Montreux had just celebrated the 80th anniversary of Freddie Mercury’s birth

Montreux had just celebrated the 80th anniversary of Freddie Mercury’s birth.

And for a few hours, the years simply disappeared.

I was attending a concert rehearsal. The musicians were worthy of the occasion, and very quickly, I let myself be carried away by the fervor of that extraordinary day.

They had come from everywhere. From near, from far, sometimes from very far away. The young, the not-so-young… and even those who, like me, had known Freddie Mercury while he was still alive.

Some simply wore a T-shirt with his face on it. Others had donned the singer’s iconic costumes. There were lookalikes, glitter, mustaches, familiar poses…

And then the music began.

The older ones started to dance. Hands rose into the air, applause burst forth. Radio Ga Ga rang out, and suddenly, the generations blended together. Even those who hadn’t been born when he was still singing were there, swept up by the same energy.

And then came Under Pressure. That was when I had tears in my eyes. Because in a few seconds, Montreux faded away.

I found myself back on September 18, 1984, at the POPB, the Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy, today the Accor Arena, for the European leg of The Works Tour.

What an evening…

I remember the bustle outside, the crowd waiting for the doors to open, that almost electric impatience. I can’t even remember the opening act anymore.

On the other hand, I remember perfectly Freddie walking onto the stage, just a few meters from me. My idol. From the first few seconds, it was on fire.

We didn’t have to wait for him: he was immediately with us. He took us by the hand and led us into his world. For a few hours, we were no longer thousands of people in an arena. We were one single body, one single energy: the hall, the stage, and Freddie.

The songs followed one another without a moment’s respite.

I was in the stands, on the side of the stage. Freddie was everywhere. He appeared, disappeared, crossed the stage, came back from the other side… It was like being swept into the whirlwind of Alice in Wonderland.

It must be said that firecrackers were being passed from hand to hand, adding even more to that unreality. A kind of waking dream no one wanted to leave.

And then came Radio Ga Ga. The entire arena began clapping in unison. I still remember the sound. And above all, I remember the floor of the stands vibrating under the pounding of shoes.

Then there was We Are the Champions. Deliverance. We were fulfilled.

And, as always, he ended with God Save the Queen. Then Freddie and the others left the stage. And we stayed there, a little orphaned. They had given themselves entirely to their audience. We had received everything they could give. But I wished those moments could last longer. Still longer. And longer still.

Of course, I stayed in front of my television for the Live Aid concert on July 13, 1985, fascinated once again by this man who seemed able to transform a few minutes of music into a moment of eternity.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to see him again in the following years.

And then there was November 24, 1991. I was at the office. I remember my tears.

We knew he was ill. But we didn’t want to imagine that the end could be so near. The announcement was brutal. As if, suddenly, a light had gone out.

And yet… Thirty-five years later, in Montreux, Freddie was still there.

In the voices. In the hands that applauded. In the steps of those who danced. In the costumes. In the memories. In the tears.

And above all, in that strange power music has to abolish time. One song was enough. Under Pressure.

And for a few minutes, I was twenty again. I was in the stands at Bercy. Freddie was just a few meters from me. And the rest of the world could wait.

It’s a Kind of Magic.