ENTER, STAGE RIGHT

The word ‘hype’ is passe and rarely used these days in music business circles. There are substitute words, still hyperbolic, which drape shadows more elegantly across the shabby dealings which see one artist placed before another in terms of promotion and profile. This can take many forms record shop window displays column inches and adverts in the music press, giant posters plastered on disused warehouses on the outskirts of town or, at its most venal, assisted passage up the charts through the discreet distribution ot tint lopes containing cash or drugs.

At any one time a major record label may have a roster of more than 50 acts, but only a handful will receive a substutional promotional budget. Of this handful most will be established acts, so the label spends a great deal to recoup a great dealt. New acts are promoted in various ways - some are given a reasonable budget andlett to smoulder others are set alight immediately and burnt into your consciousness, but often labels are indiscriminate; in the parlance of the business, they fire the shit against the wall and if it sticks the big promotional push inevitably follows.

When Queen were thrust on to the scene by EMI Records in 1973, the word hype was still in vogue and many felt it applied to the band. The term was not used in its real sense of actual cheating more as a euphemism for money wasted on something frivolous, on a group who did not warrant or deserve such financial speculation. It was in Queen s case a cruel, baseless slur. The four years between their formation and first hit, 1970 to 1974, were onerous. It was largely a succession of rebuffs and disappointments and it was during these often dark days that the self belief vision impudence and guarded personality of Queen was formed.

Ihe ill-fortune began almost immediately. After Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor and Brian May became Queen, it would take them nearly a year even to complete the line up, an inordinately long time to find a suitable bass player. Mike Crose, a Cornish friend of Roger Taylor, had sometimes filled in for Tim Staffell when Smile played shows in the West Country, so he was an obvious candidate to replace him perrnanently. Mike was busy in Truro, managing PJs and playing in various bands, but he responded to Roger s invitation and moved to London to join Queen.

They practised once or twice each week at Imperial College and often held impromptu rehearsals in the garden at Ferry Road. There songs later known for their robus,t amplified power like ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ and ‘Seven Seas Of Rhye’ were schemed on acoustic guitar.s Mike Grose remembers the constant, but good natured bickering of Roger and Freddie, and the quiet assurance of Brian.

Queen s first live appearance under their new name was at the City Hall Truro, on Saturday June 27, 1970. The concert had been arranged some time earlier, when thev were still known as Smile, and in the local Cornish papers they were billed under their former name. The concert was partly arranged by Roger Taylor’s mother, Win Hitchens, to raise money lor the Red Cross. Queen received P. 50 expenses and the price of admission for the show which also boasted a guest DJ, Jell Spence, was 7s/6d. They opened their set with ‘Stone Cold Crazy’, a track loosely based on a Wreckage number. The concert hall was only half full and though the band looked striking in their monochrome silk costumes even, Win Hitchens considered them more than a shade unpolished. “Freddie was not like how he became,” she said. “He had not got his movements off properly”.

It was perhaps appropriate that the first show to be billed properly under their new name should be at their natural home, Imperial College, in London’s SW7. Freddie designed hand drawn tickets which bore a scratchy but llorid outline of the word ‘Queen’ in a similar typeface to that which would later adorn their record sleeves. The ticket which also included a map showing the colleges proximity to South Kensington tube station, read; ‘Queen invite you to a private showing at Imperial College New Block, Imperial Institute Road,Lexel 5, Lecture Theatre A on Sunday 18 July.

The band, on only their second show together and with a bassist still settling in, had been impetuous in holding such an early ‘showcase’. Ultimately, it hardly mattered since interest in them Irom the music business was negligible. They were still a homespun affair, there had been no covert business strategy behind their formation, much ot it was carried out on impulse and enthusiasm. They were, to their credit, extremely enthusiastic, much of this being down to Freddie. They openly solicited their friend’s comments about performances and were not afraid of criticism. They asked «What did you think?» until the entreaty became almost tiresome.

Their set was composed almost entirely of cover versions and for some time they included just two of their own songs, ‘Stone Cold Crazy’ and ‘Liar’. They would open the set with the former, one of the few songs to develop from a group jamming session and to feature the whole group as co-writers. Their repertoire of covers was rich and, depending on audience reaction, they would plunder material by Buddy Holly, James Brown, The Everly Brothers, Gene Vincent, Little Richard, Ricky Nelson. Shirley Bassey, Bill Haley, The Spencer, Davis Group and The Yardbirds. Queen had no strategy to challenge their audience and there was no esoteric agenda, unlike many of their peers. «We did more heavy rock’n’roll with the Queen delivery to give people something they could get hold of- get on, sock it to ‘em. get off.» said Brian May. «If you go on stage and people don’t know your material, you can get boring.» Clearly, Queen as the compliant, pop-orientated force was fashioned from the beginning.

Queen returned to Cornwall on fuly 25 to appear at PJ’s in Truro and afterwards Mike Grose informed them that he intended to stay in Cornwall and quit the band after just three concerts with them. «I left Queen because I’d had enough of playing basically.» he said. «1 had just got to that point. We weren’t earning any money to speak of, and we were leaving in squalor. I just didn’t want to be part of it any more. Brian had another year of his studies to go, and so did Roger - and I thought to hell with it.» Mike had a feeling ‘in his bones’ that Queen would make it, but after a long, long stog of seven years in his home county with various unfulfilled groups he had reached a point where his greatest opportunity had come too late. Unlike Brain and Roger, who were also partly focused on college studies (though Roger was taking a year out between leaving the dentistry course and beginning another in biology at North London Polytechnic). Queen would have been his complete immediate future, and he had no ‘safety net’ of possible alternative employment.

Mike Grose stayed in Cornwall and established his own haulage business in St Austell. He is still tracked down intermittently by journalists hoping to find the ‘Pete Best’ or ‘Stuart Sutcliffe’ of Queen, but he is weary of the chase and now turns down all requests for interviews. «I’ve said what I’ve got to say already. it’s in all the other books,» is the stock response.

Queen found a replacement bassist when two Rogers met In Cornwall - Roger Taylor and Roger Crossley. A Londoner on holiday in Cornwall, Roger Crossley told Roger Taylor about his friend living in north London, Barry Mitchell, a bass player I without a band. On his return to the capital Roger contacted Mitchell and after just one rehearsal at Imperial College he was made a member of Queen in the summer of 1970. He joined the group just a few weeks before the death of Jimi Hendrix on September 18. Freddie and Roger closed their market stall that day as a mark of respect to their musical hero and Freddie travelled over to an art gallery in Launceston Place, Kensington, where Chris Dummett was working. «Freddie came in and said Jimi had died,» said Chris Dummett «He was devastated and so was I. He wasn’t crying. Freddie was always pretty much battened down, he had everything under control. I remember I asked for the day off work but the boss wouldn’t let me.».

Barry Mitchell’s musical progression had been uncannily similar to that of Brian May and Roger Taylor, although it had perhaps taken in more of the industry’s shenanigans. He started at Clearmont School, Harrow, playing Shadows’ covers in a group known as The Nameless Ones. They evolved into Conviction, a soul covers band, with a guitarist who later became very famous - Alan Parsons, Conviction discovered rock and took on the name Earth, just a few weeks before the band which later became Black Sabbath adopted the same name. The Birmingham group quickly rescinded and the London-based Earth landed themselves a residency at The Coffin Club, housed in the former premises of Ronnie Scott’s in Gerrard Street. London. Their sets were sometimes six hours long and would involve guest spots where whimsical acts like Whistling Concrete, nothing more than a hippy playing the flute, would share the stage.

They acquired a fast-talking manager, Douglas Mew, and he tried to persuade them to change their name to London. They later discovered he had previously worked with a disbanded group called London and was till hopeful of utilising their promotional material. Mew paid for them to record an album - ten songs in one day, no less - but the record did not materialise beyond acetate stage.

The album, had it been released, would have caused quite a stir. Relying heavily on Mitchell’s elaborate but fluid bass style, it was a rich meander through a swampy blues tenor, especially on songs like ‘Rain On The Roof and the anguished tail-out track, ‘Angel Of Death’.

Barry Mitchell left Earth to adopt the posture and raucous bliss of The Jimi Hendrix Experience in a group called Black. Fronted by Pete Lewis, a black South African with a strong resemblance to Hendrix. they had a moderate degree of success. They were managed by Gerry Horgan, an early ally of Cat Stevens, and he secured them a deal with the music: publishers, Francis, Day and Hunter, a company which later had a tenuous business link with Queen.

When Black folded, Mitchell had become ambivalent about a career in music but still agreed to audition with Queen. «The band struck me as being heavily into Led Zeppelin and Hendrix and in some respects they sounded a lot like Zeppelin.» he said. «I was in straight away, after the first rehearsal. They just checked me out to see whether I could play or not.» It was surprising that Mitchell’s initiation was so guileless; there had been no element of ‘sounding him out’ - he could play, so he was in, without any real consideration of his appearance (which was certainly more unrefined than theirs) or his personality, musical or otherwise. If they had asked, they would have discovered he was fatigued with rock and intent on playing jazz or in bands with a brass section.

Barry Mitchell’s first show with Queen was at Imperial College on August 23 and it gave htm an early taste of their idiosyncrasies. Fundamentally a seasoned rocker, he found himself beforehand in the kitchen of Brian May’s flat making popcorn to give out to the crowd. Freddie, ivho made little attempt to get to know Mitchell, spent several weeks telling everyone he intended to take the stage wearing a dress. The ‘dress’ was in fact a one-piece body suit, open to the waist to reveal his chest. Freddie dubbed it bis ‘Mercury’ suit and had one in black and another in white.

Although his tenure in Queen was brief - just eleven shows in a six month period - Barry Mitchell had long enough to assess their individual personalities: «Brian was the most instantly likeable. He was very approachable. Roger was a typical drummer, a ladies’ man and good fun. Freddie looked ery ditferent and called everyone ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’. He used to use heated curlers in his hair and it wasn’t whal I was used to at all. He looked more foreign in those days, his skin seemed darker and his teeth were more prominent. In fact, they were extremely prominent. I’m sure he had them done later on. When I was in the band his hand was always up to his mouth as if he was trying to hide them.

Mitchell shared the opinion of Oueen held by most people within the music business at the time - that they weren’t particularly original. «I didn’t think they were going anywhere.» he said «It never struck me as being great, it never felt like that for me, They were striving lor something that was already there - Led Zeppelin, but I didn’t want to go there, I wanted to do something different.

There is no question that Queen had a strong fixation with Led Zeppelin at this time. Several friends recall Freddie’s enthusiasm lor the group vividly. If a Led Zeppelin track was played on the radio or on someone’s tape recorder at Kensington Market, he would demand silence and later deconstruct the song, usually enthusing about its extraordinary power. Surprisingly, Freddie seemed most interested in the wall of guitar built by Jimmy Page. Richard Thompson saw the band at The Marquee with Freddie, and afterwards he hardly mentioned Robert Plant, it was the overall sound of Led Zeppelin that fascinated him. Freddie often said he wanted to infuse the same sense of space and dynamism into Queen’s music.

Freddie was flamboyant at rehearsals, but Barry Mitchell didn’t feel the posture was matched by the voice: «He didn’t sing very well, that was self evident. It just wasn’t there, it would break up and he couldn’t hold the note. It was later on. in the Eighties, when it really became spot-on. Brian was outstanding, technically brilliant. Roger was never a great drummer but I loved his backing vocal harmonies, his high-pitched stuff.».

In rehearsal Freddie did not play either guitar or piano and, indeed, Mitchell was unaware he could play an instrument. Despite this, Freddie appeared to form the group’s musical core. «It was Freddie who had the ideas, most of them came from him.» he said. «If someone else came up with something Freddie would hone it until it was right. Freddie had this really clear vision of how the songs should go.».

One of the more common voices of dissent belonged to the band’s roadie, John Harris - famous for his leather trousers - whose selfless commitment to the group surprised Barry Mitchell. «John was always al rehearsals.» he said. «He would help them pull all the gear out and he really cared about them. There was no mixing desk for htm to use, so there wasn’t a lot he could do about the actual sound. He would be the mediator if Freddie was in one of his moodies. The band respected him and he sometimes tried to bully them into playing well, but it wasn’t eas because they were strong guys. There were no real arguments, just the usual stufl about how long the solos should go on for, that kind of thing,».

Mitchell contributed tittle in the way of songwritmg. At the time the band were forming the material which would appear on their debut album released nearly three years later. He did not consider himself a writer and usually adapted bass lines already mapped out by either Tim Staffell, Mike Grose, or Brian May. He was unsure of how his rather busy playing style went down with the other members, and they rarely made any comments candidly to him. He noted afterwards that John Deacon’s direct technique was the antithesis of his own.

Barry Mitchell decided to leave Queen at the end of 1970 and his final shows with them were on January 8 and 9, 1971, at The Marquee and Ewell Technical College, Surrey, when Queen were part of a support bill to Kevin Ayres And The Whole World which also included Genesis. During his last few weeks with Queen there had been a perceptible change in their outlook. «Their ambition had started to develop,» Mitchell explains. «It had a different feel somehow. I started to realise that they were taktng it seriously and wanted to go places. I still didn’t think they would make it because they weren’t truly original or obviously commercial. I just didn’t like their music, and I didn’t rate it through most of the Seventies, all that ‘Night At The Opera» and fairy stuff-1 felt that way until I saw them at Live Aid when I thought they were astonishing.».

Mary Austin, with whom Freddie was now living in Holland Park, made a vague plea for Barry Mitchell to remain with the band, but the others accepted his decision unequivocally. Barry Mitchell had brass sections and something a little more direct or original m mind, and soon afterwards found himself in Crushed Butler, a band which he felt predated The Jam by a number of years. They earned a few one-line mentions in NME and once supported Atomic Rooster at Gutldford Civic Hall, but it was small change compared to the success of his former group. «I’ve never regretted the decision because the group I left was nothing like the one it later became,» he said. «At the time I made the decision which was right for me. I just wasn’t happy playing their music and wanted to do other things.».

He lost touch with Queen afterwards but was happy to see Roger Taylor, with whom he had started to establish a friendship, soon after the release of Queen’s first album. «A friend of mine had seen Roger at the Marquee and he told Roger that I was working at Lasky’s in Oxford Street,» he said. «Roger came round and checked me out. I think he wanted to buy a hi-fi at the time.» Their next meeting was two decades later when Barry Mitchell, his long blond hair now a thinning recollection, went backstdge after Roger’s solo performance at the Cambridge Junction in 1994: «It was hard for him to recognise me, he had a puzzled look on his face He finally remembered and said, ‘It’s been a fucking long time!’. He remembered that I lived at Kingsbury, which I was surprised about because it’s only a small place.».

Queen’s third bassist in just seven months was ‘Doug’; few people around the band bothered to inquire his surname, though ‘Ewood’ has fastened itself to some hazy memories. Again, it was another heedless choice and Doug appeared with the band on only two occasions - at Hornsey Town Hall on February 19, 1971, and Kingston Polytechnic the following day. These were two prestigious shows, both in support of Yes, and Doug’s stage manner rather spoiled the occasion, at least as far as the other members of Queen were concerned. Clearly the unspoken communique was that Freddie held centre stage, the rest were to play vital and colourful supporting roles, but make no attempt to steal the show. Doug broke this accord in startling manner, jumping up and down and choreographing his own personal stage routine. In Queen’s semi-official (‘Written in co-operation with..’) biography, Brian May referred to Doug’s stage manner scornfully as ‘most incongruous’. The situation was addressed immediately and categorically - Doug was fired on February 21, the day after the Kingston gig, and three days in the life of Queen would seem to summarise this musical comet called Doug.

Queen were hardly judicious in their choice of bassists, so it was merely the law of averages that finally brought a turn in fortune. John Deacon was a lucky accident for Queen; they had already gone through three bassists but to find someone so complementary to their sound, professionalism and personalities could well have taken for ever.

John Deacon had revealed very little of himself to most people on the Leicester scene. He was far from charismatic, he was the quiet one, and, they naturally assumed, the insignificant one. He would go to London, earn a degree, marry another scholar, return to Leicester, and set up a small electronics company. The members of his lormer group. The Opposition, Nigel Bullen especially, knew John beyond this superficiality. They respected his quiet determination, the innate integrity, a rneticulousness of character. ‘Ihey kneu he wouldn t be on the first train home. He wasn’t a minor key dreamer: he had mure blood in him than many mi spelled.

Initially, they presumed he would apply himself solely to his studies, lie left his guitars and amplifier behind in Oadby. Whatever, they knew he would survive in London. The city might have lost its technicolour glow somewhat since 1966 but it was still fast, radiant, wide and simmering to a kid from the hush of rural middle England. He didn’t re-invent himself at university, but like millions before and since, found himself; to such an extent that by the end of his urmersity course he all but severed completely his ties with his former self in Oadby.

During the first couple of years at university he returned quite regularly to Leicester, sometimes even sitting in with Art or other groups featuring rm old pals from The Opposition. Of his small circle of friends only Dave Williams and Nigel Bullen kept in close contact, Nigel sometimes staying with John for the weekend at the top floor flat he shared with four other male students in Oueensgate. There was still no dabbling in drugs and only a mild dalliance in alcohol. Instead, Deacon absorbed himself in London’s burgeoning counter-culture - clothes from Sterling Cooper and Kensington Market, exhibitions by Roger Ruskin Spear of The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band in The Strand. «He was really enjoying it,» said Nigel. «There was a definite change. He became very trendy, grew his hair long. He was the same academically, he still sat down and did his work, but he came out of himself socially which was good. He was holding his own among it very well.».

Distance harboured nostalgia. ]ohn Deacon had left Oadby to embrace academta and London and he felt he no longer had any need for his guitar or amplifier. By turns, he succumbed once more to the lure of the plectrum. On one trip home he collected his acoustic guitar and soon afterwards asked his mother to drive down with his bass and amplifier. Suddenly, less than a year after leaving The Opposition, he wanted to be part of group again.

This was London through, completely different from Leicester. Its live circuit was glamour itself; a venue in Leicester was a church hall of the back room ot a pub, in London it was The Marquee and Jimi Hendrics has been there just a few years earlier, and David Bowie. The entire history ot rock, it seemed, was concended in a handful of venues, and administrated within a few square miles of the capital Music writers, managers, and record company staff perused these darkered venues, like extras from Expresso Bongo, expect now they wore stack-heeled boots and baggy denims: ‘We’ll make you famous, man. Here’s my card.’ In the morning, sometime around 11.30 am, they were in their Soho offices, gold records on the wall, sunglasses on, two aspirins in the glass, trying to fathom the office tape machine. It was less than 100 miles from Leicester, but still a world away.

John Deacon’s return to music was tentative at lirst, galvanised by attending concerts at the colleges around the Kensington area. In October, 1970, he saw a group bathed in shadows playing peculiar, hut unremarkable rock at Kensington’s College of Estate Managemen.t They were called Queen, but he could barely distinguish them from the multitude of similar bands swayed by the darkened melodrama of Led Zeppelin.

He began practising with flatmate and guitarist Peter Stoddart, and they were soon joined in their vague blues jams by fellow students, drummer Don Cater and a guitarist known to them only as Albert. They made just one appearance, at Chelsea College in November 1970, plowing blues covers and chart hits in support of two other groups. As they needed a name to put on posters, the quartet became ‘Deacon’ for the night, presumabU decided at short notice because ot us simplicity, rather than as an appeasement to ;t newly discovered ego.

At this point John Deacon was an accomplished bassist with top notch equipment. He enjoyed jamming with his friends, but wanted something more. Back in Oadby he had been through the process of forming and running his own group and had developed as a musician. He was now confident enough of his ability, and carried with him the degree of experience to audition for established groups. He began responding to adverts in Melody Maker and was not afraid to aim comparatively high, sitting in with several signed bands. He wasn’t offered any positions, but wrote home to his old friend Nigel Bullen in Oadby and said he wasn’t too perturbed because it was all valuable experience.

In the midst of such formal approaches, John Deacon found himself a group by chance. Early in 1971 he went along to a disco at the Maria Assumpta Teacher Training College with his friend Peter Stoddart and Peter’s friend, Christine Farnell. John was introduced to two friends of Christine’s, Roger Taylor and Brian May. They explained that they were in a group called Queen but had just lost their bass player.

They met again a few days later in a lecture room at Imperial College which they were using as a rehearsal base, John had brought along a small practice amp which the others teased him about. They ran through a few original numbers which John was told to feel his way through, and Brian taught him the chords to ‘Son And Daughter’, a song which became the B-side of Queen’s first ever single. They finished with the obligatory blues jam, and before the end the original three members of Queen were confident they had found their final member. «We thought he was great,» said Roger Taylor. «We were all so used to each other, and were so over the top. We thought that because he was quiet he would fit in with us without too much upheaval. He was a great bass player too - and the fact that he was a wizard with electronics was definitely a deciding factor.».

John Deacon was not the only musician to audition with Queen at Imperial College that day. Also invited was Chris Dummett, Freddie’s cohort from Sour Milk Sea. Although a great fan of Brian May’s technical ability. Freddie possibly felt the sound needed ‘thickening’ and that the group could accommodate two guitarists. «Getting me in there was just a bee in Freddie’s mind,» said Chris Dummett. «Me and Freddie got on well, there was a physical empathy. Brian was kind of limp and Freddie missed getting a reaction. Freddie liked and enjoyed a foil and I was happy to play ball. Freddie asked me to join Queen and thought it would work.».

Chris Dummett did not have equipment and had to borrow Brian May’s at the audition. He was passed the Red Special and it proved to be his downfall. The guitar with its highly sensitive fret board, required an idiosyncratic playing style. Chris Dummett’s fingers ‘slid all over it’ and few of the notes he played were in time or tune: he didn’t even bother to ask whether he’d got the gig or not.

Apart from John Harris, Chris Dummett was the only outsider present at this first ever airing of Queen’s finalised line-up. As soon as John Deacon had left the room, his opinion was sought by Brian May. «As well as auditioning myself, they’d asked me down to pass judgement on their new bass player.» he said. «John Deacon played with mega efficiency, and zero imagination. He plugged a gap and didn’t drop a fucking beat, he was that tight.» Incidentally, Chris Dummett had seen Queen perform with Barry Mitchell at Imperial College and had recognised immediately that he was in the wrong band. «He had blond hair and looked like a brickie.» he said. «He was obviously a misfit, very different from the others,».

Chris Dummett drifted out of the lives of Freddie Mercury and Queen when he returned to his home town to study at Oxford University’s New College. He later returned to the guitar, playing in the United States with Mandrake before returning to London where he was a prime mover on the prospering punk scene. Malcolm McLaren invited him to give guitar lessons to the nascent Sex Pistols and he was a member of an early incarnation of Chelsea with Gene October. Tony James and Billy Idol. He also toured as a member of Ben E King’s backing group, under the name Chris Chesney; Chesney being his middle name.

He remained in the pop business working behind the scenes on promotional videos and early in 1987 he was alongside David Mallett Riming the video for Freddie Mercury’s solo single, ‘The Great Pretender’. He was apprehensive about meeting Freddie again, intimidated by the disparity of their lives. He tried to blend in with the scenery at A and R Studios in London’s Brent Cross but Freddie spotted him and immediately adjourned the shoot. «He took me into this room and said. ‘What do you want to drink?»‘ Dummett recalls. «He put down a line of coke and insisted I took it. He then asked for chilled vodka and we had lots of drink and coke simultaneously. He launched into a rap as though I had seen him yesterday. He was telling me all about his solo records.».

When they emerged from the room they walked together to the dressing room where a handful of people were sitting around discussing the video Chris Dummett noticed the immediate change in Freddie’s demeanour ‘It was Freddie the performer He was coming out with all these gags and qutps. playing to the gallery. As soon as he entered the room where there wtre other people tt was like a curtain going up There was definitely two different people In Freddie two entities It was part ot his armoury as a performer, he could just throw a switch. After yet, one to one, Freddie was as warm a person you could meet. There was no hidden agenta with him. He was just dedicated to music. “The old friends parted company with Freddie announcing to anyone in earshot. I might get Chris to play …. album. He didn’t play on the record, and it was to be their last reamon.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 795