Queen Unseen

by Peter Hince

  ‘Later, dear, later’ never materialised, but it became quite clear he knew I was leaving, and that I knew he knew – but nothing was said. He had asked Gerry Stickells why I wanted to leave and Gerry gave him the simple answer: ‘that I now wanted to be a photographer not a roadie’.

  Then unexpectedly during a lull in rehearsals Fred said to me quite formally in a clipped voice, ‘So, you’re leaving then?’

  ‘Yes – I am,’ I nodded with stoic sincerity.

  ‘Right.’ He nodded and smiled back at me.

  No more was said.

  He knew I would be as dedicated as I ever was until I left – in fact, during that Works tour I took on even more responsibilities and worked harder than on any other Queen tour.

  If I had left Queen to work for another band, Fred would never have forgiven me, but because I was going into the ‘arts’ I was sure he could understand.

  Roger was quite shocked at my decision to leave, but after we had a chat he also understood my reasons. Before I got the chance to tell Brian, somebody else had and he rushed up to me in the Sugar Shack, quite upset and asking me to stay, promising to ‘put things right’. It was too late, I’d made my mind up, and money was no longer an issue. John already knew, as we had talked about it together several times.

  He was also in a period of change. In 1984, John grew his hair again into a wild bush. He began smoking cigarettes at the age of 33 and went missing from recording, only telling me where he was going. He confided in me and seemed fed up. John never tried to convince me to stay as he understood why I wanted to leave and I felt he somehow wanted it to be him.

  I don’t think John was ever quite the same again after that period.

  I want to break free.

  CHARITY BEGINS

  The terms of my leaving were that I had agreed to do Rock In Rio, and the final leg of the Works tour in New Zealand, Australia and Japan the following April and May of 1985 on a freelance basis, as I was now starting to set up my new photography career. After the end of that Japanese tour in Osaka, I thought that was it, I would never crawl under a piano or inside a dirty truck again. Wrong.

  No sooner had I got back to my shared rented studio, and was working hard to get my new career moving, than I got a call that the band were to take part in something called Live Aid.

  Queen had not immediately agreed, but once they decided to take part it was business as usual. As this one-off gig in London would not take a lot of time from the focus of my new career, I agreed to help out. Queen rehearsals were at the Shaw Theatre in London’s Euston Road and in true Queen professional manner the key touring personnel were brought in from the USA.

  A ‘blip’ involving Fred’s Steinway piano reminded me he could still be a difficult sod when he chose to. I may have officially left Queen, but he still wanted to keep me on my toes. As usual, we got over it, and for the next few days Queen worked out the 20-minute set that has become rock history. I purchased large white plastic clocks that were placed around the stage so the band could monitor themselves as the countdown started. With so much material to choose from, it was generally thought that it would be a constant battle within the band as to which songs would be performed, but it actually fell into place quite quickly, and, though other combinations were tried, the final set was reached unanimously – and without too many tantrums. It included three of Fred’s songs, three of Brian’s and one of Roger’s. John? The guy who wrote their biggest-selling single and several others? John very rarely made a fuss – he went with the flow.

  This was not going to be a Queen show and there was no huge lighting rig, smoke, pyrotechnics or intro tape for them to open with and wow the audience. The obvious choice for a rock band would be to start with an up-tempo, bash your head, stamp your feet tune. No.

  Queen were introduced by Mel Smith and Griff Rhys Jones at Live Aid, seconds after we had finally finished checking the gear. As the welcoming applause for the band faded, Fred sat at his grand piano and started to play ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

  It was brilliant. The whole audience knew the song, and, after the initial roar of recognition, sang along to the section chosen from Queen’s most well-known creation. The crowd who had been there for over seven hours were at the point of needing a lift. Queen gave it to them and were magnificent. They were also the loudest! Sound engineer Trip Khalaf had set the limiters on the PA system – which he unleashed for Queen’s performance. If you can’t blind ’em – deafen ’em! Fred showed the entire world why he was simply the greatest showman of the time and had the audience in his hand. The mood, energy and spirit that day was truly wonderful and it was the first and by far the best of the big charity shows. It captured everything at the right time. After Live Aid, these charity shows became something of a bandwagon, with a jostle for position, market value and TV ratings. However, the egos of the many stars present that July day did not clash and Fred offered the unprecedented act of allowing his piano to be used by another artist – Phil Collins. The directive of only 20-minute sets for every artist had been laid down strongly, as the running schedule to coincide with TV was precise. The revolving circular stage was divided into three equal sections of ‘pie’, which allowed one band to set up as another broke down their equipment, while the third was performing.

  This worked very efficiently, and as our gear was whisked away and sectioned for loading I watched The Who play. In front of centre stage was a traffic-light system, of green, amber and red lamps for the performers to monitor. The first light illuminated, to tell the band that they had five minutes left, the second light signalled two minutes remained, so finish your song ASAP, and the red was ‘your time is up get off or we will pull the plug on you’.

  As I watched the band who made instrument damage and abuse an art form, I saw the red light was flashing constantly. The stage managers and promoters’ people were getting twitchy – it would be a brave man who cut the power on The Who.

  Signals had been made to the singer, Mr Roger Daltrey, who responded in his own unique style, by kicking all the lights and smashing them before finishing the song.

  I found myself smiling and caught sight of Bob Geldof behind me, doing Pete Townshend-style leaps with ‘windmill’ arm movements as he played air guitar.

  The spirit of rock ’n’ roll was truly there that day, and humanity too. As the whole cast of musicians sang ‘Feed The World’, it was a truly unbelievable sight and atmosphere – I feel privileged to have been there, and it remains one of the most memorable days of my life. I often get comments that I was ‘spotted’ on Queen’s part of Live Aid – and more less-flattering comments about my cut-off denim shorts! ‘It was a very hot day,’ I reply in my defence.

  Queen, too, were hot and overwhelmed with the day, giving them renewed belief and desire. I believe there was a real possibility that the band could have broken up around that time, they had become tired and somewhat jaded; their fall in popularity in America had affected them a lot and they needed something to rekindle that drive and belief in their talent. They didn’t need to worry – they were the best band on the day and stole the show and surprised a lot of non-Queen fans too. The band clearly appreciated the contribution by all their crew, who were under a lot of pressure, and as always did their job professionally. We were given framed awards with a photo of the band on stage at Wembley and an etched metal plate underneath:

  LIVE AID

  July 13th, 1985

  Presented to

  PETER HINCE

  Thank you from

  Brian, Freddie, John and Roger

  QUEEN

  After my minor supporting contribution to rock history, I kept in touch with most of the Queen organisation and did some photographic commissions for the band. Then in the following early spring I was asked by Billy Squier’s management if I would help out Billy, who was going to be recording in London.

  Mmmm – that ‘rock stuff’ again?

  However, as it was not full-time and there was some flexibil
ity that let me carry on trying to establish myself as a photographer, I agreed. My business set-up costs had been high and income was still very low. The regular fee would be welcome and the fact that I got on well with Billy was also very important in my decision.

  At around the same time I was asked if I would do the forthcoming Queen Magic tour and, after some thought and on the advice of one or two friends, I decided against it. This was received with surprise as it had been simply taken for granted I would accept. I explained that I had spent a lot of time building things up for my new business and, although I was not yet reaping the rewards, a break from this dedication would upset the momentum and I could miss out on any important jobs or new clients that came in.

  And, most importantly, I was now a photographer and no longer a roadie.

  It was a wrench to decline as I had good friends who would be on the tour and the rock lifestyle had been a part of me for over 12 years, and traces still lingered in my bloodstream – I was not out of de-tox just yet.

  I went round to Fred’s house to see him personally and explain. He immediately said, ‘It’s the money, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out.’

  When I explained it was not about money, he understood but was still disappointed.

  ‘Well then, you must come to rehearsals and brief the new people,’ he insisted.

  In addition to being a very successful rock star, Billy was a cultured American and appreciated the finer things that London had to offer. Billy knew Fred well, but had not yet visited Garden Lodge, the home Fred had worked long to create.

  A couple of evenings, running into mornings, were spent at Garden Lodge as Billy played Fred some of his new songs. Fred, being Fred, told Billy what he thought and what could possibly be done. Billy was delighted to get the input and, though Fred insisted, ‘They’re your songs, dear – not mine,’ it was arranged for Fred to come to Sarm Studios, where Queen had recorded so much early work, and sing on two tracks that he particularly liked: ‘Love Is The Hero’ and ‘Heart Of Mine’, which Fred changed the title of to ‘Lady With A Tenor Sax’. Billy was bursting with delight as he held the greatest respect for Fred. I was now seeing Fred and the people around him quite often, and poignantly got the nod that he was far from comfortable that I would not be on the upcoming Magic tour. There were also rumours that for personal reasons he was not going to do the tour at all.

  After trying to distance myself from my old life, which of course included Fred, I was being drawn close to him again. I was not at all convinced that the arrangements made to cover for my departure would work to the satisfaction of Fred and John.

  I had a dilemma.

  I spoke to Billy about it and he was very supportive. I did not want to let him down by going off in the middle of his recording project and I still wanted to separate myself from the past somewhat and get on with my new life and career. Billy said that I should do the tour as he knew how close the bond had been between Fred and me. After the final recording session with Billy and Fred, we all went to Billy’s favourite Indian restaurant in Westbourne Grove. Fred was a big lover of Indian food but only went to places he was known and felt comfortable in. This was not one of them. We had booked a table away from the main busy part of the restaurant, but people still quickly recognised Fred. However, he was totally cool about it as this was Billy’s choice. When Billy and Terry, who was Fred’s driver and minder, had left the table to go to the toilet (or something) leaving Fred and me alone, I said to him, ‘OK, Fred – I’ll do your tour for you.’ He was sincere in his thanks and quickly told Terry the news when he returned.

  We all returned to Garden Lodge and stayed up the rest of the night, during which he thanked me again several times, telling me: ‘You can have anything you want, you know?’

  Billy wanted to thank Fred for his contribution and guidance on the two songs, so went out shopping with me, and bought him a memento that would be in keeping with the Mercury style – an original signed Art Deco bronze statue of a fox, set on a marble base. Then Billy went off on a short vacation, so I showed up at Fred’s house with the gift in my arms to find Fred very excited; he always loved gifts despite it being wrapped in newspaper inside an old cardboard box. He loved the piece and fussed around to find the right spot for the fox to sit.

  I had now convinced myself I had done the right thing; the overheads and responsibility of a shared studio would be covered by the tour money, and I should still have enough to keep me going for a while afterwards.

  I struck a deal with Gerry Stickells, which took about ten seconds – $100 a week more than the Australia/Japan tour of the previous year. Hardly ‘anything I wanted’ but that was never the issue or even mentioned.

  It was good to see and reunite with old mates at rehearsals, but something was not quite right. The atmosphere was different and the tight family unit and camaraderie was missing. That final tour, Magic ’86, was a totally different experience to any other Queen tour. Things had quickly changed despite my only being away for about a year. It wasn’t specifically the band or crew that I knew, but the business. The tour was the biggest out that summer and no doubt buoyed by the band’s phenomenal performance at Live Aid the previous year.

  The Queen extravaganza had grown, but the normally well-oiled machine now spluttered as it had seemingly taken on too much, become overloaded and was no longer as streamlined as it had been. The tour is one I am very happy to have done, considering it was the last ever. However, I did not enjoy it in the same way I had other tours.

  The size of the shows, which were predominantly outdoors, obviously meant that more people were around, but there just seemed to be too many. It had now become a game as to how important you could show yourself to be – it was now a case of collecting titles. Politics and bullshit! A ridiculous circus.

  On every previous Queen tour, you knew who the owner of virtually every laminated backstage pass was, now they were tossed around like confetti – and many of them to tossers.

  The situation became so absurd that for the second half of the tour, new passes with a large number 2 printed on were issued to avoid breaches of security.

  Queen were big, and the timing was right, but the band had been big for many years, and all the extra hype and spin just creates a false environment which alienates and divides.

  We had all moved on a little, and, though I was back doing the same job I had done for years and still had the confidence and ability to do it, it was different. I was still loyal and professional, but this was not my ‘real’ job now.

  The era was gone, and so had the special feeling created on so many tours. The show was good, but the lighting rig which Queen were renowned for was poor. Despite having a huge construction and budget, it looked like a giant Christmas tree. It was just big. It did not really do anything dynamic like the previous rigs.

  At Knebworth, the final ever Queen live show, I somehow felt it was going to be the last for all of us. I had no idea as to Fred’s health condition but I just saw it as being the last show for me and for them. John was also in a strange mood and for no apparent reason threw his bass guitar hard into his speaker cabinets after the last song of the set. Before the encore I had fixed and retuned it without any problem. John apologised to me, but was seemingly not enjoying things.

  The hard business side of rock ’n’ roll had really taken over and a new corporate, sponsorship era had begun. I am so glad I chose to get out when I did. There is seemingly no fun any more and the people involved now take themselves and the industry very seriously. It is important to remember that nobody I know, musician or roadie, entered the business just for money.

  Once the dust had settled after that final tour, I got back in to my studio and tried to pick up where I had left off some 12 weeks before. Shortly afterwards, I went to the grand event of Fred’s 40th birthday party. It was a ‘crazy hat’ party held in the grounds of his house and I wore the same hat with clapping hands on that he had chased me around the stage for wear
ing in Japan.

  When later that autumn Fred recorded his ‘Great Pretender’ single, he commissioned me to shoot the cover in my studio and later the video stills. The roadie-style humour was still there on set, as Crystal and I re-wrote the opening line Fred sang, to: ‘Oh yes I’m the great… big bender!’ But despite this irreverent and ribald reminder of the past, I felt I was finally off the road. The old saying of ‘I’m with the band’ was no longer true – I was on my own.

  Nobody can ever take away from me what I experienced or achieved, but we have to live in the present not the past. More photo shoots for Fred and Queen followed and invites to Fred’s lavish parties too – including private jets and club-class air tickets and plush hotels. This was all generously paid for by Mr Mercury. I received dinner invites to Garden Lodge and Queen Christmas and other parties still included me on the guest list. It was nice to see that I had been remembered and that everybody understood why I had left Queen to work in photography.

  The world will always remember those immortal words in 1966 at Wembley Stadium: ‘Some people are on the pitch – they think it’s all over…’ and at Knebworth Park some twenty years later, and a few weeks after Queen had played the famous old Wembley Stadium – it most certainly was all over.

  The last time I saw or spoke to Freddie Mercury in person was at the 20-year anniversary party for Queen at the exclusive Groucho Club in London’s Soho. He was sat at a large table upstairs in the private back room and I was sitting at a table in the opposite corner with my girlfriend, Julie, John Deacon and his wife Veronica. I caught Fred’s eye and he beckoned me over, rising from the table to greet me as I walked towards him. He gave me a light hug and a peck on the cheek and said, ‘Thanks for coming, I appreciate it.’

  That was it; that was the last time I saw him. I had no idea.

  Looking back, I am grateful to have had such a great working life with Queen, and I would like to thank them. No doubt they would thank me, too. I owe a great deal to the band and to Fred especially – and I miss him considerably.