05-28-2005 – The Independent – Heroes & Villains

HEROES & VILLAINS: Eoin Colfer on Freddie Mercury

I REMEMBER the first Queen album my brother bought. It was News of the World, featuring the famous Frank Kelly Freas robot painting cover art. That’s Frank Kelly Freas, not Frank Kelly, who plays Father Jack on the TV show Father Ted. Drink, girls, feck. Etc.

So, on this album cover, Freddie Mercury is lying on this robot’s palm, having being pierced through the chest by a giant robotic digit. Thick, syrupy blood everywhere. And I thought: BRILLIANT! What a way to go. Skewered by a rampaging robot.

By the time we put the record on the deck, I was already a fan. Then ‘We Will Rock You’ blasted into our sitting room. And I thought: Jesus Bloody Christ, what the hell is this? By the middle, I had backed away from the song as if I was afraid of it. What I was, was amazed.

Then came ‘We Are the Champions’. By the end of that I was triumphing over pain I didn’t know I had. Hopping up and down on the sofa. My mother told me to get down, and I rebelliously roared: ‘Yeah, just a second until I slow down my bounce rate.’ Rock’n’Roll.

So I was a Queen fan. I like a lot of bands, but why is Freddie Mercury a hero of mine. One word covers it: Inspiration. Poor old Fred hadn’t got a clue about fashion, but he had talent and guts and he did his own thing. When Queen hit it big, the rock dinosaur thing was over and everyone was a punk, mod or new romantic. Did Freddie give a toss? He did not. He painted his nails and sang opera.

Being a Queen fan in a sea of punks was not easy. Queen were never cool. Saying you liked Queen was on a par with admitting you liked the idea of pillows with tassles, or saying you thought unicorns were real. But sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes you met another guy who was also a few metres away from cool and you spent 48 straight hours discussing Roger Taylor’s drum work on ‘Loser in the End’.

I fought for Queen. I tried to convert people. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. I remember my brother and I forcing an uncle to sit down and actually listen to the lyrics on News of the World. Unfortunately we inadvertently chose the song ‘Get Down Make Love’, the lyrics of which largely consist of Freddie moaning as he humped someone. My uncle has never let himself be trapped in a room with Paul and me since.

I advertised Queen. I spent days recreating their logo on my bedroom door in gloss paint, only for my little brothers to point out that there’s a U in Queen. I grew my hair. I bought tight jeans. But the incident which etched the capital Q on to my brain forever happened one year in elocution class. Yes, we did have elocution in Wexford Christian Brothers.

We had to get up in front of the class and do a piece. Poem, song, prose, whatever. Just perform. So I picked ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’, because the lyrics captured the way I was feeling as a teen. Bursting with energy. Needing to do everything right now! I was going to recite it as a poem. Because I couldn’t sing, and even if you could sing, who would be mental enough to do a Freddie? Just ask any of the singers who tried at the tribute concert.

So I started off.

Don’t stop me now / I’m having such a good time / I’m having a ball.

And something happened. My vision kind of blurred and my head started buzzing. Everyone was watching me. Mouthing along. We felt the same. We were together. So I started to sing. Jesus bloody Christ God help me I was yodelling ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ in front of my entire class. A few joined in. Some more tried their best to look bored, but they couldn’t manage it. A few leaned forward in their chairs because they knew there was a line about sex coming, and would I do it?

Of course not, I thought. Course not.

But I did. Loud and proud.

I’m a sex machine ready to re-load / like an atom bomb about to / oh oh oh oh oh explode.

This was mental. Insane. Thank God I was a crap singer or I would have been ostracised forever. But it’s OK for one of the boys to butcher a song, as long as it has the word sex in it.

When I finished there were a couple of claps, and a few cries of wanker. But good-natured. Almost fond. I’d felt the buzz of performance. I’d summoned the courage from somewhere and life would never be the same.

Somehow, that day, Freddie’s courage gave me courage. That sounds woefully melodramatic I know. But he threw his talents out to the world and did a very good job of pretending he didn’t care what the critics thought of him. It takes courage to let others read your pages. Every word is a Lego block of your life.

I was shocked when he died. More than Elvis or Lennon. Freddie was a large part of my life. I felt like I knew him and he understood me. But after a while I realised that Fred’s not dead really. He was talking to me yesterday.