In 1985, Queen took the stage and gave what I would argue was the most impactful musical performance of the 20th century.
It was July 13, 1985, at Wembley Stadium, and Queen had only 20 minutes. Bob Geldof’s Live Aid was a relay of short sets from the who’s who of music.
The shows were held across two continents and were broadcast to an audience of over a billion.
Queen may be synonymous with Live Aid now, but they weren’t the “obvious” headliners. By the mid 80s, many critics had written them off as a stadium act past their prime.
The critics couldn’t be more wrong; Queen had some tricks up their sleeves. They had rehearsed for days, creating what I would argue was the perfect set. They had also been given a little extra help in the sound department when Queen’s sound engineer pushed the volume past the limits of the other acts, so when Freddie Mercury sat down at the piano, you could absolutely feel it.
“Bohemian Rhapsody”
I remember feeling (and I mean FEELING) the first notes sitting with my parents watching live TV. We had never expected to hear this song live, let alone like this.
Mercury played the familiar piano introduction and sang the opening ballad section, and seventy-two thousand responded with a sonic wall of emotion.
The band surprised the world, cutting the operatic middle section entirely, a studio construction so difficult/complex that Queen could never fully reproduce it onstage.
The result was a transient yet stirring opening, ending sharply just as the crowd’s energy peaked, in the best kind of bait-and-switch.
Mercury, in a white tank top, light jeans and a studded armband, wasn’t there to play ballads. He was there to bring the house down.
“Radio Ga Ga”
During the follow-up, I realized I was witnessing music history. “Radio Ga Ga” was barely a year old, and I foolishly thought it was one of their weaker songs. The only thing that was memorable to me was the music video showing a crowd clapping in unison during the chorus.
It certainly was memorable for the audience as well, so when the chorus arrived, the entire stadium raised its hands and clapped in time, mimicking the video, a field of arms visible from the broadcast cameras high above.
“Ay-Oh”
Between songs, Mercury did something nobody could rehearse. He stood at the front of the stage and sang a wordless phrase, “Ay-oh,” and the crowd sang it back. He made it longer, then higher, a call-and-response of 72,000 strangers following one voice.
It lasted less than a minute and contained no song at all, yet on YouTube it has become one of the most-rewatched videos of the set.
“Hammer to Fall”
Brian May’s song gave the set its hardest rock moment. “Hammer to Fall” had come out the previous year on The Works, and live it drove much harder than the album version.
Mercury prowled the stage, playing to the cameras, mugging with one of the broadcast camera operators who wandered into his path. The song’s lyrics, about living under the threat of sudden destruction, fit a decade of Cold War anxiety, though few watching were listening that closely, me included.
“Crazy Little Thing Called Love”
Then Mercury picked up an acoustic guitar. “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” the band’s rockabilly tribute that had topped the American chart in 1980, loosened the mood after the heavy stretch. Mercury played rhythm, an instrument he rarely bothered with onstage.
He sang it with a grin, and the crowd clapped along. It was a reminder that Queen could do almost any style: opera, arena rock, Elvis-flavored pop. In 20 minutes, the band showcased the range of their 15-year career.
“We Will Rock You” and “We Are the Champions”
Queen closed the way they were known for. They opened with a brief, punchy version of “We Will Rock You,” its stomp-stomp-clap rhythm requiring nothing from a crowd but their hands and feet, then straight into “We Are the Champions.” Mercury sang the last chorus with the whole stadium before signing off.
Queen had only been on for 21 minutes, a time that felt like an eternity to my impressionable young brain. I knew I had witnessed something big.