Queen

[poliphilo]

Music is the most insidious of the arts. The one that burrows deepest, the one it's hardest to shake. If I hate a painting I can forget about it; it doesn't insist on wallpapering my inner world. I'm not obliged to constantly replay the plots of bad novels. Pickled sharks and poems by Ted Hughes don't go round and round in my head the way Bohemian Rhapsody does if it first gets a grip. I like Queen about as much as I like Hirst and Hughes (which is to say not much) but I carry their collected hits around with me, like a box of runny gelignite, ready to be touched off at the slightest jolt. "Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Figaro."

I was watching a documentary about them last night. Every time one of their songs struck up my brain did a little squeal and started singing along. Brain, I hate you!

I have a certain regard for Freddie. Offstage, as filmed interviews made plain, he was a sweet, mousy little guy with a Simpson's overbite. You wanted to take him home to your mum and have her knit him a sweater. How did that wholly unremarkable person become the priapic rock god of our dreams? Oh the transfiguring, Dionysiac power of art. 

Comments

[veronica-milvus.livejournal.com]

Would love to hear why you don't like Hughes, seeing he is the caged subject of my latest essay!

[michaleen.livejournal.com]

I think your brain is trying to tell you something.

"Bohemian Rhapsody", is fun but overwrought and vastly overplayed. I liked, "Fat Bottomed Girls", myself. Part of it may be generational. Technically, you and I are both boomers but rock for me begins with the guitar bands of the 70s.

There are worse "ear worms". My wife the school teacher got, "Too Drunk to Fuck", stuck in her head, last week, and found herself walking down the hallway, at work, absently singing to herself.

[sovay]

I like Queen about as much as I like Hirst and Hughes (which is to say not much) but I carry their collected hits around with me, like a box of runny gelignite, ready to be touched off at the slightest jolt.

"Crowley was currently doing 110 mph somewhere east of Slough. Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen albums."
—Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens (1990)

How did that wholly unremarkable person become the priapic rock god of our dreams? Oh the transfiguring, Dionysiac power of art.

Lal Waterson wrote him a song when he died; her sister Norma sings it. "Reply to Joe Haines."

[unbleachedbrun.livejournal.com]

Happy Pascal full moon!

[ccord.livejournal.com]