially with the audience beyond the fourth wall. In the chorus he turns his attention to those on stage around him. He rouses, he stirs, he girds. He is magnificent. Who has the temerity to follow Olivier as Hamlet? Who has the temerity to follow Mercury as the triumphant underdog we all want to be?
It’s not just the case that We Are The Champions could have been written for the stage, it actually was written for the stage. It was deliberately written as a participation song, a stadium crowd pleaser. There is no fourth wall with Queen. If there was, this would be the song to bring it tumbling down.
We Are The Champions combines high drama with narrative depth. It is no more than three minutes long but it contains elements of three of the seven basic stories. It is a concentrated blend of “overcoming the monster”, “rags to riches”, and “rebirth”. It is as sophisticated as it is splendid.
Freddie Mercury was a twentieth century bard, both a supremely skilled storyteller and a master dramatist. His first person lyrics are all masterpieces of heroic frailty. Jealousy is his Othello. Somebody To Love is his Twelfth Night. Bohemian Rhapsody is his Hamlet. And We Are The Champions is his Henry V.
If those comparisons were ridiculous, it would be laughable to put his words into the mouths of great Shakespearian performers. But it isn’t.
If you liked this, you might like the love letter to Coffee And TV by Blur below.
