Category Archives: The 80s

Scarface: The World Is Pacino’s

“The most popular movie I’ve ever made is Scarface (1983), all over the world. It’s amazing to me. It’s wonderful. We sometimes forget that it was Oliver Stone who wrote it. He is a political creature, and I think that is an undercurrent in the movie. And the combination of him and Brian De Palma made for this kind of fusion or explosion. It worked.”

– Al Pacino

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Brian De Palma’s Scarface is a remake of a 1932 Howard Hawks film of the same name.

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Paul Muni as Tony Camonte in Scarface (1932)

It was a fictionalised version of the life of real-life Chicago gangster Al Capone whose nickname was Scarface. (Tony Montana has an unhealthy obsession with stopping his sister being with other men. It’s possible screenwriter Oliver Stone based this character trait on the brother in the Capone story below, directly connecting it back to the origin of the nickname Scarface.)

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By the early 1980s, Universal started to revisit the works of Howard Hawks to remake them. John Carpenter’s The Thing was first out of the gate in 1982 and was hated by critics and died a death at the box office.

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Scarface was next on the agenda. Pacino had seen the 1932 original in a cinema a few years previously and was amazed at Paul Muni’s performance as Tony Camonte, the Scarface of the title. He went outside, called producer Martin Bregman and told him he wanted to star in a remake. Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro had also planned a Scarface remake but Pacino got there first. So the wheels of production started. (Four years after Scarface, director Brian De Palma would tackle the real-life Scarface’s story with Robert De Niro playing Al Capone in “The Untouchables” (1987).)

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Scarface is quite Shakespearean, something Pacino, a stage-trained actor and renowned aficionado of The Bard, must have noticed. Tony Montana murders his way to the top of the Miami underworld just as Macbeth murders his way to the Scottish throne and both men pay dearly for their immoral actions. As in Hamlet, everyone dies in the end (imagine how many bodies would litter the stage at the denouement if Scarface were a play!).

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The over-the-top nature of the film and its characters has been called “operatic” and I believe this is the correct way to look at its excesses (particularly that ending where a cocaine-fuelled Montana raves and rants while being shot to pieces from all angles by a hit squad like he’s demonically-possessed). Opera gets away with it though as its arty, Scarface with its gaudiness, drugs, f-words and blue collar aspirations was given none of that slack. (It’s surprising that nobody has thought of doing Scarface as an opera yet, I can see it now.) It was attacked by everyone. Critics found the ultra-violence deplorable, particularly the chainsaw lobotomy scene in the shower during the botched drug deal. In the film’s defence, Colombian cartels did use chainsaws to savagely dispose of enemies and rivals. So Oliver Stone was merely holding a mirror up to society and reflecting back an uncomfortable modern truth that he discovered in his extensive research. Cubans took the depiction of Montana as a slur on their people and the director and producer of Scarface began getting death threats and switched the shooting schedule from Miami to Los Angeles.

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Pacino outlined how he prepared to take on the role of Tony Montana: “I worked with an expert in knife combat, with a physical education guy who helped me get the kind of body I wanted for the part. I used the boxer Roberto Durán a little bit. There was an aspect of Durán , a certain lion in him that I responded to in this character. And I was very inspired by Meryl Streep’s work in “Sophie’s Choice” (1982). I thought that her way of involving herself in playing someone who is from another country and another world was particularly fine and committed and… courageous.”

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Like Brando’s Godfather, Pacino disappears inside his character in a way he rarely has before or since (he mostly plays thinly-disguised versions of himself with big, shouty moments.) Like Brando’s Vito Corleone, his Tony Montana has instantly recognisable lines (his “Say hello to my little friend!” is up there with “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.”) and mannerisms (do an impression of Scarface or The Godfather and people know virtually straight away who it is, even if they haven’t seen the movies each character comes from.) Both Vito Corleone and Tony Montana are immigrants to the United States who set about establishing crime empires on the east coast (Corleone in New York, Montana down south in Miami, Florida). Both endure assassination attempts and both fight back ruthlessly against their enemies to retain control. The Godfather belongs to a timeless, monolithic, mythic storytelling tradition, Scarface was compared to a spaghetti western by critic Pauline Kael, she called it “hot and raw.” With its 1980 fashions, hairstyles and Giorgio Moroder disco score, Scarface seems more dated than The Godfather, even though it was made eleven years later.

Al Pacino remembered the shell-shocked reaction to Scarface after its premiere: “We couldn’t show our faces after it opened. I was at a party after a screening at Sardi’s. I walked in and the faces looked like those in a wax museum. People were sitting so still. Liza Minnelli was there. She hadn’t seen the movie. She came up to me and said: ‘What did you do to these people?’ And yet it survived.”

Like John Carpenter’s The Thing, another Howard Hawks remake that was mauled, Scarface eventually found an audience on home video and a cult reputation began to emerge. Eventually, it became a part of popular culture, even being referenced in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective by Jim Carrey. The black rap community took Scarface to their hearts (you’d be hard-pressed to find an episode of MTV Cribs featuring a rapper who didn’t flash a DVD of Scarface at the camera as it went through their home.) Universal even wanted to release a remixed version of Pacino’s Scarface with a new rap soundtrack at one point but director Brian de Palma refused to allow it.

The Magnificent Seven (1960) was a western that was a remake of a Japanese film called The Seven Samurai (1954). Recently, we had the remake of the remake with the studio recycling the old cowboy movie again instead of having, say, seven mercenaries protecting a village from a Taliban warlord or ISIS. Pacino’s Scarface was a remake of the old Howard Hawks 1932 film. Now we’re getting the remake of the remake again and it appears they’re just going to recycle the 80s Cuban druglord story again instead of, say, having Montana be a criminal mingling in with the Syrian refugees flooding the world now. (Sure, you’d have the PC brigade down on you for that but so did Pacino and Co. in the 80s. They took risks that paid off spectacularly. They took an old story, updated it and made it ultra-relevant again. Studios now only want safe bets. You won’t see them taking huge risks on new stories and talent as they did in the 70s now.)Pacino Diego Luna

Diego Luna has been cast as the new Tony Montana and he has his work cut out for him already having to go up against Pacino’s monstrous Tony. I don’t know how you could top or even match that performance. It’s epic scenery-chewing.

I give every remake the benefit of the doubt. Nobody liked Pacino’s Scarface, but it’s now looked on as a classic. They’ll release new versions of the 1983 Scarface to coincide with the release of the remake too, it will probably get a 4k scan and new extras on disc. Another reason to welcome the remake, even if it seems unnecessary. The world is and always will be Tony Montana’s, whoever plays him.

© Stewart Stafford, 2017. All rights reserved.

2016: George Michael’s Last Christmas

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George Michael died in his sleep on Christmas Day 2016 of suspected heart failure. I always associated him with Christmas because of his classic 1984 hit Last Christmas (written, produced and recorded by him when he was 21 years old, amazing) and to a lesser extent with December Song (I Dreamed of Christmas), one of his last releases in 2009. Now the anniversary of his death will always be December 25th, tying him to the festive season permanently and in a much bigger way.

So many of the 80s generation of stars I grew up listening to are gone now; George, Michael Jackson, Prince and Whitney Houston. And so many musicians have died this year including the great David Bowie (the first anniversary of his passing is in a fortnight), Prince, Rick Parfitt of Status Quo earlier this week (who sang on the Band Aid record with George) and now poor old George Michael is added to that tragic list.

The body of work of stars like those become the yardstick by which we measure our lives. Hearing a hit of theirs immediately transports you back to an earlier time in your life. George Michael had a 34-year career, but his legacy was really assured after about two decades. He was controversial, getting into legal battles with his record company, releasing songs like ‘I Want Your Sex’ in the era of the AIDS epidemic, being arrested for lewd conduct in a toilet in California, a string of car crashes, one of which lead to him spending time in jail and a series of health scares including an emergency tracheotomy to save his life when he got pneumonia on tour in Austria.

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Last Christmas is a classic for me as it captures the bittersweet feeling of the festive season. I’ve had Christmases of great joy and extreme sadness in my life. You just approach each one thinking ‘let’s hope it’s a good one’ like John Lennon cautiously wrote and sang in his Christmas song, ‘Happy Xmas (War Is Over).’ The song ‘Last Christmas’; and its memorable snowy video, deals with the trials and tribulations of young love and all the heartache and happiness that’s a part of it. It’s not automatically happy clappy, there’s a sadness there that echoes George’s own life.

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I’ve heard ‘Last Christmas’ four times in the past few days before news of George’s death was reported. The pilot of a plane I was a passenger on played it on the plane’s sound system as we landed in London, I heard it again half an hour later in Heathrow airport itself and twice more on a CD in a car I was travelling in, including Christmas Day 2016, just hours before his death. Little did I know its creator was about to leave us. There have been over 395 cover versions of Last Christmas and, no doubt, that will only grow and grow in the wake of George’s death.

George remembered Christmas as a child: ”I do love Christmas. I always have loved it, ever since I was a child. When I was young both my parents used to work so hard and they always seemed quite stressed to me. But at Christmas everyone would calm down and be nice to each other for a few days, and that used to make me feel very safe. It’s Frank Sinatra who reminds me of Christmas. During the school holidays, when I was a kid, I used to work behind the bar of my dad’s restaurant in Edgware [North London], and he’d always play Sinatra records for the customers. So that association is very strong for me. Why doesn’t it snow at the right time anymore, like it did in the ’60s? If it could snow on Christmas Eve or something that would be perfect.”

George nearly died of pneumonia at Christmas 2011 and he recalled how much he appreciated things that year: ”Best Christmas I can remember, surrounded by the people I love. And knowing that Christmas could have been very different this year for everyone at that table. As it was we stuffed and laughed ourselves silly. I’m such a lucky man! I hope you all had a great one.”

Sadly, he didn’t survive Christmas 2016.

I was lucky enough to see George in concert twice in Dublin within six months on his 25 Live tour. The first one in what’s now called the 3Arena was my favourite. He hadn’t toured extensively and his voice was still in great condition. At one stage, all the girls in the audience screamed simultaneously and a soundwave went right through my head, rocking me a bit. It was a little taste of what Beatlemania must have been like with that wall of screams filling the concert venue. The second gig was outdoors at Dublin’s RDS in the showjumping arena where I’d seen Prince fifteen years before (everyone I see in concert seems to die, I might bar myself from future shows to save lives.)

We need our musicians, the way we need all creative people to try and make sense of our lives and the world around us through their work. When they die, part of us dies with them. George Michael really was a genius. He was a huge fan of Queen and sang with them at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert, but he achieved what they did alone. There were four songwriters, producers and musicians in Queen. So George is more like Bowie in that respect, but George was producing his own songs by himself from his early 20s, whereas Bowie always had a co-producer helping him, so George’s achievements are even more impressive in light of that.

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Wham! were even starting to enjoy an ironic mini-comeback thanks to the year’s big hit movie Deadpool where the hero keeps mentioning them to comic effect throughout the movie. Sad that he won’t get the chance to take advantage of that as there are some great songs there. Predictably though, there will be an inevitable huge surge in sales of George Michael and Wham! songs in the coming days, weeks and months.

I was going to bed on Christmas night and checked my messages to see if British Airways had traced my missing luggage for my wedding (they haven’t!). That’s when I saw George had died and my heart sank. Then I reminded myself of his self-destructive nature and that we were lucky to have had him as long as we did. In this age of karaoke X-Factor wannabes stealing their 15 minutes of fame by parroting old songs, he was a true original. We really will never see another like him. Rest in peace, George.

© Stewart Stafford, 2016. All rights reserved

Behind “The Shining”

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A nightmare inspired Stephen King to write The Shining novel:

“In late September of 1974, [my wife] and I spent a night at a grand old hotel in Estes Park, the Stanley. We were the only guests as it turned out, the following day they were going to close the place down for the winter. Wandering through its corridors, I thought that it seemed the perfect – maybe the archetypal – setting for a ghost story. That night I dreamed of my three-year-old son running through the corridors, looking back over his over shoulder, eyes wide, screaming.”

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Director Stanley Kubrick on the set of “The Shining” with Jack Nicholson

“Jack comes to the hotel psychologically prepared to do its murderous bidding. He doesn’t have very much further to go for his anger and frustration to become completely uncontrollable. He is bitter about his failure as a writer. He is married to a woman for whom he has only contempt. He hates his son. In the hotel, at the mercy of its powerful evil, he is quickly ready to fulfil his dark role.” – Stanley Kubrick

The Shining (1980) begins with epic, sweeping helicopter shots of Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) and his family driving through the Rocky Mountains. Its director and co-screenwriter, Stanley Kubrick, was scared of flying and sent his second unit to get the shots. The shots become important later when some of the local legends about Native American burial grounds and the cannibals of the Donner Party are brought into play. They also serve to begin the story wide open before venturing into the interiors of the Overlook Hotel and the minds of Jack Torrance and his psychic son Danny. The epic vistas could be made to seem exciting but the ominous, creepy music lets us know we are entering dark territory.

The Shining at heart is a traditional haunted house movie. However, it defies genre conventions by raising uncomfortable social issues like domestic violence, child abuse and racism, issues which were only starting to be publicly discussed in 1980. This further unsettles the audience. Plus, it has the ghosts interacting physically with the human characters, like when a spirit unlocks the pantry where Wendy has locked Jack and sets him free (some people I saw the film with found that hard to believe and that they were unable to suspend disbelief beyond that point).

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Then there is the scene where Jack goes to the forbidden room 237. He sees an attractive, naked young woman emerge from the bathtub and they embrace, only for her to turn into a cackling crone and witch-like figure with a decomposing body. There Kubrick appears to be playing with the psychology of dreams and ageing nightmares.

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“I think The Shining uses a…kind of psychological misdirection to forestall the realization that the supernatural events are actually happening.” – Stanley Kubrick

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There was a recent documentary about The Shining appropriately titled Room 237. In voice-over, people we never see expound on their theories as to what Kubrick’s The Shining is really about. One person thinks it’s a metaphor for the genocide of Native Americans by white settlers. Another believes it to be about the Nazi Holocaust against the Jews of Europe. Someone else sees the Apollo 11 jumper Jack’s son Danny is wearing as proof that Kubrick faked the Apollo moon landings for NASA in 1969 in a television studio. There is a fascinating section of the documentary that explains that Kubrick was getting very interested in subliminal imagery at the time and that The Shining is loaded with signifiers of this type. A movie that began as a novelist’s nightmare and that is presented in such a consistently surreal fashion is, like a dream itself, open to many interpretations.

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Peter Sellers in the inspired lunacy of Dr Strangelove

There was always dark humour running through the work of Stanley Kubrick, most notably in Dr Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964). Kubrick also loved his actors to improvise and these elements came together in the The Shining when Jack Nicholson came up with the line: “Here’s Johnny!” A wicked parody of the line that introduced Johnny Carson on his chat show, it became the most famous line in the movie, was used as the poster image and is one of the most famous lines in film history.

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When Jack Torrance is waiting for his interview in the reception area of the Overlook Hotel at the start of the film, he’s reading an issue of Playgirl magazine that has an article about incest in it. The Shining could be seen as an Oedipal tale with the son killing the father (Danny traps his father in the maze where he gets lost and freezes to death, Danny carefully retraces his footsteps and saves himself) so he can have his mother all to himself in their new life together.

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© Stewart Stafford, 2016. All rights reserved.

Queen at the Castle Part 2

Dawn. July 5th, 1986. The bus carrying my brother and I took off from Sallynoggin Church and our odyssey to Slane Castle to see the mighty Queen began. On the bus, we met a guy who went to our school. He’d formed a band and we chatted with him for a while.

Eventually, we left the outskirts of Dublin and entered the verdant area of County Meath where Slane Castle is located. The bus stopped, we got out and began the walk to the castle grounds. Along the route, we saw many people selling Queen paraphernalia. (You can see more about some of the counterfeit material on sale on the day in this clip here; https://youtu.be/amquOZpC2iA) The official merchandise was on sale inside the grounds. A t-shirt cost nearly twice the price of the concert ticket if I remember correctly. Crazy money.

The first big surprise of the day was that Slane is a natural bowl shape and wasn’t like a flat stadium venue (during Radio Ga Ga, I looked back to see this vast forest of clapping hands going up onto the hill in the sunset. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since)

We made our way downhill towards the stage and found a good spot about three-quarters of the way up the field (we were by the right spotlight tower at the front in this picture).

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I saw a guy in front of me wearing an army jacket with the four heads from Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody video and Queen II album cover on the back of it. I got a flashback to the time Bo Rhap was number one in ’75. I remember asking my dad why that video was on at the end of the show every week. He told me it was because it was the best selling song of the week. It struck me how long their music had been in my life.

The show kicked off with long-forgotten Irish group, The Fountainhead. They started with their song The Rhythm Method and the sound system boomed into life and echoed in my chest like a fist pounding on it. It took a bit of getting used to. The rain started coming down and The Fountainhead were gone. A chap in front of us lay unconscious in the muddy grass with rain beating down on his face. I’ve often wondered what happened to him in the years since.

American girl group The Bangles appeared and the drunken male crowd leered into life, hurling anything they could lay their hands on at them (It was easily the roughest crowd I’ve ever been a part of at any show since.) They did their hit Manic Monday and another song called Going Down To Liverpool, which featured the line: “Where you goin’ with that UB40 in your hand?” Their blonde drummer sang that song and, upon seeing that a red shoe had landed on the stage, she rewrote the line so it went “where you goin’ with that UB40 in your FOOT?!” Someone hurled a 2-litre bottle of orange at them and it went up over their heads and spilled its sticky contents all over one of them. They were already standing at the back of the stage to avoid electrocution by the rain. Their set finished, The Bangles left the stage. 20 years later, Bangles singer Susanna Hoffs was asked what she thought of their brief Slane slot. “It was like Raging Bull,” she said, “like a Scorsese movie.” I concur.

We waited for the next act to take the stage. Another drunk guy in front of us was groping any female that went past as we ate some sandwiches from our cooler bag. Surreal wasn’t the word for it.

Chris Rea took to the stage and, to everyone’s surprise, the crowd calmed down and gave Chris a really warm reception. One journalist remarked that Chris Rea may have accounted for a sizable chunk of the ticket sales. I just sang along as I knew his songs and wanted to have a good time and I think most people were like that. I Can Hear Your Heart Beat was a particular crowd favourite with everyone singing loudly and clapping as the sun came out at last. Chris left the stage to rapturous applause. When it died down, we all knew it was time for Queen to rock us all.

Half an hour went past. It felt like three. More rain showers came down. Finally, the distorted sound of One Vision started up. Intoxicated people at the back reacted like cavemen and ran downhill towards the noise. The wave of people gathered momentum and bodies like a tsunami until it slammed into me. I was lifted off the ground and carried about ten or fifteen feet forward. My brother grabbed onto my bag strap so I wouldn’t get swept away and lost in the melee.

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Finally, the human wave seemed to stop as Freddie Mercury appeared with a crown on his head. (Freddie usually came out with his crown and ermine cape at the end as God Save The Queen played.)

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(But with political tensions of The Troubles in Northern Ireland at their height, it was wisely decided not to play it and end the show with We Are The Champions.) Here’s Freddie’s appearance on an Irish news report that I timer-recorded on our old Blaupunkt VHS recorder while we were at the show: https://youtu.be/9iPGiiAseAs)

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Queen were about to get their first taste of the dark side of the crowd. During Seven Seas of Rhye, Freddie said “Hold it, hold it!” to the rest of Queen. They stopped playing as Freddie pointed into the crowd at a young guy getting crushed. “Are you all right?” Freddie asked. It appeared that he was. Freddie took the opportunity to let the crowd know his displeasure. “We don’t like this,” Freddie said, “you guys are spoiling this concert for the rest of the people!” That got a loud cheer. About time someone tried to impose a little order on the chaos.

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It got worse before it got better. Down the front of the stage, several inebriated chaps were using a battering ram to smash through to the backstage area. The hoses that had been installed to cool the crowd in a heatwave were put to use as makeshift water cannon against the intruders. I could see the water sheeting off them down the front (you can see in the photo that their clothes and hair are wet and water is splashing on the ground as they’re running).

There was even a possibly apocryphal story of a passing drunk unplugging the live feed that Queen were recording for their Live Magic album which came out later in 1986 in December. (Or was Slane cut out in disgust by Freddie? That seems more likely.)

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One fan even managed to clamber up onto the stage as Freddie was singing and ran right at him. Freddie calmly put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and walked him to the wings where security took care of him.

The local Slane residents insisted on the show ending before dark, so Queen’s lighting effects lost a lot of their power in the fading daylight (just look at the Wembley show at night a week later to see what might have been.) The Olympic-style torches above the stage ignited during Bohemian Rhapsody to a big cheer from the crowd.

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During We Are The Champions, the whole crowd was swaying in unison at last as opposed to fighting everything. I found myself standing next to an old Hell’s Angel in a leather jacket. A dude swaying up on someone’s shoulders spilled cider on my head, a baptism in rowdiness at my debut concert. While he did apologise, I went home reeking of someone else’s alcohol. As the show ended, the Hell’s Angel asked me what I thought of the show. I was dumbstruck. “Now there’s a man of few words!” the Hell’s Angel said, “what did you think???” I managed a “great”, I think and we started the long climb up the natural hill of Slane’s auditorium. It had been a long, long day full of surprises, some good, some nasty, but the primary feeling was one of elation to have seen my idols at my first show.

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The drama didn’t end there. It’s conservatively estimated that 80,000 people attended Queen’s Slane show. I can tell you that there were at least 100,000 people, if not 120,000 in attendance. This is borne out by the crushing in the crowd and the fact that the exit wasn’t big enough to cope with the numbers trying to pour out through it at the end. My brother and I were forced off to the side by the jostling crowd and got pushed up against this barbed wire fence. We had to climb over it, balance on top of a wall and drop down several feet to the road below to get back to our bus (not easy when your legs are stiff from standing all day.). All of which had to be done in a split-second as another crush was forcing people over the barbed wire fence right on top of us. As a wide-eyed 14-year-old kid, I just went with the flow. Looking back, it’s a miracle I wasn’t seriously injured that day. Today, everything is Health & Safety. In ’86, it was Cheap & Cheerful. You sucked it up and got on with it and nobody sued for damages.

In the days before mobile phones and the internet, there was no way for us to contact home and let them know we were okay. By 10.30pm, my mother was getting frantic with worry and sent my dad out in his car to find us. (I never told my mother the full details of what happened that day as I knew she’d probably never let me out again and would be worried sick if she did.) Sure enough, we met my father at the top of Johnstown Road, he picked us up and we got home. Still buzzing from the concert, I checked the videotape to find out if it had recorded the news broadcast. It had and I still have that recording to this day (probably because it was recorded on an excellent German BASF tape.)

Next day, I woke up still tired but exhilarated. I couldn’t believe I’d seen Queen. During a lull in the Wimbledon tennis final between Boris Becker and Ivan Lendl, I went out on my bike to get the newspapers and see what they’d written about Queen at Slane. I naively thought they’d rave about the concert. The reviews rubbished Queen’s show. The Irish Sunday Independent review had the headline “Rhapsody on a Soggy Saturday.” “Queen pulverized every one of their songs with a heavy, turgid performance,” said another reviewer. I was wondering if they’d watched the same show I had.

Freddie was so enraged by the crowd’s behaviour that he vowed never to play live in Ireland again. That vow would never be put to the test as he was diagnosed with HIV nine months later and died in 1991 of complications from AIDS. Brian May apparently refused to go on for Queen’s Slane encore after being struck by an object thrown from the crowd. He did go on again after being persuaded by his bandmates. Asked about Slane in a 1989 interview, Brian diplomatically said that there was “an element of noisemakers” in the crowd but added that “the Irish crowd is wonderful to play to.” “It’s the nature of an outdoor gig that it becomes a kind of drinking party,” he said. Brian did play Ireland again in 1992 on his Back to the Light solo tour in the wake of Freddie’s death.

One possible reason for the crowd’s rowdiness at Slane ’86 is that Ireland was in recession at the time and jobs and hope were scarce. It was so bad that the Self Aid concert was organised in May 1986 to help Ireland’s unemployed. It featured U2, The Boomtown Rats and Elvis Costello among others. 30,000 people left Ireland looking for work in 1986, my brother being one of them. He was with me at Slane and, six weeks later, he was gone to America. In the year that followed, he was only home for four months. Luckily, Ireland’s Celtic Tiger boom was just a few years away in the 1990s and my brother was able to stay in Ireland and start his own successful business.

As for me, that boy of few words grew up to become a man of many words and I published my first book, The Vorbing, in October 2015.

Stewart Stafford, The Vorbing, The Vampire Creation Myth Begins, Horror

The only thing that remains is for Queen + Adam Lambert to do some Irish shows. They’ve performed everywhere except the Emerald Isle. What are you waiting for, guys? This story isn’t over yet.

© Stewart Stafford, 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Footnote:

Going through some Slane ’86 photos online, I somehow located my 14-year-old self in the crowd

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Queen+Adam Lambert HAVE announced an Irish date for late 2017 and I’ll be in attendance. The story continues…

 

 

Queen at the Castle Part 1

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It was on July 5th 1986 that I set out with my brother to my very first concert – Queen at Slane Castle in County Meath in Dublin, Ireland. The previous summer, I’d watched in awe as Freddie Mercury had stolen the Live Aid show right from under the noses of the creme de la creme of the rock and pop world. When Queen’s Magic Tour was announced in 1986, I knew I had to see them.

My brother and I saved up the money for the tickets and, in April 1986, he purchased our tickets in Golden Discs record store in Dun Laoghaire for 14.50 in old Irish pounds. We were going to see Queen live in concert. The Easter holidays ended and I went back to school knowing I had weeks of revision for summer exams to come.

We also had to figure out a way of getting there. I spotted an advertisement in the old Dunnes Stores in Cornelscourt for a bus service to Slane. We booked our seats. The last piece of the puzzle was in place.

July 4th 1986, the night before the show. The food and drink had been bought and all the preparations had been made. I remember watching a documentary on the renovation of the Statue of Liberty that was going on at the time. Then it was time for bed.

I woke up with that Christmas morning feeling – tired but high on adrenalin. We set off quietly in the dawn sunrise for our bus trip. The meeting point was Sallynogging Church where my parents had married 20 years before. My brother had also made his First Holy Communion there. Later, my mother’s funeral took place there, so it had great significance for my family. The bus arrived, we boarded and our great adventure had begun…

Copyright, Stewart Stafford, 2016. All rights reseved

His Name Was Prince

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The world lost the diminutive genius Prince earlier today. He had the moves of James Brown, the guitar virtuosity of Jimi Hendrix (just listen to the incendiary intro to When Doves Cry), the sexually ambiguous look of Little Richard, the songwriting talent of a shed load of Motown writers and the funk credentials of George Clinton and Earth, Wind and Fire.

I saw him in concert when the Diamonds & Pearls tour reached Dublin in the summer of 1992. The show was in the showjumping arena at the Royal Dublin Society (RDS), a place where Hitler’s brother once worked as a waiter (fact). The support acts were Curtis Stigers (remember him?) and Andrew Strong from The Commitments (remember him?). Then it was time for the main event at last.

Prince Dublin

The band struck up, the lights came on and the whole thing reached a crescendo, setting the scene for Prince’s arrival. Then right in the middle of the stage, a little glass coffin rose up with his Royal Purpleness within. The crowd went apeshit and the soundwave went through my head. Prince stepped out, this tiny whirling dervish, and the show never stopped moving for the next two hours. “You’re too funky for me, Dublin!” he said at one stage (and we were, he he). It was a truly dazzling gig. One of the best concerts I’ve ever seen and I’m not just saying that to jump on the bandwagon now he’s dead.

Prince Yellow Piano

Then there’s all the hits he wrote; When Doves Cry, Kiss, 1999, Batdance (right back at the start of the current superhero craze in 1989), Purple Rain, Raspberry Beret, Sign O’ The Times, Gett Off, Cream, The Most Beautiful Girl In The World and so on. He also created classic hits for other artists including I Feel For You by Chaka Khan, Nothing Compares 2 U by Sinead O’Connor and Manic Monday for The Bangles (written under the pseudonym Christopher).

Tafkap

His identity was as fluid as his dance moves and image. In dispute with his record company in the early 90s, he became Symbol (above) or T.A.F.K.A.P. (The Artist Formerly Known As Prince) and wrote the word “Slave” across his face.

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Manadatory Credit: Photo by Brian Rasic / Rex Features (396812dh) PRINCE VARIOUS

He owned his own recording studio Paisley Park which was apparently where his body was found earlier today. Prince Rogers Nelson was a true original and there will never be another. It was a privilege to have grown up with his music and it will be there forever now. We never do get the great ones for long, do we? May he funk in peace.

© Stewart Stafford, 2016. All rights reserved.