Thirty Years Without Freddie Mercury

Inside my heart is breaking,

my makeup may be flaking,

but my smile still stays on

The March Of The Black Queen

Thirty years have now passed since that 24th of November 1991, when every TV channel broke the news of Freddie Mercury's death. It was a bolt from the blue for those of us who, like me (sixteen at the time), had fallen in love with that voice and had begun venturing into the world of youth music partly thanks to Queen. It was the unexpected ending to a career forever balanced between triumphs and tragedies, between an exuberant zest for life – typical of the unrestrained hedonism of the '80s – and an inner fragility, the hallmark of a sensitive soul seeking refuge in addiction. An unexpected ending, even though, looking closely, strange ghosts already hovered over the images of the album "Innuendo", and in particular over the video for "These Are The Days Of Our Lives". That gauntness never seen before, that weary face so different from the image of himself Freddie had always wanted to project, were already foreshadowing the tragedy to come.

Fragility and loneliness coexisted with the boundless love of millions of fans, unable to fill that inner void and that malaise that afflicts so many artists touched by success. In this sense, Freddie Mercury's story can be likened to that of many stars who fell victim to excessive fame, in particular to that of Elvis Presley. Freddie Mercury's death helped shout to the world something that in 1991 was still taboo. AIDS was devastating Africa and the rest of the world, and talking about it was far harder than discussing Covid can be today (which today, by contrast, is a mainstream topic for armchair experts). In 1985, Rock Hudson's death had already warned the whole world that something serious was happening and that no one could feel safe. But AIDS was taboo also because it had immediately been branded a mark of shame. A disease transmitted sexually, one that hit gay men – one of the most shamefully discriminated-against communities of all time – with greater frequency, could only be relegated to some hidden corner of our minds where unspeakable thoughts are kept. 24th November 1991 leads, on one hand, to despair, and on the other, to a new awareness of danger. Freddie Mercury died in his London home, revealing his condition only a few hours before his death, giving the world his final gift: a new awareness.

These Are The Days Of Our Lives

But what did it mean to have been Freddie Mercury? Loved and hated, generally looked down upon by the snobbiest critics, Mercury lived his life to the extreme, reaching worldwide fame and coming to know, in equal measure, both the adrenaline of packed stadium shows and the deepest depression and loneliness. Mercury, in a way, sacrificed his life on the altar of success, of the star system, yet always managed to preserve his strong personality and his idiosyncrasies. Versatile like few others, he managed to sound credible across a truly astonishing range of genres. This was especially true during Queen's golden period – the three years from 1974 to 1976 – with the art-rock quadrilogy comprising "Queen II" (1974), "Sheer Heart Attack" (1974), "A Night At The Opera" (1975) and "A Day At The Races" (1976).

These truly were golden years – a period in which the band moved swiftly from their underground beginnings to international success – years in which the band fused classic rock (the Who in particular) with hard rock (Led Zeppelin) and glam rock (Marc Bolan and David Bowie). These were genres ready, at the time, to take over the radio, and Queen embraced them without hesitation, enriching them precisely thanks to Mercury's unique voice while also making the most of Taylor's and May's voices, producing harmonies that would become their unmistakable trademark.

After a still-immature debut LP, in 1974 they released two albums in which Mercury ranged ever further afield, pushing his own qualities to the extreme. On "Queen II" he moves from an ethereal vocal sunk into distinctly hard guitar ("Father To Son") to proto-metal ("Ogre Battle"), all the way to the baroque oddities of harpsichord and choirs on "The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke", which dissolves into the romantic singing of "Nevermore". The band's progressive soul – the more elaborate, complex side that would lead to their masterpieces – can be found in the black/white pairing of "The March Of The Black Queen" and "White Queen", two intricate tracks in which the voice is an absolutely essential pillar.

That same year, Mercury further expanded his versatility on "Sheer Heart Attack", where his vocal range broadens even further. He moves from rock to vaudeville on their first big hit, "Killer Queen", to "In The Lap Of The Gods", probably the first track where Mercury tries to go beyond himself, pushing his qualities to their limits and creating something that draws on the past in order to become something no singer of the era would have dreamed of attempting. The result is a bizarre, anomalous song that, in its own way, marks the beginning of what over the following two years would become the band's most significant legacy: the fusion of hard rock, theatre, glam and opera.

The time was now ripe for the band's historic one-two punch. "A Night At The Opera", universally regarded as their masterpiece, is a formidable cauldron of ideas straddling progressive rock and opera, reaching its definitive peak with "Bohemian Rhapsody" (also the title of the 2018 film that would bring Queen further posthumous fame, and an Oscar to Rami Malek for his portrayal of Mercury).

But there's much more besides. From the vintage atmospheres of "Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon" and "Seaside Rendezvous", which push the vaudeville sound to its extreme with a style unlike anything else in youth music at the time, to the hard rock of "Death On Two Legs", the prog of "The Prophet's Song", all the way to the melodic singing of "Love Of My Life", Mercury probably reaches his highest peak here, the one that renders him immortal.

"A Day At The Races" continues along this path and is, in a sense, an appendix confirming the qualities already described, with the new theatrical pairing of "The Millionaire Waltz", which glides effortlessly from waltz to hard rock, and "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy", right through to the Japanese choirs of "Teo Toriatte" and "Somebody To Love", a track where the harmonies reach truly obsessive levels (perhaps a bit too much so). An underrated gem is undoubtedly "You Take My Breath Away", an unusual piano-and-voice track where Mercury's singing reaches a level truly beyond reach.

We Are The Champions

What will remain after all this? Certainly the huge success and the definitive crossover into the mainstream. From the stadium anthems of "News Of The World" onward, success would flood the quartet's life. Mercury, by now an international star, threw himself into the life of the star system with total abandon, probably unaware of how many before him had been crushed by it. Sadly, the same fate awaited him. After a string of disappointing albums (the dreadful "Hot Space" chief among them), after various attempts to chase new trends, Freddie temporarily left the band to try a solo path (likely egged on by ill-advised counsel) without producing anything of real worth, or pursued his operatic ambitions with the duet alongside Montserrat Caballé, fulfilling one of the dreams of his life.

Who Wants To Live Forever

Mercury never lost the idea of music as a consumer product, to be devoured quickly before moving on to the next thing. Jumping from one hit to another before fading into oblivion, managing to write hits with stunning ease without ever quite realizing that many of his creations were destined for immortality. The reconciliation with Queen brought new commercial triumphs ("Radio Ga Ga", "A Kind Of Magic"), a grand return to the mainstream with the soundtrack to the blockbuster "Highlander", but also some indefensible tracks (the first that comes to mind is the dreadful "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure").

Everything seems to lack both the poetry and the unmistakable style of the golden years, at least until the unexpected final flourish. "Innuendo" is the ultimate testament and final requiem of Freddie Mercury the man, having by then shed the status of rockstar to wear that of a simple man nearing the end of his life. "Innuendo" – which today we might call the "Blackstar" of the Nineties – contains tracks like "The Show Must Go On", "These Are The Days Of Our Lives", the title track, right down to the bizarre "I'm Going Slightly Mad", which all sound like the last wishes of a man staring death in the face, laying himself bare without filters, and – without ever saying it outright – bidding one final farewell to his fans and loved ones.

The Show Must Go On

A career marked by strength and fragility. A seemingly boundless strength that in fact concealed a fragile man, marked by loneliness and an inner malaise hidden behind a facade of sequins and colorful outfits, who no matter what always had to smile, because the show must go on. And this show, even thirty years on, knows no end.

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