Bohemian Rhapsody

Finally got around to going to the cinema to see “Bohemian Rhapsody“, the movie about Queen and Freddie Mercury. Suffice it to say that it was one of the most positive and cathartic experiences I’ve had in many years. For all the undoubted flaws of the film, and at the risk of adding to the hagiographic tone, the presentation of the band touched nerves that I hadn’t realised lay within me.

There’s a line early in the film in which Freddie says that Queen are a bunch of misfits who are playing to the misfits at the back of the room who feel like they don’t fit in. He says that Queen are their family. This, my friends, is perhaps the truth of the story.

Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, my friends and I were very much the guys at the back of the room feeling like we didn’t fit in. In truth, we didn’t fit in. We were bullied and rejected by most – adults thought we were wasting our time and other kids thought we were geeky and weird. We generally obliged them all by hiding away, playing our fantasy games and listening to our music.

Queen were one of the big five bands of my youth. I listened to their music a very great deal. The combination of rock and rebellion and flamboyance and oddness and all that jazz… it was refreshing. My Dad bought Queen records, so I heard them in the 70’s, but when Hot Space hit there was a separation even from that last remnant of connection to my father.

Freddie’s identity as a gay man was a scandalous thing in the 1980s. With the rise of AIDS, and the tragic connection of the disease to the gay community, we Brits even enacted the infamous Section 28 law in schools in 1988 – it was outlawed to, “promote the teaching… of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship”. We forget, you see.

I remember that my peers assumed we Queen fans were gay. Prior to “A Kind of Magic” being released, and the success of Highlander, many were the times the bullying turned to my music choice as an accusation. It was a shameful time in which we kept hoping that we would overcome such simplistic ways of thinking.

That man was a hero to me. On stage, unassailable as a performer. The Wembley gigs were massive moments in the lives of my friends and I. We admired him – the presence, the energy, the positivity he radiated. 

Queen stood for hope. We were all waiting for the “hammer to fall”, we were all fed up with “radio gaga”, and we identified with wanting to “break free”. Freddie was the front-man for that hope.

I hadn’t realised how much I miss that hope. Today I was reminded of the spirit of positivity and energy that Freddie embodied. Taking risks, making mistakes, being who you are, and not letting others define you. 

Thank you, Freddie. Thank you, Brian and Roger and John too. Together you are all legends. You gave me more than I can ever express or repay. 
I’m crying my eyes out.

 The show must go on!