Freddie Mercury: The Biography (15 page)

Despite Mercury’s increasingly bisexual reputation, on stage his style, especially in America, had become more macho. With
his slinky build, luxurious dark hair and lively wicked eyes, women found him incredibly sexy. They could prove determined
in their pursuit of him, too, as Freddie learnt the hard way. One day in New York, as he stepped on to the kerb into a frantic
gaggle of girls, the scarf around his neck was grabbed at both ends and pulled tight. He could have been choked to death had
it not been for the swift intervention of his companions. What amused them most about the incident was Mercury’s subsequent
rage at the damage done to his precious silk scarf.

In New York he teamed up with his old Mott the Hoople mate Ian Hunter at the famous Electric Ladyland Studios, which had been
founded by Hendrix. Hunter was working on a solo album
All American Alien Boy,
with producer Roy Thomas Baker, when he discovered that Queen were in town. He invited his friends along to a recording session,
and May and Taylor, accompanied by Mercury, ended up singing backing vocals on ‘You Nearly Done Me In.’

Mercury adored New York. It was a city he would often roam, exploring especially its seedier sides. He also enjoyed visiting
the numerous gay clubs and bars, and loved to cruise the streets at night in a darkened limousine. From the car he surveyed
the parade of street life, sipping on his favourite iced vodka. He was living the rock dream as he saw it.

Queen were going from strength to strength, as news from
England revealed an unprecedented four albums in the UK top thirty at the same time; with even
Queen
reaching number twenty-four, two years after its release. Inspired by this proof of their popularity, at gigs Mercury took
to toasting his loyal subjects with brimming flutes of champagne. He drank in the audience adulation, as much as the pale
tawny wine in his glass. But behind the scenes it wasn’t all moonlight and roses. Personal manager Pete Brown has his own
memories of this tour, particularly of Chicago.

‘Wherever we went, when the time came to move on it was my job to settle the hotel bills. We’d been two days in Chicago and
were heading to St Louis, but when I tried to use the Queen credit card they said it was overextended. What made it worse
was that it was a Sunday with no banks open, and I still had to organise their luggage and transport to the airport. Getting
anxious, I argued with the desk clerk, insisting he’d just have to take it now and sort it out later, but he wasn’t having
it. I didn’t know what to do and started to turn away when suddenly the guy pulled a gun on me. I can’t remember if I actually
threw my hands up, but I certainly froze and said, “Easy, mate! I’ve got all the time in the world.”’

In the end Pete Brown persuaded the local promoter to come and settle the bill in cash, but by then he faced another problem.
‘We’d missed the flight,’ he explains, ‘and I was scared stiff that they’d not be able to make the next gig. Hours had already
slipped by, and my nerves were in shreds. I was convinced I’d be sacked, but I just did what I could to rustle up a string
of station wagons to get them on the road.’

Nothing else major happened to upset Brown for the remainder of this particular tour. But trouble of a different kind lay
in wait for him, when, having quit America mid-March for a short but rewarding return to Japan, their globe-trotting took
them to the Antipodes.

This first tour of Australia, kicking off at the Entertainments
Centre in Perth, was important to Queen. Wary of their reception this time around, they were also exhausted. They had been
on tour for nine weeks already, and Mercury in particular was feeling stressed. When they reached Sydney to play the Horden
Pavilion, events turned ugly.

‘It was all because when we arrived we discovered that to get to the theatre it meant going through a huge fairground,’ Pete
Brown explains. ‘Well, from one look at the set-up, it was obvious that there was no way you could drive through the crowds
of people, so I asked the band to get out of their respective cars and walk. Freddie’s immediate response was, “My dear, I
can’t possibly walk anywhere!” and he point-blank refused to leave the limo. We had to drive through at a snail’s pace so
as not to injure anyone, and Freddie acted up with the champagne all the way. Needless to say, your average male Oz didn’t
much care for this, and the catcalls started – shouts like “pommie pussies” and worse. They lunged angrily at the windows,
sticking two fingers up at those inside, and banged with clenched fists on the passing cars.’

When the cavalcade reached the Pavilion safely, despite the fact that his own arrogance had caused much of the trouble, Mercury
took his temper out on Brown. ‘When Freddie wanted to be, he was very tough,’ he reveals. ‘He often made me cry during the
years I worked for him. This time, when we got inside he was in such a cold rage that he picked up a big mirror and literally
smashed it over my head. Then he ordered me to find a brush to sweep up the glass.’

Mercury once blamed the pressures of fame for his temperament. His growing reputation for throwing things at people was, he
stressed, very unlike him. Certainly Pete Brown must have known other, better sides of Mercury, for he held no grudge against
the star for this latest abuse, maintaining, ‘You see it was the humiliation he’d suffered. He just had to take it out on
someone, and that time it was me. I understood.’

By their final gig at Brisbane’s Festival Hall on 22 April, there was good reason to celebrate. The tour had been a great
success. This time when their Quantas Air flight took off for London, both their single and album topped the Australian charts,
marking their first major breakthrough there.

Queen arrived home to yet more good news. Bruce Gowers’s
Queen at the Rainbow
was screening in UK cinemas, in support of
Hustle,
starring Burt Reynolds (the American actor about whom Mercury later confessed often to fantasise). As a result of their recent
tour to America, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ had reached number nine in the US singles charts. In addition, the single won the Best
Selling British Record category at the twenty-first annual Ivor Novello Awards held that year at London’s Dorchester Hotel.

Days later Brian May married Christine Mullen at a Roman Catholic church in Barnes. John Deacon was already wed to Veronica
Tetzlaff, and Roger Taylor, still the committed bachelor, remained content to play the field. Freddie Mercury, although still
close to Mary Austin, was grappling with some serious choices; inner battles he would continue to fight for several more months.

According to Mercury, the first real financial return he began to see from his music came with Queen’s fourth album
A Night at the Opera.
Some of that money he was now using to finance his growing use of cocaine. Perhaps his drug abuse partly accounted for the
mood swings that had resulted in his assaulting a loyal employee. But, within himself, Mercury must have realised that his
life was changing. As is often the case, it was the band who gave Mercury a sense of continuity – Roger Taylor would later
refer to it as ‘like coming home to mother’ – and here something had changed too. Queen’s first five singles had been written
by either Mercury or May, but on this occasion John Deacon came up with a beautifully melodic ballad.

‘You’re My Best Friend’ was released on 18 June and gave Queen a number seven hit. By this time Queen had reverted to what
they called ‘routine time’, when each band member wrote songs that they would then argue about in the studio. Mercury was
stubborn, but he wasn’t alone, and these sessions were frequently a lively and spirited debate about the quality of material
on offer. Working at The Manor, Wessex Studios, and Sarm East Studios, Mercury also found time to design the future album
sleeve.

The urge to perform live, however, was never dormant for long, and around this time Sir Richard Branson, now the multi-millionaire
founder of the Virgin Group, had come up with an exciting proposition. ‘I’d had the idea to try to stage a free open-air gig
in Hyde Park, which would promote a few bands at the same time,’ says Branson. ‘The problem was, I wasn’t in a position then
to finance something like that, so as I already knew Roger Taylor, I approached him thinking that Queen might go for it.’
Remembering the impact that the Stones 1969 Hyde Park concert had made on him, Branson believed that Queen could really break
in Britain with the same sort of exposure.

Queen agreed and were eager to arrange the gig that next month – which was hardly feasible. But Branson worked through the
many stipulations laid down by the Metropolitan Police and the London Parks Committee, gradually pulling the pieces together.
‘When I had all the necessary clearance,’ he says, ‘and the project was a goer, I handed it over to the Queen management to
take from there.’

The date was set for 18 September, which worked out well with Queen’s arrangements to play two gigs earlier in the month.
The first show took place during the annual Edinburgh Festival at the Playhouse Theatre, when they were supported by Supercharge.
And the second was in Wales, at Cardiff Castle. Billed Q
UEEN
A
T
T
HE
C
ASTLE
, the outdoor gig came at the end
of the worst drought in Britain for years. Rivers and reservoirs had dried up, and in some places the street standpipes were
back in operation.

But, as the 12,000-plus crowd assembled that night, the rains started, pouring down as support acts Frankie Miller’s Full
House, Manfred Mann’s Earthband and Andy Fairweather Low played their sets. By the time Queen appeared, the ground was a bog,
and the crowd were soaking wet.

The compère in Cardiff had been Radio One presenter Bob Harris, who was on duty again eight days later at Hyde Park, when
more than ten times the Cardiff crowd converged on the area. Capital Radio was covering the event live, with commentary from
Kenny Everett and Nicky Horne. This night, too, was the first time Freddie Mercury met sixties’ pop star Dave Clark, who would
become one of his closest friends.

Besides his professional association with Queen, Harris had developed a close friendship with the band and already held them
in high regard: ‘They were very bright, and their overview was always keen,’ says Harris. ‘They were never an exploitative
band either.’ Referring to another stylish group at the time, he recalls, ‘I remember being in a production meeting with the
members of this group, and it was, “What do the punters want?” said in a very dismissive and blasé way. Queen were never guilty
of that, and, in fact, genuinely cared very much for their fans.’

The support acts at Hyde Park included Steve Hillage, Supercharge and Kiki Dee. Having lately enjoyed a number one hit with
Elton John with ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’, Dee had hoped to persuade John to appear with her. But, in the end, she settled
for dueting with a cardboard cut-out of the star instead.

‘Queen came on just as it was getting dark,’ recalls Bob Harris. ‘People had been amassing since midday, and, by mid-afternoon,
when you stood on the stage, you could see the
crowd literally stretching to the horizon line. The mass of humanity was an incredible sight.’

Greeting this mass of humanity with the words ‘Welcome to our picnic by the Serpentine’, Mercury, in a black leotard scooped
to the navel and with ballet pumps on his feet, launched into a high-energy rendition of ‘Keep Yourself Alive’.

‘It was a brilliant event,’ says Harris, ‘and Queen were very special that day.’

The roar for an encore was deafening, making Mercury desperate to return on stage, as much for himself as for his fans. At
Queen concerts, he often taunted an audience with the battle cry, ‘This is what you want? This is what you’re gonna get!’
Only that day the police saw to it that no one was getting anything more. Prior to the event they had laid down a strict set
of dos and don’ts, and as the schedule had already overrun by thirty minutes they threatened Mercury with instant arrest if
he dared place a foot back on the stage. To prove their point, they pulled the plug on the power supply, momentarily plunging
the park into pitch darkness.

Sir Richard Branson recalls, ‘It was a vitally important gig for Queen – and a turning point in their career.’ The band put
this to best use in the weeks ahead, while working on their new album.
A Day at the Races
was released during the second week in December, when, despite music-press criticism that it lacked inspiration, it was a
resounding success for them.

Almost exactly a month earlier, Mercury’s love song ‘Somebody to Love’ had been chosen as Queen’s next single. Kenny Everett
once more bombarded his Capital Radio listeners with the number, to the extent that it topped the station’s own chart, Hitline.
When it was officially released on 12 November, however, it stopped just short of giving Mercury the satisfaction of a second
national number one.

By now, in a deeply personal way, physical and emotional fulfilment was a serious issue for Mercury. He had battled with
himself for a long time, but by the end of 1976, he felt he had to sacrifice his relationship with Mary Austin for stronger
desires. That Mercury deeply loved Austin has never been disputed. That he felt compelled to redefine their life together
did not mean he was less devoted to her, nor, time would prove, she to him. His decision led to an unusual coexistence. While
Mercury pursued the gay life he craved, Mary Austin went on to make other relationships, from which she had children. She
was pregnant with her second child when Mercury died. But she remained involved with him throughout his life. And Mercury’s
abiding love for the woman he had met when he was unknown and penniless always overshadowed his closest relationships with
male lovers.

The break with Austin was a huge relief to Mercury, and 1977 began a period of promiscuity that lasted for at least five years.
He boasted that his enormous sex drive led him to bed hundreds; not an unusual claim in rock, though the bragging usually
refers to female groupies. After an evening’s partying on the gay scene, Mercury would select whoever took his fancy. He wanted
sex with no strings and would leave for home around dawn with his conquest in tow. It appears that he wasn’t fussy, and for
someone whose artistic sensibilities were becoming increasingly refined, he could go extremely downmarket. This period also
saw a marked increase in Mercury’s use of cocaine.