Sometimes I get fired up to write about something but fizzle out when I realize there's no way I can transmit that spark to you, dear reader.
But today I'm putting the blame for that on you, because with regard to today's topic, if you don't jump on this train you're brain-dead, soul-dead and hereby banned from reading my shit.
Ok?
[And what did I read today? Sacha Baron Cohen's been tapped to play Freddie Mercury. Fuck yeah. Beyond the physical similarities, SBC's turn in Sweeney Todd showed me he's got what it takes to play a charismatic dandy with a flair for the dramatic.]
Sure, we all know the overexposed radio hits--Bohemian Rhapsody, Another One Bites The Dust, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, among several others--they're permanently seared into the synapses of anybody who grew up listening, willingly or not, to classic rock radio. Such songs quickly lost their potency when listened to in thin, compressed form on the radio, removed from their album context and sandwiched between Toyotathon commercials and far-less-thrilling 70's rock staples from bands with one-word names.
But make no mistake: Queen will still rock your stupid face off and make you ashamed for not having acknowledged the 8th wonder of the world that is Freddie Mercury's glorious, multi-octave, shape-shifting voice. For not thinking about Brian May when the short list of greatest guitarists becomes the topic at hand. May's fat, rich sound combines the raw buzz of down and dirty rock 'n' roll with the soaring, ringing-from-the-heavens cry that separates gods from mortals. Bassist John Deacon puts more sexy thumping melody into the mix than is healthy--Another One Bites The Dust, anyone? Yeah, that's but one arrow in his quiver.
[Let me hit you with an aside--something that always makes me shake my head and smile: a super-flaming gay dude fronted a band named Queen and sang the most cock-rocking one-two punch of a sporting anthem of all time. If I believed in God I'd say he had wicked sense of humor.]
Back to rocking your stupid face off. What are you listening to these days? Pfft, I don't care, 'cause it sucks and I know it's not putting a smile on your face. So let's get down to it. Where to start, where to stop?
[Well, the first mistake you'll make is that you don't use bit torrent to download entire discographies of bands you want to listen to. You pay for music? Sucker! Information wants to be free. Liberate that shit. But I digress.]
Their first few albums, while they are worth listening to, skew a bit toward that Zepplin-y, fairy tale-laden nonsense so prevalent in the early '70s. I suggest you begin with 1975's A Night At The Opera. This is where the theatrical bombast and pop craftsmanship meet up with the buzzsaw kickassness of the first few albums. From here, you're golden through 1980's The Game. By golden, I mean near-total, top-to-bottom fun.
There's still more fun to be had with the albums from the '80s. 1982's Hot Space concludes with the Freddie Mercury-David Bowie classic "Under Pressure". Sure, you've heard it a million times. Sure, you've heard its signature bassline in that Vanilla Ice song. But forget all that.
Do me a favor.
Seriously.
You can disregard everything else here--just listen to this song. Loud. On repeat. With the lyrics in front of you. I humbly submit this as the greatest song of all time. Take a moment and open your heart. Let the cynicism melt away. Allow yourself to feel goosebumps. Remember how great music can make you feel bigger and better. How it can make it seem like being a modern human doesn't have to suck so much. Does anybody bring it like this anymore?
Nope.
But one way or another I'm going to figure out why and set to making the world a place where people feel compelled to make music like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment