Mercurial Rhapsody
As we celebrate Freddie Mercury’s 71st birthday this week, we peruse the legacy of the greatest frontman in the history of rock and roll — the great pretender.
13 July 1985 saw Bob Geldof’s brainchild coming to fruition as Live Aid took place simultaneously across two continents. The charity concert sought to raise funds for the Ethiopian famine that was infamously plaguing the region at that time, and such noble ambition was complemented with a huge roster of musical greats. From U2 to Led Zeppelin, the ensemble promised a generous treat for the audience.
But for Queen, the lineup also meant fierce competition. In the early eighties, the band had been suffering from a career slump after consecutive hits of eclectic genres. The album Hot Space, which was released when the band was at its most turbulent, had flopped terribly; the subsequent album, despite flourishing in the UK, did poorly in the US. Their performances in South Africa had entangled them in public outrage, and rumours of disbandment only added insult to the band’s injury. Long story short, Queen was losing momentum and was fast becoming an outcast in the show business. Having their performance slot in the Live Aid bill flanked by rock band Dire Straits and David Bowie — only to be further succeeded by Elton John and Paul McCartney — stacked daunting odds against the band.
Then something happened: wittily introduced by Griff Rhys-Jones and Mel Smith, out came Freddie Mercury in a white tank top and jeans sporting a leather armband. He kicked things off with an abbreviated Bohemian Rhapsody. By the time John Deacon started strumming the chords for Radio Ga Ga, Freddie had been prancing around the stage in Wembley Stadium in a majestic stride familiar to his avid fans.With the iconic sawed-off microphone clutched in his hand, the sight of 72,000 people clapping hands and pumping fists in harmonious accord to the voice of one man — as if he was commandeering a fleet of seals — was one to behold. They were not his audience but a spontaneous orchestra, and Freddie was the maestro of this stellar symphony.
At the end of its 20-minute slot, Queen had emerged victorious in this battle of the bands. They had outperformed everyone else. They were the champions. “You bastards,” cried Elton John. “You stole the show!” The band’s career that had been suffering from a multitude of setbacks had been rejuvenated with one live gig, something which Freddie was given much credit for by all of his three band mates. For over 2 billion people, Live Aid was an entertaining spectacle that compelled them to dig deep into their pockets when the hat was being passed around. For Queen, it was the band’s saving grace, and Brian May had this to say:
“It was the greatest day of our lives.”
— Brian May, in Brian May: The Definitive Biography
But to Freddie, Live Aid may well have been just another Saturday afternoon.
For a man who has made stadiums and stages his home, and hordes of audiences his guests, he was a painfully shy and reserved person. Despite his unparalleled presence onstage, Freddie’s diffidence suggested that there may have been more of Farrokh Bulsara than there was Freddie Mercury in him offstage. He had always preferred seclusion whenever possible, allowing his reputation as an introvert to be preceded by his distaste for interviews and paparazzi. When attention was inevitable, he would become particularly self-conscious. This did not jibe well with his conspicuous overbite. Often in interviews, he had been careful to hide his teeth with his lip while speaking and would cover his mouth with his hand whenever he smiled or laughed. Ironically, the four extra teeth on his upper jaw turned out to be the greatest blessing in disguise, for they bestowed upon Freddie his heavenly, 4-octave vocal prowess.
Freddie’s introversion resulted in the paucity of media coverage on his battle against AIDS, a fatal side effect of his hedonistic frenzy in earlier years. Rumours and speculations of his health were constantly rebutted with curt statements of him being “exhausted” or “still healthy and working”, even when he had appeared visibly ill. In fact, Freddie played his cards so close to his chest, the disease was kept secret from his band mates for a very long time. But even his ailing health did nothing to deter him from imbibing himself in his undying passion for music. He would urge his band mates to write him something — anything to sing after his condition was disclosed to them. His only regret, according to caretaker Peter Freestone, was that he still had so much music in him when death came. But Freddie knew that the show must go on.
Aside gaunt appearances and love partners, Freddie’s lyrics also fuelled speculation from both fans and critics alike. For decades Bohemian Rhapsody has been under the suspicion of being Freddie’s coming-out song. Among the many obscure metaphors and double entendres is the recurring line “any way the wind blows” in the song, which is said to allude to his bisexuality, a well-guarded secret when he was still alive. At a time where stigma against homosexuality was entrenched, Freddie and the other members of Queen kept themselves tight-lipped when confronted about their lyrics. In his own words:
Well I say what any decent poet would say if you dared ask him to analyse his work: if you see it, darling, then it’s there.
Indeed, his nonchalance has proven to be one of the many timeless charm he had left for generations to come to appreciate.
Perhaps Freddie’s greatest legacy is not his greatest hits or flamboyant theatrics but his ability to elude us, both in life and in death. To this day still, we have not grasped a complete understanding on the greatest frontman of rock and roll. And behind the veil of ambiguity, is perhaps a man who does not wish to be understood but wants to make — and had made — his mark in the world. It has been nearly 27 years since his passing, but Freddie has been and will continue to be our favourite Persian Popinjay of all time. With an asteroid named after him, he is now a literal shooting star leaping through the skies — in front of seven billion people, so don’t stop him now. Happy birthday Freddie!
