Freddie Mercury: The Biography (9 page)

Remembering their experience with Mercury Records, Brian May and Roger Taylor felt that they ought to seek a bigger say in
matters and Freddie Mercury and John Deacon saw the wisdom of this, too. After discussion among themselves, Queen therefore
came to Trident’s negotiating table with specific stipulations about the terms of any agreement. They wanted three separate
contracts, individually covering recording, publishing rights and management. Trident had probably never experienced such
a reaction from an unknown band before and it is perhaps indicative of their strong desire to sign Queen that they eventually
agreed to draw up documents to encompass this new deal structure. A seven-month delay would stretch between Trident’s offer
to sign Queen and the contracts being finalised.

Trident, meanwhile, got to work on the band, providing them with new equipment and instruments – except for Brian May, who
would not part with his Red Special. Although Ken Testi’s help had been invaluable to their career so far, the Sheffields
brought in a full-time manager to handle their day-to-day affairs. American Jack Nelson had recently been advising Trident
on how to set up their own production company, and he was allotted the task of securing Queen that Holy Grail of the music
industry – a recording contract with a major record label.

Armed with a package that included a twenty-four-track Queen demo, a folder of photographs, mini-biography and
specimen lyrics, Nelson began the rounds of the record labels. Ex-Yes keyboard player Rick Wakeman controversially said a
band that is hunting for a deal isn’t good enough to have one: ‘If you’re good enough to have one,
you’re
hunted.’ But, practically every band, from the Stones and Beatles onwards, had to find themselves a deal.

Self-belief is essential in the search for success, and neither Queen nor Jack Nelson lacked that. Encouragingly, Nelson got
a rapid response from EMI, one of the British giants, then about to set up a new heavy rock label. But there was a problem.
On Trident’s instruction Nelson had presented Queen as a package with Mark Ashton and Eugene Wallace. Stalemate set in when
EMI turned down Ashton and Wallace. But for Trident it was all or nothing.

According to Ken Testi, Mercury and the others were fully aware of this arrangement: ‘Queen knew that Trident were trying
to sell them to EMI as three acts
en bloc
and were up for it.’ EMI, unfortunately, wouldn’t reconsider and reluctantly pulled out. Acutely conscious of the band’s
disappointment, Trident encouraged them to work on their debut album. But here, too, disillusionment was not far away.

When Queen turned up to record at Trident, as an unknown band they fell foul of the practice of allocating newcomers what’s
called downtime. They would be allowed the use of the studio only when no other artiste required it. This resulted in long
stretches of time waiting for the chance to record when the established stars had left. Some days it had a demoralising effect
on Mercury, but he knew they were in no position to complain.

But at least they were one step nearer their goal of recording their first album, which was enough to keep them all content.
For Mercury being so close to a studio without having the chance to perform was tantalising. Pacing up and down chainsmoking,
he concentrated on his plan of attack, which occasionally led him spontaneously to burst into song. Producer Robin Cable,
working in an adjoining studio, overheard him one day and decided he could put his talents to good use. He was interested
in rerecording ‘I Can Hear Music’, which had been a top ten hit in 1969 for the Beach Boys, and invited Mercury to do the
vocals on it. On its release the following year, it was Mercury’s first solo recording and would become a collector’s item.

The word solo is not quite accurate here, because once in Cable’s studio Mercury requested both May and Taylor’s input. The
producer was experimenting with Phil Spector’s famous
‘wall of sound’; Taylor’s drumming and heavy tambourine presence forms the constant backdrop, while May’s guitar was not at
all distinguishable because of the song’s style.

It was Mercury’s voice that formed the crystal-clear centrepiece, to remarkable effect. In the mid-eighties, when he embarked
seriously on producing solo material, his penchant was for ballads. He enjoyed imitating the fifties’ overblown crooner sound
with his cover version of ‘The Great Pretender’. With ‘I Can Hear Music’, he proved that his range could encompass the sixties
too. For the B-side he recorded the Goffin and King Dusty Springfield hit ‘Going Back’. Both numbers were different from the
material he was in the slow process of recording with Queen, and they proved a welcome distraction to the frustration of waiting.
Cable was undecided about what to do with the record. But he promised that were he ever to release it, he would let Mercury
know.

By September 1972 John Deacon had his degree in electronic engineering, and Roger Taylor had also recently graduated in biology.
Brian May had given up his PhD course. Freddie Mercury turned his art diploma to good use by designing a special logo for
Queen, which, unlike his first crude suggestion, had all the qualities of a royal crest.

Despite Trident’s best efforts on Queen’s behalf, no contract had yet been signed. This state of affairs was hardly conducive
to a sense of security, yet, despite this, individually all four band members put pressure on Trident to start paying them
a weekly wage. In the end £20 each was agreed; less than Mercury had hoped for, but better than nothing.

On 1 November Queen finally signed with Trident Audio Productions. The deal was that they would record for Trident and Trident,
in turn, would secure a good recording and distribution deal with a major record label. Trident was taking a chance here.
No other independent production company had yet assumed complete responsibility for a rock band.

Trident booked Queen into the Pheasantry, a club in Chelsea. Five days later they invited all the usual A&R representatives,
who lead busy working lives and are notorious for not turning up. Queen were veterans of the showcase gig and familiar, too,
with nothing ever coming of it. Feeling this time ought to be different, the band rehearsed diligently, only to encounter
technical problems at the club with the PA. John Deacon saved the day with his electronics expertise but, unnerved by the
bad beginning, Queen were unsettled all evening.

For weeks back in the studio, recording continued on their first album. It was a time that impressed Trident’s Dave Thomas.
Echoing Terry Yeadon’s earlier thoughts on first encountering Mercury at De Lane Lea, Thomas later recalled, ‘When the band
walked into the room you knew they were a class act. They were just a bunch of students, but they exuded this amazing charismatic
energy, particularly Freddie. He was totally awe-inspiring.’

Less than awe-inspiring was what purported to be the finished album at the end of November. Its sporadic recording history
perhaps accounted for the mistakes, but the band was far from happy with the mixes. It also transpired that one track had
been overdubbed on to the wrong backing tape. Along with Roy Thomas Baker, they held out for more time to rectify this and
fought for more control over the overall sound.

In January 1973 with the album at last ready, the pressure increased for Jack Nelson to sign Queen to a record company. By
now he was working with Feldman Music Company executive Ronnie Beck, who proved crucial in his role of introducing the band
to top EMI executive Roy Featherstone.

Attending an annual music festival in the south of France, Featherstone was weary of the endless demos from hopeful bands.
When Beck offered him the Queen tape, he played it more in hope than with faith, and he was unexpectedly
impressed. Bluffing, Beck told Featherstone that a couple of other labels were circling Queen, which was enough for Featherstone
to telex Trident at once to declare EMI’s interest.

This time the gods were smiling on Queen, for 5 February had marked their first recording session with Radio One’s
Sounds of the Seventies.
Recorded at the BBC’s Maida Vale Studios with producer Bernie Andrews, it was transmitted ten days later and elicited such
a positive audience response that EMI were immediately prepared to talk terms.

Trident could have cost Queen dear at this stage when yet again they tried to insist that the label should accept Queen as
part of a package. The record company was still only interested in Queen, and this became a sticking-point. Mercury prided
himself on the deal they had struck with Trident, in a bid to have more control over their future. Yet it soon became obvious
that they remained at the mercy of others. Anxiety took hold enough to cut through Mercury’s usual posturings. ‘I remember
bus journeys with Freddie to Trident’s offices,’ recalls Brian May – presumably Mercury was willing to slum it in the quest
to impress upon the Sheffield brothers that this was their big chance. It took weeks of deliberation, but in March 1973 Queen
were formally signed to EMI.

With the UK/European deal in place, attention turned to the US market. EMI fixed up Queen’s first gig of the year at the Marquee
Club in London on 9 April in order to impress the managing director of the giant US label Elektra Records. Jack Holtzman was
briefly stopping over in London en route to New York. In principle having expressed an interest in Queen, EMI promised him
a live performance, guaranteed to make up his mind. The flawless display that night sent Holtzman home happy, their contract
assured.

In the early seventies the British music scene was a kaleidoscope of conflicting styles. The progressive rock and psychedelia
of the late sixties had given way to folk rock and teen heartthrobs; hard rock was mutating into heavy metal. By 1973, however,
glam or bubblegum rock had gathered momentum with the likes of David Essex, Wizzard and Slade dominating the charts.

To cash in on this trend, Robin Cable decided to release ‘I Can Hear Music’. EMI’s interests lay with Queen’s forthcoming
debut album, and they were concerned by the lightweight nature of this cover version. Although EMI had been persuaded to release
the single, they wanted no link whatsoever between the two works. As a result EMI vetoed any hint of releasing it under the
name Freddie Mercury and insisted on the use of a pseudonym. At this time the acknowledged king of glam rock was Gary Glitter,
famous for his outrageous stage outfits. Although Mercury’s vocals on the Beach Boys number sounded nothing like Glitter,
with no malice intended it was decided to release the disc under the jokey name of Larry Lurex. Mercury wasn’t consulted on
the choice and had no control over its release. All he had was a small session fee, and Robin Cable, along with Trident, owned
the record. It was they who decided to put it out. By then it was of little importance to Mercury, who was only concerned
with Queen’s album.

The joke, however, seriously backfired. Although now disgraced, at this time, Gary Glitter was hugely popular in music and,
upset by what was seen as a satirical poke from a bunch of upstarts, people refused to buy the single, DJs wouldn’t play it,
and it was a dismal flop. But if some Glitter fans chose to be affronted, the star himself took no offence: ‘I thought it
was great! Let’s face it, it’s the highest honour for any performer to have people copying you. It’s a form of flattery, and
it was only meant in fun. Anyway what does it matter? After Elvis Presley, it’s all parody, isn’t it? Queen are probably the
only band I know with such a diverse amount of material.’

Keen to try out their material on the public, Mercury had
organised a selection of photographs for the album cover. At this point his flat was the most appropriate location for a shoot,
so their photographer friend Doug Puddifoot went there to take a few group shots. Between them they had lots of ideas, but
in the end they agreed to a Victorian look with sepia tinting against a maroon oval background. For the back cover, they found
some old snaps, tentatively considering a collage. It proved a tiresome exercise, though, because Mercury stamped on anything
that he felt didn’t flatter him. Some would call it pure vanity; later, with the cushion of his fame, others reflected fondly
on his sheer professionalism. But eventually they submitted all their ideas to EMI for consideration.

For Queen’s debut single, EMI selected two songs by Brian May: ‘Keep Yourself Alive’, backed by ‘Son and Daughter’. Released
in the UK on 6 July 1973, it drew mixed reviews from the music press. To a band eager for a favourable reaction, it wasn’t
as big a blow as being ignored by radio. Clearly the lifeblood of any record, radio play was all but denied them. The single
was sent to every local and regional station, but only Radio Luxembourg included it on its playlist. The culprit here was
BBC’s Radio One. Licensed commercial radio stations had yet to surface, and the broadcasting corporation enjoyed a virtual
monopoly of the pop airwaves. The fact that they rejected ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ five times was enough to strangle it at birth.

Their eponymous debut album followed on 13 July, and given the way the single had vanished, it was vital now to secure national
exposure. EMI circulated the usual white labels – early pressings of an album in a plain paper sleeve, which carry no band
name or record label – with the usual publicity release. One of the most popular rock programmes on British TV at this time
was the BBC’s
The Old Grey Whistle Test,
and EMI sent out the album to them, unfortunately without any explanatory PR material. Had it not caught the
attention of the programme’s producer, Michael Appleton, it too could have slipped into oblivion.

‘We used to get sent loads of white labels,’ recalls Michael Appleton. ‘They’re highly prized nowadays and were actually of
top class cut. One day this white label arrived on my desk but with absolutely no indication as to who it was, or where it
had come from. I listened to it and liked it so much that myself and Bob Harris decided to use it on that night’s show. In
those days we played tracks accompanied by our own visualisation. We chose “Keep Yourself Alive” and played it along with
a cartoon of the President Roosevelt Whistle Stop tour.