Queen's music is like strong mouthwash. It takes my breath away but that initial rush is as temporary as it is abrupt. This probably has something to do with the discrepancy between what Queen is and what Queen would like to be. Queen IS a good studio band-cum-variety show with a flair for novelty, a patent on mock opera and Rock of Gibraltar guitar harmonies. What they would like to be is a good studio band and a great live act. Unfortunately they've mastered a studio perfection that does not lend itself to accurate live interpretation. Whether or not they choose to approach the two mediums separately, the fact remains: kids are amazed at Queen records and they expect to be doubly amazed by their concerts.

If Queen—without the assistance of tapes—could reproduce their studio sound live, they'd certainly be one of the most impressive bands on the rock scene. But they can't and they aren't and it's the vocals that cause most of the problem. They'd need at least five Freddie Mercurys [Aaargh!—Ed.] to do it right. (Imagine Mercury quints; five golden-throated, leotarded, stiffly posed fools.) If only Freddie Mercury could sing two notes at a time!

There is a gadget known as a harmonizer that provides a delayed echo and allows Freddie to harmonize with himself, but this effect has its limitations and is reserved for special occasions like "Killer Queen" and Freddie's spotlight solo in "White Man."

Lacking a consistently believable production of their music, the least Queen could do is compensate for aural imperfections with visual delights. Try as they might, their use of flash pots and strobe lights is old hat and the five basic postures in Freddie's crude ballet are amateur still life, pale in comparison to the volume and the ideas of the band's music.

Let us proceed to the actual scene of a Queen concert and see if we can discover just what keeps this band alive.

It is February 5th at Madison Square Garden. I see a sign bobbing and weaving through the upper aisles of the arena. At first it looks like it's moving of its own free will and then two heads become visible at either end of the banner. This is a familiar one. In three-foot high letters it boasts, "Queen is King." Behind and way above me, up in those seats in the clouds, (that us rock writers never get stuck in) there are two more signs held by fans. They read: "Queen A Night At The Garden" and "Queen Takes My Breath Away."

I wonder how many of these kids have seen Queen before. Will they be disappointed? Darkness sets in. The PA system blasts solo piano recital music that eventually fades into a tape of one of those majestic guitar intros Brian May likes to embroider around the beginning of his songs. The first chords of "Tie Your Mother Down," hit like thuncjer, maybe even induce butterflies in the stomach, temporarily.

The image of Freddie Mercury strikes. Decked in some kind of baggy white karate jump suit the singer looks sexier than he ever did in those ridiculous striped suspender shorts. For a moment Freddie has me believing that he's cut his overbearing physical exposure from the act. But by the third song he's stripped down to a second skin of white, commonly known as leotards. In Freddie's case they're pain in the ass leotards. Every five minutes he becomes distracted as a leotard strap shimmies down his shoulder. He searches for a moment when he can inconspicuously slide it back up before the whole damn thing falls off. Unfortunately Freddie is not cool about it. By the end of the set I'm almost more intent on calculating the next time a strap will drop and how he'll get it back up, then I am on hearing the music.

Freddie is a strange cookie on stage. He waves his magic wand (actually it's a mike stand but you can use your imagination) and the flashpots explode. No big deal. Personally I think the Wizard of Oz had better flashpots and that movie was filmed decades ago. Freddie addresses the audience, "Listen my darlings, let me do the talking for a change." Yecch! Too coy. I don't believe him.

"Somebody To Love" comes early in the set. This is what is called strategy. It comes early in the set because it's impossible to do justice to in concert. If everything else goes right, by the end of the show the kids will have forgotten how punchless the live version is in comparison to the lush production that stole thousands of AM hearts.

Deep down, underneath the black nail polish, there is some talent.

Besides Freddie, the only really visible member of Queen is Brian May. May is the exact opposite of Mercury— a real Yin-Yang combination. In the words of Chuan Tzu, "The perfect negative principle is majestically passive (May). The perfect positive (Mercury) is powerfully active...the interaction of the two results is that harmony by which all things are produced." Somehow it DOES work.

May appears silent and serious. He plays guitar as if he were studying constellations. There is nothing silly about him. Even the starch in his Elizabethan white shirt fits. He looks elegant, contemplative, (a misplaced 18th century poet?) and yet he plays with all the erotic energy and guts of the heaviest and dirtiest of rock 'n' rollers. You could say he doesn't look like he sounds. But this inconsistency serves to make his character all the more enchanting.

During "Brighton Rock" Brian takes a long solo. With the use of two echoplex systems he manages to produce the sound of three guitars. It's a wellcrafted solo with lots of showmanship and lots of clean, thoughtfully executed riffs. He hardly moves while he's playing. All the energy is flowing from head to fingers. It's one of the few moments in Queen's set where nothing threatens to cancel out the emotion of his playing. Looking back on this a moment later, it's easy to understand what Brian has in mind when he says, "I want to be good in the sense of being more expressive."

Queen dares to attempt May's Mccartneyish " '39." It doesn't fare too well. Freddie sings it. Freddie sings all the songs. Funny, on the record Brian sings " '39." Maybe he feels that singing would be too much of a diversion while he's playing guitar.

In introducing "You Take My Breath Away," Freddie announces, "Maybe next time we'll come back with an orchestra." (While he's at it I hope he remembers to bring a choir, too.) Freddie adds, "You are what we call oilr sophisticated rock audience." Is he laughing because he knows it's a joke or is he uneasy because that's what he'd like to believe?

Imagine (Freddie) Mercury quints; five golden-throated leotarded, stifflyposed fools.

Meanwhile the set has been embellished with intermittent gimmicks; a roadie hands a triangle to bassist John Deacon to hit one solitary note. What drama! Brian May plays a ukelele for five seconds during the band's instrumental version of "Bring Back Leroy Brown," etc. etc.

Freddie's vocal exhibition in "White Man" is impressive. He manages to sound like a voice and an instrument at the same time. It offers substantial evidence that deep down, underneath the black nail polish, there is some talent. Too bad he has to mask it in such demeaning external distractions as his unsteady Ian Anderson pose and his off-time dances to the music.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" is the evening's anti-plimax. When the song reaches the really ornate vocal rounds Freddie disappears from the stage and all twenty thousand of us are left sitting in the dark. It's like faking an orgasm (need I say that the real thing is so much better?). Of course this maneuver is done so that Freddie can change his costume but it doesn't sit too well with me, not to mention the fifteen-yearolds behind me who think they're being ripped off. After all, they can hear the record at home. They want to see Queen do the humanly impossible, and when they're slipped a fast one they know it. "This is unforgivable," says one kid. "Yeah, they're gonna haveita do somethin' big to make up for that," his friend replies. Hear that, boys? You can't fool Mother Nature.

Freddie returns in black tights. He looks much better in black/ especially now that he's got one of those real slick short hairstyles. White is too feminine. Again, strategy saves the day. The kids have been screaming for "Stone Cold Crazy" all night and now, when they're feeling cheated, "Stone Cold Crazy" will pacify them.

"Stone Cold Crazy" is perhaps one of the most breathless hard rockers that Queen does (on record) but somehow it loses its bite when a series of strobe lights begin to flash to the beat and eventually wind up totally off-beat, turning the frenzied effect into gaudy confusion.

Freddie dedicates "Keep Yourself Alive" to the audience. "Liar" is followed by "In The Lap Of The Gods." There are two encores, sodl'm told. I didn't stay for them. I came to see if Brian May still knew what he was doing—I didn't need any more Mercury shenanigans.

We turn now to the scene of the postQueen party. It's held at Oh Ho So in So Ho and it's so-so. Freddie is reputed to have a fascination for the Oriental and that's as good a reason as any to jam 500 press people into a 250 capacity restaurant. The food in this joint is really good, I come here all the time. But food is not what I'm interested in. Standing well over six-feet - tall, Brian May is easy enough to spot but he's busy holding court. I can barely justify barging in on the ladies in waiting, the men in waiting, the fans in waiting... later.

"Yeah, I know Frampton sold millions of records, but I don't think you can capture the whole thing outside of a studio."

In the meantime my friend Liz and I have decided that we're going to corner Freddie and ask him what brand nail polish he wears. She sees someone she knows who knows who we want to meet (Freddie) and she manages to get introduced while I play voyeur. Alas, the best-laid plans of mice and women... Freddie's nails aren't black or white. They're just old plain old fingernails. But, we do manage to find out that Freddie has been asked to pose with Mr. Pumping Iron himself, Arnold Schwarznegger. Whether or not the event will take place is still a mystery. Freddie wasn't giving any clues.

After at least an hour of anxious waiting for parking space beside Brian I finally score. Yes, he remembers doing the interview last year, but he says I look different. Yes, it must be the glasses. I don't have them on tonight. I'm blind as a bat but you know what they say about girls who wear glasses.

Pulling no punches; I explain to Brian that I'm doing a Queen story for America's Only Rock 'n' Roll Magazine. I am totally understanding as he apologizes, "We haven't been doing interviews 'cause we're so busy. We're playing all big concert halls and we're in a different city every night. We travel about five hburs every day. It's just too hectic." If he wasn't such a nice guy I'd be saying, bullshit, everyone else does it, but he i$ SUCH a nice guy and I sympathize with every word he says. Two points for the power of smooth talking.

I proceed to find out that the next album will NOT be named after a Marx Brothers movie, that Groucho owns an official Queen II jacket and that Queen wilj be meeting him in L.A. Rock on Groucho!

On the subject of the band's incessant use of gimmickry, Brian comments, "A Day At the Races can be seen as an extension of A Night At the Opera". Though last year Brian's favorite album was Queen II, this year he professes to like A Day At The Races despite its similarities to Opera. He had once expressed discontent with Opera due to the switch of emphasis from guitar riff-based rockers to experiments with instruments like the Toy Koto, the genuine aloha ukelele and "Good Company's" guitar jazz band, not to mention Freddie's obsession for music in the movie musical genre.,

TURN TO PAGE 74.

QUEEN

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 46.

A Day At The Races is the first selfproduced Queen album. Previous albums had been stamped with both the band's name and that of Roy Thomas Baker—the man who served as scapegoat for numerous accusations regarding overproduction. A Day At The Races bears a pattern of excess remarkably similar to that of A Night At the Opera. Of producer Baker, Brian said: "We grew together and now we've got our own things to do. We always had a lot to say about the production anyway," he added, hinting at the possibility that Queen's vices have long since been self-inflicted.

Considering the vast amount of time and money spent on studio technique it is not surprising to discover that even before May had heard the influential playing of guitarists like Page and Hendrix, he was fascinated by Phil Spector's productions. "They were very emotional and very slushy," he explains with a gleam in his eye. Strange combination this romanticism, this background in astronomy, this technician who built his own guitar from the wood of an antique fireplace, this man whose songs are to him "very personal." Strange that all these experiences convene in one brain and come out with a split vote, half in favor of the schmaltzy sentimentality of numbers like the Beatle-ish "Long Away," the other half thrashing out in malevolent waves of heavy sound and male chauvinism, witness "Tie Your Mother Down."

Getting back to the matter of production. Brian recognizes the discrepancy between the live and studio version of a song like "Somebody To Love." It doesn't seem to bother him. Being dead set against the possibility of a live album, why should he worry as long as he's so busy filling big arenas that he doesn't have time to do interviews. Still, his heart is into making good studio recordings. "If we did a live album, it would have to be really good, but I can't imagine it. I think live albums are a cop out." He pauses and smiles, "Yeah, I know Frampton sold millions of records, but I don't think you can capture the whole thing outside of a studio." This was all said with a degree of sincerity that I'd like to believe but a conflicting report challenges his position. Reliable sources seem to believe that Queen is considering the possibility of recording live in Japan this summer with the able assistance of none other than Roy Thomas Baker.

So Queen and success have met. So far the two are getting along. A year ago Brian May proudly announced that the only, tape the band used was "God Save The Queen" at the beginning and ending of concerts. "We don't like the idea of using tapes as backing tracks," he explained. Considering the role tapes play in their current show, suffice to say times have changed.

A year ago Brian believed there were things Queen could do in a small theatre that they could never do in Madison Square Garden. "When you start playing those places you have to change your whole .act. A group can become like a picture in a frame. Communication in arenas is much more difficult and needs to be approached carefully." Now that Queen is playing only big arenas Brian expresses a feeling of comfort within the new atmosphere, explaining that the band feels geared towards it now. Queen certainly manages to fill large halls with sound but whether they know it or not, they've not mastered a way of filling their new frame with a coinciding picture.

It's deadlineday and devoted soul that I am I've taken it upon myself to listen to all the Queen albums in order. The first two are a breeze, Queen bouncing from melodic early Yes style to heavy Led Zep riffing and then on to the sledgehammer stance of Deep Purple at their most menacing.

By Sheer Heart Attack the seeds of gimmickry are planted and they begin to grow like a small malignant cancer. Freddie Mercury has stopped singing about mercury and biblical references are less frequent. The band's image becomes less majestic, more decadent, killer Queen, and then a complete turnaround with A Night At The Opera wherein the boys abandon guts for cutesy cleverness. It is by this album that Queen have become definitely Queen. Maybe the novelty twist is their only surefire approach to originality: heavy metal novelty? A Day At the Races, as accounted for earlier, is more of the same as Opera.

I can still hear Brian talking about Jimi Hendrix with a sense of awe: "He was thernan." At the same time the image of Freddie comes into view. He is posing for pictures. He keeps an eye on his reflection in the mirror. He primps his jet black hair and snickers in a barely audible but intentional tone, "Got to keep up the image." It's hard to imagine a more diverse marriage of ideas. It's transient, it's experimental and it's confusing as hell.

Ever since their 1973 debut I've followed Queen. I've reviewed every album with enthusiasm and then somehow forgotten them until the next release reminded me that I like the last one. I get all excited when a Queen record comes out but it doesn't last. What's the answer? Staying power? Preservatives? It's driving me stone cold crazy.