Drunk again

But maybe not drunk enough this time, I do not know. I ended that sentence with a full stop, for instance. No way does that bode well.

I also ain’t been dancing with no people who I felt the need to say “Hey, you know what it is? Peter Fox is what it is. Aw yeeeeeh!” I been to see Bob Log III on my own at a venue with an audience consisting mostly of people about 10-15 years older than myself who has maybe got subscriptions for Uncut and Word magazines. I drank two Kopparbergs whilst mad crazy overdressed for the temperature levels of the venue, hence drunk I is.

But, y’know, last drunken post I made got twice the hits of the last sober one, and far be it from me to be getting cynical about this sort of thing, but 50 hits in a day? This, for me, is kind of like not-quite-Christmas, so perhaps Hannukah or something, but it’s enough for me to go at this again.

FREDDIE MERCURY & MONTSERRAT CABALLE – Barcelona

I went home via one of the local burger shops despite knowing full well I had microwaveable lasagne in the freezer at home and given ten minutes I could have that in my tum, but no, some desire within me required burger and chips. And as I was in there, a young couple was trying to figure out what pizza to share, and they chose the “Barcelona”.

At that precise instant, the chorus of this RIPPED INTO MY BRAIN. And it’s been effing years since I heard this, had any cause to hear this, but there it was – “BAR-CE-LO NAAAAAAAH!!!”

“BAR-CE-LO NAAAAAAAH!!!”

This song is completely magic I had forgotten all about it but here I am in my bed at 1am on a Monday morning, and what is here with me?

“BAR-CE-LO NAAAAAAAH!!!”

THIS IS YOUR FUCKING DREAM POP! This is what inspires, this one word, bellowed by Freddie and Montserrat, paints a thousand colours in your mind all at once, a whole world unfurls beneath you, and at this precise moment in time it’s the most romantic piece of art I can think of.

I have never seen Barcelona. Things I know about it are roughly limited to their football team running things in the 90s, back before British teams over-ran Europe and year after year European coverage would be politely cajoling us into encouraging Rangers to try and overcome the might of AEK Athens, or watching Aston Villa go out in the third round of the UEFA Cup to Helsingborgs again – back when European football seemed exotic, these Continental superpowers in their titanic stadia, the elite units of the football world, the greatest players in the game summoned together to do battle and make Steve Bruce look like a wally – the names whispered in hushed tones by the kids at school who read World Soccer and who would cut you in half with their looks if you so much as mentioned Christian Vieri’s name – back when the best in football took place in far-off lands between stubble-chinned gods, and we were left with watching Ian Dowie and Darren Peacock jostling by the corner flag and we were happy with it…

This became the anthem of the 1992 Olympic Games, because this song makes Barcelona sound like the most magical place on earth. This song – well, that one word, to be precise – elevates Barcelona beyond the modern city into that realm of the mystical Better Place – the Place For Us, the Time & Place For Us. Listening to this song, it is clear that in Barcelona, no-one will ever bitch about how the council has messed up the bin collection schedule again, or about how British Gas are a bunch of blooody rip-off merchants. Barcelona is magical. Barcelona is the promised land.

This is what makes my relationship to Queen so troubled – on the one hand, their songs do have this annoying knack of being wheeled out for any occasion at all, and it’s fucking annoying, because “We Are The Champions” JUST FUCK OFF GOD DAMMIT – but on the other, no-one does this anymore, do they? It’s why the people on Strictly Come Dancing treasure Bruce Forsyth so much, because they all know that none of them can do what he does. None of them can make occasion, can command the stage or the audience like he can. Queen, in a way, have emasculated an entire generation of rock bands; Freddie Mercury has done the same to a generation of rock singers. Because they cannot touch this, or at least they are not prepared to try.

Or the world is not prepared to let them.

When was the last time a British band could make anything sound so magical as “BAR-CE-LO NAAAAAAH!!!”? Who could be so unafraid as Freddie here, so enamoured with possibility, so in love with the world? Maybe people do it differently nowadays, I do not know. Maybe irony has shielded us, cushioned us, blinded us, distracted us… maybe we’re all idiots stuck chasing our childhoods, chasing simplicity… maybe it’s just me…

“Barcelona” makes me wanna be excited again, like how I used to be. Shit, that’s probably a terrible thing. This song needs a revival, though.

Oh dear, I fear I might be sober again.