Dammit.

[puddingcat]

RIP Freddie.

I remember that you had a hamster but couldn't remember what it was called.
I remember nobody else in chemistry understanding why I was miserable.
I remember buying black nail varnish for the first time (only wearing it on my left hand, though).
I remember keeping the radio on all through my driving test the day after (I passed).

Comments

[karohemd.livejournal.com]

It was my first year at the language institute and I was the only male (and what you could call alternative) among 20 trendy girlies. Among my friends, Freddie's death was the main topic, even if they weren't particular Queen fans, at that class, nothing.

The exact opposite happened the Saturday after. I was at my favourite rock club, the Groovy, it was about 11:30 and the place was packed with a heaving dancefloor. The DJ played "The Show Must go on" and everyone stopped dancing, chatting, drinking and just stood or sat there and listened. If it hadn't been for the volume of the music, you could have heard a pin drop. It was one of the most powerful moments in my life.

[miss-s-b.livejournal.com]

<-- is welling up just reading that.

I was brought up on Queen. My mum and both elder brothers were big fans. My mum still claims that the first recognisable tune I sang along to in my cradle was Now I'm Here. My 7th birthday one brother bought me a cheap walkman and the other bought me "The Works" on cassette, and I used to lie in bed listening to it to sing myself to sleep. The day he died my mum and I heard the news on the radio and clung to each other and wept.

The powerful moment which sticks in my memory happened a while after Freddie died. I went to see Brian May with my brother at the NEC in Birmingham on the Back to the Light tour. It was a fantastic gig, and there was dancing in the aisles and much fun. But when Brian played the first couple of chords of "Love of My Life" the silence swept across the arena. And then when his voice cracked half way through the first line and he couldn't carry on singing and the tears were rolling down his cheeks and the whole audience picked it up and sang with one voice... Love of My Life was always an audience participation number, but that night it just felt like an almost religious experience. Tens of thousands of people held hands and remembered a great entertainer and sang for the sorrow of losing him, and it was wonderful.