Queen Unseen (14 page)

The two computer-designed outside lynch-pins of the main grid were remarkably heavy and difficult to transport. They were affectionately referred to as Marie and Francoise, which was a term derived from lonely nights on the road, with no company for the night. Once in bed, you held your hands out in front of yourself asking: ‘Who shall it be tonight – Marie? (left) or Francoise (right)?’

When this rig was first constructed in rehearsals in Dallas, a curious visitor came by to see what we were up to – before Queen arrived. Genesis were in town, as they had commercial interests in vari-lites, based in Dallas. Genesis roadie Geoff Banks knew Crystal and me, and asked if Phil Collins could have a quick look at our new lights – to see if we really did have more than Genesis!

Genesis – in the beginning: When formulating new ideas for Queen stage sets, the designers and production managers never consulted the people who knew Queen best and were closest to them on stage – their personal crew. Much time and money was often wasted on ideas that were never going to work in a practical way – especially things that restricted Fred’s onstage fluidity. I could have saved them (or rather the band) a small fortune.

The ‘dickmobile’ is one idea that never saw the light of
day, and was actually dreamed up by Fred (possibly in one of his more ‘fuelled’ moments). His idea involved a large pink, phallic-shaped tube like a fairground rocket ride that would be hung above the audience and hidden by black drapes. Before the show Fred was going to put on a disguise (false moustache?), and be ushered through the audience to a secure area, where he would climb a rope ladder and clamber into the ‘dick rocket’. As the house lights dimmed, Fred and his ‘dickmobile’, illuminated by spotlights, would be propelled over the raised heads of the audience towards the stage, directing a powerful beam of light from the end of the ‘dickmobile’, which was on course to enter a fibreglass pair of lips (with moustache?) on stage, where it would climax spectacularly.

‘Fred – you must be fucking joking!’

Another of Fred’s ‘grand entrance’ ideas was quashed immediately. He wanted to be carried on stage by Nubian slaves and sitting in splendour upon a gold throne on an ornate platform – like Cleopatra.

‘Fred – I will look after your gear, run around for you, scuttle under the piano and risk life and limb for you – but I am NOT putting on a loin cloth and oiling myself up! And neither will any of the others!’

So he settled for security guards dressed as Superman to hoist him on their shoulders and take him on stage to perform ‘We Will Rock You’.

All rock bands need a big drum riser (called a podium if you were Fred). Adjacent to the riser the rock band must have walkways, stairs and catwalks that protrude into the audience from which the more mobile band members would
project. The whole set-up looked like a giant hamster cage with selected toys for the animals to play on. All that was missing was a tread wheel – but we all felt like we were on one anyway.

An expensive idea that lasted only two Queen shows in 1982 was a raked stage which, using a principle from the theatre, gives the punter a good view even from floor level – perspective, I believe, is the correct term. It looked quite dramatic, but, knowing Fred as I did, I gave it little chance of surviving. He liked to work on a stage with no hindrances, a smooth uninterrupted space; this raked stage caused problems, particularly during blackout or entry and exit – especially when he went to the piano. It was also hard on the Mercurial muscles and put a lot of strain on his ankles. After the first show in Gothenburg, Fred was not happy, so a lesser-angled version was tried for the next show in Stockholm. It still didn’t work for him, which Fred angrily told the tour manager after the show: ‘Stickells, I am not a fucking mountain goat – get rid of it!’

Edwin Shirley Trucking, Queen’s European trucking company, got rid of it, and dumped it in their rock ’n’ roll graveyard in Kent. Edwin Shirley himself was a loose cannon who could be relied on to show up anywhere, any time. A true rock ’n’ roll animal, Edwin, known as Shambles, would fall asleep in his food in expensive restaurants at band meals, get ejected from dubious late-night establishments for being too wild and join in with the backstage all-female mud-wrestling bouts. The only way his office could keep tabs on him was from the credit card statements that came in, showing which cities and countries he had recently visited. Great guy!

Another serious party animal was the German promoter Mike Scheller. Like many of his countrymen, Mike worked hard and played
very
hard; he knew every nightclub in Germany and had a large capacity for enjoying life. On his birthday in 1982 which fell during two dates at the Sporthalle in Cologne, he threw a party after the first show at an establishment known as the Romer Bad – The Roman Bath. The place was in an uninspiring concrete basement below a parking garage in a suburban area. However, once inside, where the decor was swish marble and tiles, we were all instructed to undress and put on toga-style bathrobes. Everybody then congregated in the bar area beside a small, cold-water swimming pool. As we had all been tooting up and there was an air of anxiety, we became wallflowers – until after a few drinks, Trip Khalaf broke the ice by diving noisily into the pool.

Legendary in the wedding-tackle department, Trip’s old chap was nicknamed the Home Wrecker, which really hurt if he smacked it on the side of your head. Things escalated into a huge party as there was just the band, crew and immediate entourage.

The girls were really into it, as they normally had to deal with fat, balding businessmen and clients from the ‘extruded plastics and mouldings trade’ or other boring blokes in suits. But, now, here was a group of young rock ’n’ rollers who liked FUN, so, free from the restraints of business, the girls got into the spirit admirably. The premises had a small, raised tiled pool where the water was bath temperature. Swimming in this with a few naked girls and a bottle of vintage Cristal champagne is a very fond memory. Even Phoebe, the male 
wardrobe mistress, and a confirmed bachelor, was doing the breaststroke alongside one of the record company ladies. I often wonder if it’s like that in the after-match bath if you won the FA Cup at Wembley. Well, I had definitely scored a couple of times and one of them was surely going to put us into extra time.

So could I out-do (Sir) Geoff Hurst and score a hat trick plus one against the Germans in my personal version of the ’66 World Cup final? There should have been medals awarded afterwards – all winners and no losers. The booze bill alone was a reported $30,000, quite a few bob back in 1982. Queen meant BIGGER amounts of excess in everything. Big Time.

The relationship between a roadie and his boss, who just happens to be a rock star, is like any other close or
long-term
partnership – it has its ups and downs. The ups include enjoying a laugh and joke in places like the Romer Bad. The roadie was effectively a technical valet, and, being the first in line, often took the brunt of his master’s temper; and these moments could be the downs. Most of it was petty and could easily be shrugged off, but at times it could be hurtful and unnecessary. Once you accepted that musicians are not normal, rational people, then you would usually be able to deal with it. John and I were close as I spent much more time, especially socially, with him. He would confide in me, whereas Fred would rarely do that. John asked me on more than one occasion if my parents were still alive, as sadly he had lost his father when he was 
a boy. He was quite flippant at times about what he had created: ‘Well, you join a band… and then you get all this money! It’s great.’

However, despite my close relationship with John, I think the bond between Fred and me was somehow the deepest. Fred was almost nine years older than me, and that seemed a lot. As I entered my twenties, Fred was almost 30. I looked up to Fred, not just as a boss or famous singer in a band, but as a person. He was very intelligent, witty, humorous and of course remarkably creative. He was a single-minded man with great drive, who could often be dismissive, but would still listen – and to me. I would suggest things to him throughout the years and get positive responses, and in some ways ours was an avuncular relationship. On the 1975 UK tour, when I had settled in working for Queen, I was told via management that Fred was very happy with me – which was at first a relief, but, of course, gratifying. He told me himself that he thought me precocious. I didn’t know what it meant then – I thought it might be offensive! When I learned what the word meant, I took it as a great compliment from somebody of Fred’s stature. I had some great times and many, many laughs with Fred, though sometimes it could turn frosty between us. He could on occasion be very abrupt and dismissive, and virtually ignore people close to him, usually when his love life was going wrong. When he chose not to recognise my existence, I ignored him back, which was guaranteed to infuriate him further. The gay lifestyle was not one I or the crew really understood.

‘How do you handle it with all those poofs about?’ other 
bands’ crews would ask. The answer was with macho roadie bravado and mild homophobia. It was widely known that Fred was gay and so were Wardrobe Tony, Fred’s assistant Phoebe and Paul Prenter, but everybody else in the regular entourage was straight. There were often gay hangers-on around, including a bunch of leather-clad, moustached clones from New York that we dubbed ‘The Pink Angels’. They sported their stick-on Access-All-Areas passes on the back pocket of very tight jeans. ‘The Pink Angels’ were led by a chap named Thor – and no doubt he was. Wasn’t Thor the Norse god of thunder? Thor and his clan certainly caused a bit of a commotion backstage, along with the ‘Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence’ – moustached men dressed as nuns.

You have schools of whales, herds of elephant and a gaggle of geese so what would be a suitable grouping for this gay ensemble? There were many proposals but I believe a Huddle of Homos was the winner.

The nervous sound crew built a barricaded pen from flight cases at the bottom of the stairs to the stage and put up a sign entitled Fort Faggot, in order to protect themselves from the outside, alternative world. The gay contingent always saw the funny side of these things and did not thrust their sexuality in our faces. Fred may have been a gay man, but he was
our
gay man, on
our
team,
our
mate,
our
top striker and we cared for him greatly. We would support and stand up for him, just as we would for Wardrobe Tony who travelled with the crew.

At this point, you may have formulated the opinion that roadies were disgusting, degenerate, foul-mouthed, sexist, 
chauvinist, bigoted, mindless oafs. Well, there may be a sliver of truth in that. The computer ‘spell check’ doesn’t recognise the word ‘roadie’, but gives alternatives such as ‘rude’, ‘rowdy’ or ‘toadie’. No comment.

Despite their excesses and ribald behaviour, the crew were professional and dedicated, and the partying never started until the show was finished and put away. Nobody was ever ‘out of it’ during the show; you could not afford to be with so many responsibilities. The Queen monster was a
well-oiled
machine, and a very tight ship compared to most big shows on the road. The crew were rightly proud of this and many of the freelance sound, lighting and production guys were in big demand elsewhere. I was approached with tempting offers by several big acts, despite not being on the transfer list.

Like a football team, a crew is made up of all character types, weak and strong, and everyone was fair game. Home and away. You need a solid defence and backbone, discipline, commitment, work rate, dedication to the team cause and spirit, tempered with striking individual performance. Having personal crew who are frustrated (failed) musicians is never a good idea, as they tend to spend their time jamming just to prove they are musically competent – and annoying everybody else intensely. It is far more productive to have a roadie with no musical aspirations, who knows the gear inside out and can fix problems immediately. In any case, guitars were tuned electronically on strobe tuners. I knew enough bits and riffs to do John’s and Fred’s sound check, and a similar number of chords to those splendid fellas Status Quo. Possibly one 
less… You could never have had a Queen fan on the road crew – it would simply not work. I, and others in the crew, liked some of Queen’s music, but not all of it. We were objective, and as such highly professional – somebody who is obsessed with the band could never detach themselves like that. I seriously doubt if a fan would ever tell Freddie Mercury he was being stupid and to fuck off! I did – and it was justified.

More than once during a show, when he had a mental blank, Fred asked me what the chords were to a particular song. Fortunately, most of Fred’s songs were written in E flat, so that’s what I would suggest. He always seemed impressed I knew.

My limited musical ability was unexpectedly put to the test during a show in America, when John caught my eye and beckoned to me in the middle of a song. He came over to where I was standing by his control rack and shouted in my ear, ‘I’m bursting for a piss – I’ve got to go!

‘Right – OK, I’ll sort it.’

Whatever that meant. I told his minder who was on stage at the back corner and we agreed that as soon as the song finished he would whisk John straight off stage to the nearest rest room. I got John’s attention and gave him the thumbs up – miming that when the blackout came at the end of the song (I did a cut-throat sign) he should come off stage and I would take his guitar. I mimed that by using Air Guitar – or Air Bass actually.

This seemed a great idea – except nobody else in the band, the other musicians, knew – especially Fred. The song ended, blackout on stage and John rushed over and thrust his bass
towards me before skittering down the steps and legging it with his minder into the concrete cavern at the back of the arena. The audience were showing their appreciation and Fred was taking bows and thanking them.

‘Hey – you guys are great!’