Night At The Opera, A (Limited Edition Replica Vinyl) [Remastered] - Queen > Reviews > Aida in platform heels

Author's product rating:   

Originality	Groundbreaking
Lyrics	Thought-provoking
Quality and consistency of tracks	Flawless
How does it compare to the artist's other releases	Outstanding
Value for Money

Advantages:	The group's best
Disadvantages:	None

Recommend to potential buyers:

yes

Full review

Whatever your tastes in popular music, ‘A Night At The Opera’ was clearly one of the defining albums of the 70s. From that striking sleeve design, the group’s logo on a white background (which sadly has far less impact on the CD than it did in the days of vinyl) and the invitation-style script, to the music inside, it was a record you couldn’t ignore at the time, whether you loved or hated it.

Not the least remarkable thing about it was that it was Queen’s fourth album, and they went on to make a further nine after that (excluding live sets, greatest hits collections and the post-Freddie Mercury ‘Made in Heaven’), but without in my view ever equalling, let alone surpassing, this.

The music was so diverse it was extraordinary. Hard rock one moment, camp novelty singalong the next. And the sound was staggering. ‘No synthesizers were used’ was a regular credit on the album sleeves for the first years of their career. But the multi-layered vocal and guitar overdubs, achieving what was in effect a full chorus and orchestra in the studio (in 1975, when audio technology fell far short of what it can do today), all combined with the versatility of the group as songwriters and musicians, not least what the sleeve/booklet calls Freddie’s ‘Bechstein debauchery’ (or 'Aida' in platform heels, as one contemporary critic dubbed it), resulted in something pretty astonishing. Pretentious, absurd, laughable, tongue-in-cheek – but so riotously entertaining that it would be churlish to knock them for it.

‘Death On Two Legs’ is a bitter attack on their previous manager Jack Nelson, who had shafted them in the early days. A wash of angry guitar, followed by that sturdy piano and drums underpinning, set the tone for some pretty venomous lyrics.

Having got the nasty stuff out of the way first, track two brings a great cheesy grin in its wake. The short and sweet ‘Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon’, at a pinch over one minute long the briefest track of all, is music hall campery at its best. If you remember some of the Kinks’ mock-1920s singalong numbers from the 60s and early 70s, this might remind you of them. And the simulated kazoos (massively overdubbed vocals, for the first and not the last time) just before the end are both hilarious and extremely well done).

With barely a pause for breath (nearly all the tracks on this album just flow into each other without a break) comes another hard rock number, drummer Roger Taylor’s sole composition on the album. ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ is, as the title suggests, an automobile fanatic’s dream, a paean of praise to his vehicle. Clever lyrics, grinding guitars and sound effects at the end. It dovetails into bassist John Deacon’s one and only writing contribution to the album, ‘You’re My Best Friend’. Well known as the second single (which was released as such against the band’s wishes, and only after it had topped a Capital Radio daily phone-in chart on the strength of its being rumoured as a possible single), it’s a pleasant enough mid-tempo number, a little Beach Boys-like in its summery mood. At first I thought it the dullest number of the lot, but admit it grew on me after a while.

‘39’, on the other hand, is for me one of the best they ever recorded. A folksy song by Brian featuring crisp 12-string acoustic guitar to the fore (with more multi-tracked electric guitar mock orchestration, and heavily phased chorus vocals), it has a kind of skiffle beat with that simple bass (upright string bass? – sounds like it) rhythm. As for the lyrics – well, for a long time, I wondered if it had anything to do with the outbreak of World War II in 1939 and its story of people sailing away to a new land. Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. With the exception of ‘The Big One’, surely the album’s high point.

‘Sweet Lady’ is another gutsy rocker, maybe a little misogynistic, and a dead ringer for the Rolling Stones in similar vein, but it’s likeable enough. It sits in neatly between the preceding song and another camp vaudeville ditty, Freddie’s very funny ‘Seaside Rendezvous’. Picture the group with striped blazers and straw boaters on this one, and if it’s a trifle lightweight, it’s very cleverly done.

‘The Prophet’s Song’, which opened side two of the original vinyl release, is the album’s longest number, clocking in at over eight minutes. Dark, moody, and a portentous hard rock epic coming somewhere between Led Zeppelin and Iron Maiden, for me it’s one of the less interesting exhibits on display.

Ringing the changes again. ‘Love Of My Life’ is one of Freddie’s prettiest songs, with some equally lovely guitar orchestrations and Brian’s harp (full string harp, not the kind Bob Dylan and others wear around the neck). After that it’s back to music hall on ‘Good Company’, with Brian strumming a mean ukulele (well, it might be more guitar trickery) with visions of George Formby. A clever combination of vocal and guitar effects also manage to produce a kind of Dixieland jazz band effect towards the end. If ‘ANATO’ is Queen’s ‘Sergeant Pepper’, this is their ‘When I’m 64’, and if it doesn’t raise a smile, then check your pulse.

What more can be said about the next track, the immortal ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’? The landmark mock-operatic epic which EMI initially didn’t want the group to issue as a single on the grounds that it would never sell, until the late Kenny Everett played an advance tape on his radio show and twisted their arm. The number which gave rise to one of the earliest and still most staggering music videos ever. The song which introduced the phrase ‘Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango’, into the English language. The only recording which has ever topped the UK charts in four different years (1975, 1976, 1991, 1992). Need I go on?

And what could possibly follow that? Well, none other than Brian’s amazing, tongue-in-cheek yet technically perfect electric guitar version of the National Anthem, as reprised at the Golden Jubilee Party at the Palace in June 2002.

The album was an instant classic, and remains that way nearly 30 years later. One or two of the songs don’t quite cut it for me out of context, but taken as a whole, everything seems to slot perfectly into place. Any way the wind blows, as the guys said themselves.

The three ‘Greatest Hits’ CDs, now available as a set as well as singly, may be an essential addition to anyone’s collection, but in my view some of their later singles and albums were just treading water. If you’ve ever had a soft spot for the group and don’t own it already, ‘ANATO’ is a must-buy.