Queen Unseen

by Peter Hince

  Wherever we went in Japan, we experienced the polite ritual of being given a small handkerchief-size towel, either hot or cold, and sometimes fragrantly perfumed, to dab your face and wipe your hands with. For roadies who rarely clean themselves, they were very handy – but it’s not the done thing to use them for your armpits in a restaurant.

  Cleansed and very keen, I was feeling excited and expectant as we descended into Haneda airport, with the sprawling blanket of the lights of Tokyo sparkling below. A ceremonial gong went off in my head, announcing Peter Hince’s first arrival in Asia. Soon I was witnessing what I imagined Beatlemania must have been like. Queen, who had been up the pointy end of the Jumbo Jet, were being escorted through thousands of hysterical, screaming fans by their personal Japanese security: Samurais in cheap suits with what looked like white plastic National Health hearing aids. Brian May was towering above the throng like some curly-topped beanstalk; Fred, Roger and John in stacked heels and platform soles were also giants among the Japanese. Their 1970s hairstyles alone put a good six inches on their height. The hordes of fans followed us to the hotel, where more uniformed security kept them at bay. I felt like I was in a movie; it was all somewhat surreal and I was so enthralled with everything I was experiencing that I never noticed any jet lag. Pure adrenaline took over.

  A four-fold sensory bombardment followed, with more strange and suspicious food, sights both bizarre and serene, shrill noises and pungent aromatic smells. I soon encountered a fifth – which were very firm and accommodating indeed.

  ‘Watch out! There’s a high rate of VD in Japan,’ the wise old sage told us. Once again he was right. The opening line from any Japanese doctor you saw, for any ailment, was: ‘You have discharge?’

  ‘No – not that! I can’t hear, my ears hurt, a problem on the flight over here. It’s very painful.’

  ‘Aaaaahhh – your ears pop when you fry?’

  These were the days when Benny Hill and his particular type of humour reigned supreme. Jingoism? I didn’t have any idea what it meant back then; foreign people were there to amuse and entertain. Xenophobic? No. We certainly had no fear of foreigners; we genuinely wanted to get to know them, very closely. The young women especially.

  ESPIONAGE

  The following muted phrase spoken in English by a Japanese female was heard from the room of one crew member, as he entertained his new ‘special friend’:

  ‘You may ownee be loadie – but you are lock star to me.’

  Pause to visualise the guy’s huge grin that followed her remark. The young lady continues: ‘I am not gloopie – I have feerings too.’

  This information was obtained by using a Tokyo Spider; a small radio microphone and transmitter, discovered while scouring the arcades of electronic-goods stores in the Akihabra district of Tokyo. By tuning in on an FM radio with a cassette recorder built in, the conversation could be saved for posterity. Once the bug was fixed in place, usually behind the curtains, and a sound check done, we went out clubbing. On returning, the sniggering, drunken ensemble would gather in a room on a higher floor and tune in. With the recording complete, we would retire with great anticipation for the following day’s Queen sound check, when the recorded tape would be played once everybody was gathered. Queen appreciated wicked mischief. They really loved it. The victim was forced to listen to the highlights:

  ‘I am not a Playboy, baby – I think you are really special. Would you like to stay? I’m feeling very tired.’

  ‘OH REALLY?’ The crew would all shout in unison.

  ‘Of course I can introduce you to Freddie and Brian – they are often coming to my room.’

  ‘OH REALLY?’

  ‘No, I’m not married – I don’t even have a girlfriend. I’ve been waiting for somebody really nice – like you.’

  ‘OH REALLY?’

  ‘No – you don’t have to go, just stay. I’m tired, we don’t have to do anything, we can just go to sleep. You can trust me.’

  ‘OH REALLY?’

  Cue – huge rounds of laughter.

  AWAY FROM HOME

  Though all this exotic Japanese exposure was stimulating, it was at times a real comfort to experience something familiar – and thankfully the Japanese drive on the right side of the road – by that I mean the correct side – the left. Japanese courtesy was followed to the letter as the rear door of taxis opened automatically for you when the car pulled up. It was comforting too to see things written in English: McDonald’s, Shakey’s Pizza and English Pub. I know – sad, wasn’t it? The familiar publications of Playboy and Penthouse were available and, when opened up, it was found that all the women’s ‘front bottoms’ had been scribbled over by teams of Japanese women armed with black felt-tipped pens. No display of pubic hair was allowed in Japan, though Japanese ‘top shelf’ material, which had a particular penchant for showing young-looking girls in white underwear bound and gagged, was freely available.

  The cultural contrasts continued; all Queen shows followed a very different pattern in Japan by starting much earlier, usually at 6.00 pm and there was never a support act. The early start was so that the predominantly young Queen audiences could travel home on public transport in good time, and a large percentage of the fans were still in their smart school uniforms – something that was deemed rather attractive by some of the quieter members of the crew.

  The visual impact of a Queen show was reduced, due to pyrotechnics not being allowed at all, while a total black-out was also vetoed by the strict authorities, the exits having to be clearly lit and visible. So, as the band crept on stage in this twilight, they could easily be seen by many of the audience, which lessened their grand entrance. A certain singer was not at all happy in his luminescent white stretch ‘Mercury the winged messenger’ outfit: ‘Ratty – get those lights turned off or I’m not going on!’ Sound familiar?

  He did go on and the place went crazy. Japanese audiences were wildly enthusiastic, yet remarkably respectful. No steel barriers or battalions of bouncers were needed to halt any rush to the stage, just a rope or tape strung across neat and evenly placed posts. Like a queue in the post office. Very civilised. The honourable Japanese and their custom of bowing was taken to task by the dishonourable crew; prior to the show, a group of us would walk on to the stage, stand in a line and bow to the audience. The first few rows, having seen us, would stand up and bow back. We repeated our courteous gesture, getting more and more people to respond until the crowd caught on to what was happening, laughed and applauded. (Some nights we went down better than the band!)

  They showed their appreciation by throwing things towards the stage during the shows, mainly paper streamers, confetti and colourful ribbons but also toys and gifts, with many cards of goodwill and confessions of undying love for Fleddie, Blian, Loger and John. These tokens would be gathered up and put into boxes for the respective band member – ‘member’ being a common term used by the Japanese: ‘Have members arrived? Which member do you play with? My favourite member is…’ John Deacon was very popular in Japan and certainly Queen’s biggest member in Japan. I know, I’d seen him in his tight trunks at the swimming pool.

  These gift boxes and their contents (most of them) would be delivered to Queen’s dressing room for after-show perusal. ‘These are very nice, but where are the Sony TVs and Kawasaki motorbikes,’ quipped Roger. Queen: multi-millionaires who were certainly not adverse to freebies or saving a few quid on a camera, digital watch or tape player. ‘Could you just slip this in with the gear for me?’ Many of the gift items from fans would be stored in the equipment or wardrobe flight cases for return to England, where in the sanctity of our warehouse at Elstree Film Studios, we spent many enjoyable sessions blowing up the cuddly toys with pyrotechnic flash powder and fireworks. Until you have slit open a small toy penguin, filled it with flash powder, stuck a rocket up its rear, bound it tightly with gaffer tape, lit the blue touch paper, retired to a semi-safe distance and then watched it sail through the air finally to explode – y
ou just haven’t lived. Sorry, Brian.

  For the crew, just touring Japan was a bonus itself and, when shows in the famed Budokan arena in Tokyo were sold out, the entire entourage got a bonus from the promoter. Queen’s tour promoters, Watanabe Productions (aka What A Knob End), gave out ornately decorated envelopes with the Queen logo and colourful Japanese graphics. Inside were several hundred Yen (about £2). ‘It’s the thought that counts’, and yes it was a nice keepsake, but where were the Sony Walkmans, Seiko watches and Nikon cameras that the rival promoter handed out to his visiting bands and crews? As the Japanese crew did all the physical loading and unloading and trucking of equipment, it is fair to say we had a relatively easy time in Japan compared to the band, who not only had to perform as usual, but also had to do a gruelling schedule of interviews, TV, photo sessions, promotion, game shows and the opening of supermarkets and such like. And all with a polite smile.

  When we arrived at a venue, a swarm of travelling Japanese crew, who took copious notes and drew diagrams of all the gear, would even have set up Queen’s ‘Back Line’ of amplifiers and drum kit. Unfortunately, they set it up back to front and also measured the distance from the back of the stage – not the 23 feet from the front! Everything about a Japanese show was very orderly and efficient with legions of extra local crew, caterers, truckers, organisers, interpreters, travel people and promoter reps, all constantly milling around.

  In the early days, when the band were younger, leaner and keener, they would play extra afternoon matinee shows at 2.00 pm, as the six o’clock show had sold out ‘due to popular demand’ as the saying goes. Some of these venues were large school gymnasiums, which still held at least a few thousand people. Travelling outside of the Western-influenced Tokyo to school gymnasiums (tight white shorts and undergarments) and poignant sites of the nuclear explosions, Japan became even more foreign. This was the mid-1970s and many local inhabitants, who had never seen tall Westerners with long or blond hair, stopped in the street to gawk and point. They probably hadn’t even seen Starsky and Hutch on TV. Or flared jeans. To travel, we took flights: All Nippon Airways – and all Nip Off again! – or buses and the Shinkansen (bullet trains), to places with some familiar names: Hiroshima, Nagoya, Osaka, and some not so well known: Himeji, Yamaguchi, Sendai, Fukuoka and Kanazawa.

  At the local nightclub in Kanazawa (where?), aptly named Zoo, we were made welcome with free entrance and complimentary drinks. Top place. After a few more rounds, when some of us drifted over to start talking to some local ladies, the management politely asked us to return to our table. Why? We were not causing any trouble (yet), the girls weren’t complaining about our behaviour (yet), so what was the problem? Club policy dictated that: ‘you must only sit at the first table that you sat at when you entered, and only with the people you arrived with. You may stay sitting where you originally were or you must leave without paying.’

  Fine by us – see you at the hotel, girls. Getting girls back to your hotel room outside of Tokyo, unless they were registered, was very tricky and involved fire escapes, disguise, bribery, corruption and diversionary tactics to allay staff. If you did succeed in getting young ladies to your room, you could almost guarantee that they would stick to you like a rash, following you around on tour like a lap dog.

  Unfortunately, one word from the previous sentence was sometimes encountered: rash. The wise old sage was right once again! NSU and gonorrhoea were prevalent, but thankfully these were the halcyon pre-AIDS days, when a shot of penicillin, an alcohol ban and a bit of guilt were all that was required to clear a sexually transmitted disease.

  THE SEX POLICE

  One evening in provincial Japan, The Sex Police struck! This self-righteous force consisted of those who had not pulled that particular evening and their task, fuelled by envy, was to stop or interrupt any activity by those who had got lucky. When they burst into the room of this particular victim, they did not catch him in flagrante but fast asleep… on my own – my companion having already left. She had to leave early as she was working; haunting houses by the look of her. Jet lag was regularly used as a scapegoat for ending up with The Dragon Lady of The East, resplendent with her dyed red hair, black lips and nail polish. An awesome sight: ‘I’m telling you guys – she wasn’t that bad.’

  This particular lady was known as Ed the Spread, because she appeared to put her make-up on with a plasterer’s trowel. Fuelled by adrenaline and not to be denied their fun, The Sex Police picked up the mattress, stripped it of the bedclothes and carried it complete with occupant, also stripped bare, to the hotel elevator, which was then dispatched to the ground-floor reception. When the automatic doors opened, it was just in time to greet a welcoming party of elderly Japanese ladies, who were at the hotel for a wedding. It turns out that a mattress is a very heavy and awkward item to grab quickly to hide your modesty, particularly if elegant, elderly Japanese are looking on incredulously.

  Some of the female fans we met had a charming habit of leaving you with a novel memento (apart from an STD) in the form of their school badge. These metal lapel badges were beautifully crafted items, some in the shape of a heart with Mount Fuji lightly embossed, and on the reverse some etched Japanese characters. Head girl? Certainly top of her class!

  ROOM AT THE INN

  The band and the crew generally stayed in different hotels. Japanese hotel rooms, like the Japanese, were compact and often there would not even be enough space to leave your suitcase open. I hasten to add that the band did not stay in rooms like these. Many crew hotel rooms had plastic bathrooms, where everything was moulded into one piece: toilet, bath and basin, and there were illustrated diagrams of ‘stick men’ to show the Japanese how to use a western toilet as traditional ‘squatters’ – a hole in the ground – were the Japanese standard.

  Staying and travelling separately in Japan, we consequently saw very little of Fred, Brian, Roger and big member John apart from shows, although we did catch the occasional glimpse of our employers at parties or in nightclubs.

  During a Japanese tour, there were usually several stays in Tokyo and I sometimes stayed over with big member John in the spare room of his suite in the New Otani Hotel or Keio (KY) Plaza in Shinjuku, when we got in late from clubbing.

  The clubs in Tokyo were great; we could go there and be treated well in spite of being young men behaving badly. The band were lauded at The Lexington Queen in Ropongi, a swish place frequented by western fashion models, but crew activities were mainly at Byblos in Akasaka, which was a disco laid out over several floors, with a DJ in a ‘space pod’, which travelled in a perspex tube between the various levels. Visiting bands and their crews were given licence to be as lively and boisterous as we liked – but without being physically destructive or violent. It was always in the back of your mind that every Japanese bouncer is probably some kind of martial arts expert.

  Big member John, who was the only member of Queen I have ever seen being truly active on a dance floor, would love to ‘pop up and bop in Byblos’. That’s some tongue twister – particularly after the passing of a sake bowl the size of a UFO. A rhythm player with real rhythm, that’s big member John. Upon entering Byblos, tickets were issued for your (watered-down) drinks; ‘Delightful King’ for guys, ‘Beautiful Lady’ for girls. Weekends were ‘Delightful Saturday’ night in Byblos. The club had a raised VIP section; a round table with curved bench seats around it. One evening, a famous Japanese actor came in flaunting some porcelain-skinned girl on his arm. He slid into the VIP area, where he ordered champagne – horrifically expensive in Japan. Unbeknown to the actor, the drum roadie from another rock band, feeling the effects of his excessive evening, had crawled under the seating for a recuperative sleep. The Japanese celebrity was served his bubbly in a stylish silver champagne bucket and was popping the cork when, suddenly, this dishevelled figure crawls out from his hole and, putting both hands on the edge of the round table, throws up into the champagne bucket. He then crawled back under the bench and went to sleep. Th
e stunned actor and his girl understandably decided to leave.

  Through my Japanese girlfriend, I once met a Japanese gangster in a Tokyo nightclub. He owned it – and several more. We got talking via my interpreter, and he told me that he hated Americans but loved and admired the English, because of our culture, proud military heritage and respect for our royal family…

  ‘Hello, old chap – Peter Hince, the second Earl of Hammersmith and Fulham – so charmed to meet you.’

  We got free booze, free food, a key ring and a free lift home. Japan seemed to be full of clubs and bars – and none very discreet, as they boldly flaunted neon signs outside. This magnificent, cultured country held ribald amusement for young men out for a good time back in the days before political correctness. So the way in which the Japanese interpreted English was always a source of great fun, as in the names of some of the clubs: Image Lash, Club, Goose, Refreshment House, Club Open, Club Brain, and, though I never encountered it, no doubt there was a Club Foot. A young Japanese sported a T-shirt with a slogan that read ‘Let’s go drive – New York – Los Angeles – okay?’

  However, there were so many other wonderful diversions in Japan that did not include taking the piss, clubbing, sex and alcohol, so with plenty of free time we tried to visit shrines, temples and palaces and, becoming ever braver, trying the local cuisine.

  The delicacy in Sapporo of having tiny, live baby eels in your beer is not my idea of fun, but the Japanese bodyguards revelled in crunching the heads before swallowing. Brian May was so horrified by this that he released his eels back into the adjacent ornamental stream.

  I was personally horrified by some Japanese ‘seafood’ in Osaka, where I witnessed an enormous whale being towed up a canal by barge. On top on the whale were several Japanese workers hacking at the corpse with axes.