Spies and Secrets: F.B.I.

Ian Hunter: F.B.I.
[purchase the album at a very high price]
[purchase just the song, at a reasonable price]

Growing up, as a good liberal child in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the FBI was the enemy. Under the leadership of director J. Edgar Hoover, and after his death, the FBI was instrumental in trying to suppress the civil rights and anti-war movements, discriminate against gays, and generally act as a tool of the “Establishment.” I personally have no problem with enforcing the law, if done fairly and within the bounds of the law—and so I have no problem with the FBI’s anti organized crime or terrorism work, for example—but with respect to the civil rights and antiwar stuff, they definitely crossed the line. Which may be why, in part, it wasn’t hard to watch The Americans, and find myself sorta pulling for the Russians, even though watching the show demonstrated that they were also pretty horrible.

It is interesting, though, that now it is the “leader” of the American government himself who is the biggest critic of the FBI, despite the fact that he appointed its director. And let me be clear—former director Comey deserved to be fired by whichever candidate won the 2016 election because of the way he botched the handling of the investigations of both candidates. But to have done so for the explicit reason of impeding the investigation into alleged conspiracy with Russia to influence the election is simply wrong, and probably illegal. So, it is amusing that these days, it seems like it is the liberal Democrats who seem to be bigger fans of the FBI than the Republicans.

I doubt that the FBI is that big a deal in England, much as the band The Shadows was never that big a deal here. (How’s that for a clunky segue?) But in England, they were huge, with multiple hits, and lead guitarist Hank Marvin influenced pretty much every great English/Canadian/Australian guitarist, including Richard Thompson, Andy Summers, Brian May, Steve Howe, George Harrison, Neil Young, Tommy Emmanuel, Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend, Mark Knopfler, Peter Frampton, and Jeff Beck. Just to name a few.

Although they started out as the backup band for Cliff Richard, maybe the poster child for “huge in England, mostly unknown in the US,” the Shadows went on to fame in their own right, mostly as an instrumental band. “F.B.I.,” released in 1961, was not their biggest hit, but it did hit #6 on the UK charts (and never charted in the US.)

Ian Hunter opened his 1980 live album, Welcome to the Club, with a cover of the song, featuring his band’s guitarist, Mick Ronson, who has also been quoted as saying that Marvin and The Shadows were influences on him. (Both Ronson and Marvin appeared on Roger Daltrey’s solo album, One of the Boys, for what that’s worth). It is a great way to kick off a great live album that includes a bunch of Hunter’s and Mott the Hoople’s best songs (and some other interesting covers). I remember playing this album more than a few times at WPRB.

The aforementioned Brian May also covered the song on a 1996 tribute album to Marvin and The Shadows, as have others.

Wine: Killer Queen

Queen: Killer Queen [purchase]

Like many people, A Night At The Opera, and particularly, “Bohemian Rhapsody” was my gateway to Queen. That album came out in 1975, when I was in high school, and it really was not like anything else I (or most people) had heard. My love for that album led me to look at their prior albums, which at that point consisted of their self-titled debut from 1973, and Queen II and Sheer Heart Attack, both (!) released in 1974.

What made Queen so fascinating was that they were one part heavy metal, one part prog, one part vaudeville and music hall, and one part pop, but elevated above the pack by Freddy Mercury’s other worldly voice, Brian May’s distinctive guitars, and a strong rhythm section. Mercury, who has been scientifically proven (!) to have been the world’s greatest singer, would have turned 72 today, had he not died in 1991.

While Queen’s debut may have tilted toward metal, and their second, filled with tales of fairies and black and white queens, might have been more proggy, Sheer Heart Attack, was, as its title hinted, more straightforward hard rock. But not completely.

In fact, the big hit single from the album—their first international hit that made it to No. 2 on the UK charts and No. 12 on the US charts, was “Killer Queen,” a song that Mercury stated was not the hard rock that people expected from Queen, but was more like a song that Noel Coward might have sung. In addition to using a grand piano, Mercury overdubbed it with an upright, to give it a vaudeville feel. And May’s multitracked guitar solo is excellent (and one of his favorites)—he added it late in the recording process because he had been in the hospital with hepatitis and a stomach ulcer.

“Killer Queen” is a song about a high class call girl, and the lyrics set this up by informing us, at the song’s very start:

She keeps Moët et Chandon
In her pretty cabinet.

Moët et Chandon, is, of course, a famous maker of champagne, whose history goes back to 1743, and its prestige made it a perfect signifier for the expensive (if not quite Dom Pérignon-level) tastes of the person who Mercury was describing in the song.

One problem, though—he pronounced it wrong.

The Other Guy: Brian May

Queen: 39
[purchase]

As much as Mick is associated with the Stones, Freddie Mercury’s soaring vocals are synonymous with Queen. And yet, most Queen albums included at least one, sometimes more, songs sung by the other members of the band, typically guitarist Brian May and bassist Roger Taylor. Both men could certainly sing, but neither had a voice with the distinctive qualities of Mercury. Of course, few vocalists do, so that is not really a criticism.

I’ve been a fan of Queen since high school, and like many my age listened to their classic A Night at the Opera many, many times. As much as “Bohemian Rhapsody” blew my teenage mind, and the rest of the album was enjoyable (including the Taylor-sung “I’m in Love with my Car,”) something about "’39," sung by May, has stuck with me through the years.

Until I started researching this post, I was under the apparently common mistaken impression that the song was about 1939 and the start of World War II. The wistful tone of the song fit with my belief that it was about someone looking back to the simpler times before the war, which devastated England beyond what we here in the States experienced.

Turns out, the song is about space travel.

The song, which May has described as “sci-fi skiffle,” tells the story of space explorers who head off on a journey and return a year later, only to find that a hundred years have passed, and everyone they knew is dead. Thus, the wistfulness.

In addition to being one of the greatest and most distinctive guitarists in rock music, Brian May is an astrophysicist. He was studying for his Ph.D when he decided to take a break to become a rock star. But he was no slacker, and in 2007, he finally completed his degree. Shortly thereafter, he was appointed Chancellor of Liverpool John Moores University, a mostly ceremonial position, allowing him to continue to tour and make guest appearances, including at the London Olympics. May has also co-written books on astrophysics and has an asteroid named after him. So, if he wants to write a song about space travel and “time dilation,” he has the musical and intellectual chops to pull it off.

Interestingly, although May sings the song on the album, in concert Mercury usually sang the lead.