‘Don’t Stop Me Now’: The Queen song Brian May was wrong to hate
Sometimes, during the creative process, it’s hard to see the wood for the trees. When you’re deeply immersed in making something, trying to piece it together, it can be easy to miss the fact that what you’re creating is actually something extraordinary. That’s exactly what happened to Brian May, who found himself unable to get out of his own head enough to appreciate ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’.
Being in a band requires a huge amount of openness and trust. In order for a person to feel comfortable bringing a piece of art they’ve been working on to a group and offering it up to a collective; they have to feel supported or at least know that their bandmates won’t throw it back in their face and laugh. That’s why it’s so common for musicians to refer to their group as their family. The bonds between collaborators grow so strong because there is a requirement for vulnerability beyond the average friendship where two mates meet down the pub and perhaps talk about how they’re feeling.
But there also has to be a level at which they put their personal lives aside and focus on the task at hand. It’s a tricky balance: honouring the art and honouring the artists, and when it came to making ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’, May struggled to get it right.
It was 1978 when Freddie Mercury came into the studio with a new idea. A Night at the Opera in 1975 had made them big, A Day at the Races and News Of The World kept the hype going, and now they were working on Jazz. Beyond the music, the band were settling into their roles as rockstars and new celebrities. Mercury, especially, was beginning to dive deep into total hedonism, hosting his infamously lavish parties and generally enjoying being part of the new cultural elite as he buzzed around the social sphere. The band felt like they were “getting better at having a good time”, and that’s where the song’s initial spark came from.
But as a friend, watching his other friend, May seemed to already be worrying about Mercury. Two years prior, in 1976, the singer had ended his romantic relationship with long-term partner Mary Austin as he came out as gay and moved out of their flat to explore his sexuality. At a time when the AIDS crisis in America was beginning to take a terrifying grip and fear was spreading to the UK, May couldn’t help but be concerned.
Then suddenly, here was his friend, coming into the studio singing about being a “sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb” and declaring he was on a “collision course” powered by a mission for nothing but a good time. It’s an anthem for reckless abandon in the face of fun, and at the time, May struggled to see beyond his own concerns.
“I didn’t really take to it in the beginning. I didn’t feel totally comfortable with what Freddie was singing at the time,” May told Guitar Player, “I found it a little bit too flippant in view of the dangers of AIDS and stuff.” But, as all good collaborators do, May trusted his bandmate and still gave the song his best, writing its iconic riff and helping Mercury realise the vision of the song. When it was finally released in 1979 to huge praise, and the longer he spent seeing crowds react to the song, the more he realised that his initial doubts were all projections.
“As time went on, I began to realise that it gave people great joy,” he said. “I had to give in. It’s a great song – there’s no way around it,” he continued. “I think that’s what Freddie had an amazing knack of doing: he could put his button on things that make people feel a bit more alive.”
