Hot Space - Queen (1982 album) - review

Following on from my recent blog post about my attendance at Queen's 1982 show at Elland Road, Leeds,  I thought that I would take a look at the album which they had released shortly before that concert, Hot Space.

This was Queen's first "proper" studio album for two years, which in those days seemed (to me) like an eternity, but by modern standards this would be no big deal.

I can't really remember whether there were signals in advance of the musical direction which the record would signify, but in the end it turned out to be a mixture of decided funk and dance influences, with some more "traditional" Queen sounds alongside.  In some ways this was a more pronounced and decisive take on the blend which had been represented by 1980's The Game.

This album is sometimes seen as the album which triggered a period of uncertainty and soul-searching for the group. It met with a lukewarm critical (and in some territories, commercial) reception, and these factors may all have contributed to a crisis of confidence, and a lack of direction, which were not fully remedied until Live Aid in 1985.

Looking back now, to me the record stands up reasonably well. The sound, in its breeziness and exuberance, is very much "of its time", but the continuing excursions into more rhythmic styles met with mixed results. I think the inventiveness and stylishness of the production tend to obscure the lack of fresh and potent ideas in the songwriting department.

Of the "dance" orientated pieces, only "Back Chat" really works, not because it is an outstanding composition, but because of the atmospheric production, and the effort which was evidently expended on arriving at the finished article. "Staying Power" worked much better in concert, and "Body Language" remains as puzzling to me now as it was over thirty years ago.

The two Roger Taylor songs, "Action This Day" and "Calling All Girls" are likeable but minor.  "Life Is Real (Song For Lennon), has some intriguing lyrics, but comes across as rather "Queen by numbers".

"Put Out The Fire", a basic rocker, perhaps heralds the beginning of a shift in Brian May's songwriting efforts from the mainly introspective towards a greater emphasis on social commentary. The inclusion of "Under Pressure" almost occurred to me as a rather tired gesture, as it had always seemed to me as a "standalone" single, and putting it as the final track on Hot Space felt like an admission that the creative well was running somewhat dry.

So I would contend that Hot Space is greater than the sum of its individual parts. Although it is by common consent one of the weaker records released by the band, the freshness of its production, and the diversity of the material, make it an interesting listen to this day.

Queen live at Elland Road, Leeds, 1982 - my recollections

A recent internet discussion has rekindled memories of my most memorable concert-going experience, when I saw Queen perform live at Elland Road stadium in Leeds in May 1982.

In all honesty, although I am a massive music lover, I have never been one for attending big concerts in person. I have seen dozens, if not hundreds of bands in pubs and clubs over the years, but bigger venues have seldom had the pleasure of my attendance.

The first thing to mention is that we didn't even have tickets for the Queen gig beforehand. We travelled to the venue on the day, primarily with the intention of soaking up the atmosphere, and possibly standing outside the stadium to hear the music.

Anyway, partly by bus, and partly on foot, we made our way to Elland Road, and kind of mingled with the crowds. I recall that it was a bright and sunny day.  Memories are naturally rather hazy, but I guess that the support acts (Heart, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Teardrop Explodes) must have started playing around late afternoon, with Queen planning to make their appearance once the sun began to go down.

I was with my older brother and a friend, and we spent much of the afternoon and early evening standing outside the gates of the stadium, hoping to catch a glimpse of band members or assorted hangers-on.  We were eventually rewarded when none other than Freddie Mercury walked past, literally feet away from us, although we were standing on the other side of some metal railings at the time!

Eventually the time came for Queen to go on stage, and at this point we were still standing outside, although as their performance got under way, we could hear the music pretty clearly. Imagine our delight when, after the first couple of numbers, the security guys allowed some of those standing outside to enter the ground. I'm not sure who authorised this, but I've always liked to think that Queen (or their management) had something to do with it.

I can't even remember whether our friend was still was with us at this stage, but my brother and I were very lucky to be standing quite close to the front left of the stage, so we had a splendid view. This was my first experience of any kind of live rock or pop concert, and initially the sheer spectacle, and the attendant assault on the senses, rather blew me away.  Gradually, though, I began to appreciate the sheer brilliance of the performance. At the time Queen were at, or near, their peak as a live band, and there were very few acts anywhere who could rival them at the time.

The major documents of the 1982 UK/European tour are the audio and video recordings of the later Milton Keynes show.  However, I think that Brian May for one has gone on record as saying that the Elland Road show was superior.  Queen's act in the early 1980s was characterized by abundant energy and the tightness of the ensemble, and these elements were very much to the fore that night in Leeds.

I was quite young at the time, and some of the musical and artistic nuances are therefore lost in the mists of time. I recall clapping and waving my arms quite a bit, in addition to singing along enthusiastically with most of the songs. All too soon, the concert was over, and we joined the thousands filing out of the stadium. I remember that local residents were still standing on the pavement outside, soaking up the sights and sounds.

From memory, I think that the last bus had already gone by the time we emerged, so we walked the several miles home, still in a state of euphoria and well-being because of what we had just witnessed.

1982 - The Inside Story of the Sensational Grand Prix season - Christopher Hilton

I remember that during the 2012 Formula 1 season, relative neophytes were speculating that we were experiencing perhaps the most dramatic and unpredictable Grand Prix year ever.  Those people had evidently not been around in 1982. Christopher Hilton's book, published in 2007, captures the turbulence and tragedy of that extraordinary season.

For me, the 1982 campaign was in large part coloured, and tarnished, by the death of Gilles Villeneuve, who was one of my first heroes in life. I distinctly remember crying on the day of his accident, staring into space at the end of our driveway, on a warm spring evening.  However, as time has passed I have grown to recognize how that season did have some redeeming features.

The material about the drivers' strike in South Africa is fascinating, in that it suggests that the views of many of the drivers were ambivalent. They were caught between concerns of principle and solidarity and the imperatives of ambition and avarice.  There are some interesting theories about Niki Lauda's motives, too. The strike is also placed within the context of the wider, momentous power struggle which was ongoing within the sport at that time.  A healthy selection of quotes from drivers and other personnel helps to paint the picture.

The chapter dealing with the Belgian Grand Prix in May contains much harrowing but gripping testimony about the events of that tragic qualifying session at Zolder.  Similarly, the passages documenting the Canadian Grand Prix, the scene of Ricardo Paletti's fatal accident, are moving and affecting. It is good that the author went to the trouble of researching Paletti's background and racing career.

Reading the quotes and recollections in this book, it occurs to me that in the 1980s, Grand Prix drivers were more worldly men than they are today. Maybe I think in these terms because the drivers in those days were much older than me, whereas nowadays I am many years their senior. People such as Derek Warwick and John Watson impress with their honesty and roundedness. Making allowances, one would have to say that, thirty-odd years ago, the goldfish bowl was less overpowering, and the world was a different place.

"1982" also offers a persuasive reminder that technological progress has made things too "perfect" and "infallible" to be interesting and uncertain on an "organic" level. Variables and imponderables are banished, and much of the soul and raw excitement extracted.

The heterogeneous nature of the venues, the media coverage and so forth is another part of the backdrop to this work, No identikit tracks, podium ceremonies, pit and paddock complexes, and the like.

Hilton relates some great tales, such as the Toleman "half-tanks" ploys and the Derek Daly "short cut" at Dijon. More innocent times, but in keeping with many aspects of this book, I get the impression that the people involved have been made less guarded and equivocal, and more candid, in their recollections by the passage of time.

It seems to me that, in a Formula 1 sense at least, the 1980s had not truly arrived in 1982.  I tend to see this as happening in 1984, with the full flowering of the Ron Dennis/TAG/Lauda/Prost era at McLaren.  Things became more clinical and orderly, and rough edges were smoothed over. The years 1982 and 1983, by contrast,  still exuded elements of the Seventies. A transitional, confusing, but vibrant time.

Christopher Hilton's book, lavishly illustrated and well-researched, evokes those times vividly.

The Class of '82

Not surprisingly, the past couple of days have seen some media comment about how the Brazil team of 2014 compares with the dazzling outfit of the 1982 World Cup - Zico, Socrates, Eder et al, and how the current line-up will not be remembered as warmly, even if it lifts the famous trophy later this month.

 

Don't get me wrong, I was as enthralled as anybody by the samba-propelled 1982 generation, and they are probably the most entertaining football team which I have ever seen.  However, we need to draw a distinction between "entertaining" and "great".  When all is said and done, Junior, Falcao and company failed to even reach the semi-finals in Spain, and had key, ultimately decisive, weaknesses. They had a mediocre goalkeeper, a poor defence, and no top-quality centre forward, and these deficiencies were hinted at throughout their stay in the tournament, before finally being fully exploited by Paolo Rossi and the Italians in that never-to-be-forgotten contest in the second group stage.

 

The present Brazilian team is a thousand times better defensively, has a better goalkeeper, is much better organized and prepared, and is much more tactically aware and astute. No, they don't appeal to the emotions and to the football romantics like some of their illustrious predecessors, but they may well succeed where the '82 team failed. In any event, does anybody seriously think that if a team played like the 1982 team in 2014, they would get anywhere? The game has changed, and in many respects for the better.

 

This all brings me on to an aspect of World Cup TV and media coverage which continues to infuriate me. That is, the often simplistic and shallow analysis, apparently calculated to appeal entirely to people who have never watched football before, let alone the World Cup. Can we not have separate "feeds", one for the neophytes, and another catering for a more discerning, nuanced and cynical audience?

Early World Cup Memories

With the football World Cup rapidly approaching, I am trying to summon up some enthusiasm for the tournament. Even the current flurry of squad announcements has not totally succeeded in this regard, and my next resort may be to watch some old footage. Of course, wallowing in nostalgia may also aid the process...

 

I was a mere toddler when the much-mythologized 1970 World Cup took place, so the 1974 version is the first one which I can vaguely remember, although clear recollections are cloudy and elusive. By 1978 I was a fully paid-up football fanatic, and so Argentina 78 was a big deal, although I was oblivious to some of the manifold unsavoury aspects of that tournament, and the fact that in strict footballing terms, it was quite mediocre.

 

Because of the time difference between South America and Europe, many of the games were televised live late in the evening here, and satellite technology was thankfully still a touch rough and ready, so the picture quality was not always pristine, and the commentary came through in that gloriously evocative "telephone line" flavour. Digital technology soon arrived and ruined everything....

 

My chief recollections of the 1978 edition are falling asleep shortly after the start of the epic Argentina v France match, and being told the next morning by my brother of the numerous dramas which had unfolded. Another incident which lingers in the mind is the France v Hungary encounter, where a clash of kits resulted in the French players donning the shirts of a local club team.  In another match, a pitch-side microphone picked up a piercing cry of pain from one of the Italy players who had been heavily fouled - I think it was Renato Zaccarelli. Of course, any summary of 1978 would not be complete without mention of Archie Gemmill's slalomesque exploits against the Netherlands, or indeed of the two remarkable long-range goals scored by Arie Haan, or the "plaster-cast" gamesmanship immediately before kick-off in the final...

 

A central part of World Cup culture in those days was the Panini sticker album. Agonisingly, my older brother collected all the stickers in 1978 except one.  I recall that the missing player was one of the Scotland squad;it might have been someone like Bruce Rioch or Don Masson...

 

In 1982, I was at secondary school, and I vividly recall the customary rush home after lessons to catch the beginning of the afternoon game. It was faintly surreal to see England involved, after their absence in the previous two World Cups, and many must have found this disorienting. The preponderance of bubble perms and excessively tight shorts could not disguise our abject mediocrity, despite a misleading opening win against France. We duly ran out of steam and ideas in the second phase games. Unbeaten, yes, but that was really meaningless.

 

Spain 1982 was a curate's egg, featuring some excellent football alongside some less appetizing aspects. The Brazil team of that year entranced everyone with its panache and flair, and I was one of many who struggled to come to terms with their exit at the hands of Italy. Even then, I failed to grasp the idea that a team needed to defend as well as attack in order to prevail against the better opposition. It was only with the benefit of time and discernment that I was able to recognise the overall quality of that Italian team, and the fact that they were very worthy winners.

 

People generally tend to wax lyrical, and make inflated claims, about "cultural" events which occurred just as their consciousness of those types of events was dawning. 1978 and 1982, I can see now, were nowhere near as good as 1974. Indeed, I think there is a strong argument for saying that 1974 was the best World Cup, in terms of the strength in depth of the teams involved, and the overall quality and tactical interest of the football on display. 1970 and 1986 were both lavishly entertaining, but the altitude and heat distorted matters, leading to tired defences and innumerable mistakes. 1974 was "proper" football, physically robust but enterprising.

I just hope that the 2014 competition approaches the glories of the past.