Ah, Freddie....

It's a review of an album! And it's going in a proper book! And the book is going to be published this month! And I love Queen! And I love Freddie! And I'm not going to include my usual accompanying dog pic here because it would be disrespectful to all concerned...and anyway, if you read the review all the way through the end you get Freddie himself...and what could be a better prize than that???


Queen’s 1991 album ‘Innuendo’ - the last to feature entirely new material and the final studio project to be recorded before Freddie Mercury’s death - is an elaborate tapestry that weaves both bold flourishes and sublime, subtle nuances together into a richly decorated masterpiece.

Bookended by two classic but stylistically disparate anthems, a dozen strikingly individual songs chart a course that many believe mapped the emotions of those at the helm. If this is the case, the result of what must have been an inordinately harrowing experience produced a surprisingly upbeat album that offered one of the most charismatic characters in rock a fitting finale. But even if you ignore such a context, ‘Innuendo’ - from the rumbling beats at the start of the extraordinary, baroque title track to the defiantly audacious anthem ‘The Show Must Go On’ - is a bold, uplifting adventure, with the many experimental twists and turns along the way underpinned by the band’s trademark style from start to finish.

The thrilling guitar breaks, catchy refrains and raspy vocals on ‘Headlong’, the grungy ‘Hitman’ and the fast-paced rhythms that infuse the otherwise moody slow-burner ‘Ride The Wild Wind’ with energy evoke similar former glories on a pomp rock theme. The iridescent sheen of glamour that lightly coats every song sparkles most brightly on three intelligent lullabies: the emotive ‘I Can’t Live Without You’, the heartbreakingly tender ‘Don’t Try So Hard’ and the dreamy, ephemeral ‘Bijou’ all serve to showcase both Mercury’s inimitable vocal range and his fellow band members’ ability to instinctively gauge when to allow their frontman his moment in the spotlight. Elsewhere, a life-affirming blast of rock gospel set against an operatic backdrop in ‘All God’s People’ brings a spirited thrust to proceedings somewhere around the middle of this gloriously eclectic trip; so far, so very good.

It would be easy to single out the powerfully emotional ‘The Show Must Go On’ as the album’s defining aria; indeed, it’s an edifying, unforgettable tour de force. But two other tracks stand out above the rest. The layer of vaguely sinister, dark undertones that ripple menacingly beneath the superficially camp, eccentric surface of ‘I’m Going Slightly Mad’ lift the song from mere novelty status into more insightful realms, turning it into an idiosyncratic paean to the bleak, disturbing feelings of desolation, alienation and sheer derangement experienced when contemplating the imminent arrival of the Grim Reaper. The surreal accompanying video featured Brian May dressed as a penguin, John Deacon as a court jester, Roger Taylor with a kettle on his head and Mercury - his manic grin beaming out from underneath a mask of melting greasepaint - wearing a formal dinner suit and balancing a bunch of bananas on top of a wild, wild wig. Combining elements of the visual extravaganzas that promoted both ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in 1975 and ‘I Want To Break Free’ almost a decade later, it was as bizarre - and, in parts, hilarious - as it was shockingly moving, exemplifying the time-honoured bravery of a pioneering rock band playing games with their audience and taking a gamble against odds that, this time around, were most definitely not stacked in their favour.

Meanwhile, ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’ offers a very different perspective on a similar, defining theme. On one level, this contemplative, wistful ballad - penned by drummer Roger Taylor but, like the rest of the album, credited to the band as a whole - is an overly sweet, sentimental ditty, lacking depth or focus and not very typically Queen. But here, it stands alone as an enduring tribute to a man who turned his whole life into a performance. Listen carefully to Mercury’s final, breathless whispers at the end of the song, and you can rest assured that, underneath the crown, the furs and the brazen, largely untrammelled ego, there was a humble man who appreciated those around him for supporting the spectacle of his roller coaster existence as much as he enjoyed creating it.