1975 Rock Anthem Was Almost Cut Down by Record Executives for Being Too Long

The legendary musician Freddie Mercury wasn’t afraid to fight for what would become one of his most beloved songs.

The Queen frontman is remembered for his originality and stage presence. He died in 1991 at 45 from bronchial pneumonia resulting from AIDS. He is behind hits such as “We Are the Champions,” “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” and “Killer Queen,” but arguably his most well-known track is “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The 5 minutes and 55 seconds song almost didn’t make it on the radio because record executives were worried it was too long.

Mercury’s close friend and ex-fiancée, Mary Austin, is giving fans a look at the rockstar’s life in her new book, A Life in Lyrics: The Official Creative Legacy of Freddie Mercury. She tells stories of her late friend’s life, shares pages of his notebooks, and newly released photographs.

Austin wrote about the behind-the-scenes of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Here is an excerpt published in People on Aug. 31:

To discuss the release they held a meeting at EMI from which Freddie returned looking really worried. The record company had said the song was too long and wanted it cut down, but he’d told them that was how it had to be — and then walked out.

If he’d sounded firm to them, he certainly wasn’t so sure in the privacy of his own home. Back at the flat, he said he wasn’t certain he’d done the right thing. He was worried that he’d torpedoed his own career and that of the band. It was unusual for him; I’d never seen him that concerned before.

When the record company dug its heels in, Freddie found an ally in Kenny Everett, who was then a top DJ at Capital Radio (and went on to become a massive TV star). I wasn’t aware of any great friendship between them beforehand, and I couldn’t tell you exactly how they’d been introduced — it may have been through someone he knew at EMI, possibly John Reid, perhaps their publicist, Eric Hall — I honestly don’t know, but what mattered was that Kenny understood the song instinctively and didn’t want to see it ‘edited’ as the record company were suggesting.

Given a copy of the record, I think there was an understanding that he might play it once, maybe twice. But telling Kenny Everett to do something within limits was always a lost cause. He took that as a challenge. His show was at the weekend, and once he started, he played it over and over. He began by teasing it, and then he aired the whole thing, time and time again, and by the end of that weekend it felt as though it was everywhere.

That was also when I heard it properly for the first time. I remember thinking how strange it must sound to people hearing it cold. It was so unlike anything else — you didn’t quite know what you were listening to at first. But it carried you with it. There was such joy in it, such confidence, that it didn’t matter if you couldn’t immediately make sense of every part.

And clearly Kenny felt that, too, because listeners responded straight away. Capital Radio was flooded with requests for a single that didn’t even exist yet.

Freddie was jubilant. I think he felt that someone had finally stood alongside him rather than trying to cut his work down to size. That whole struggle — from the song beginning at the piano, through Wales, through months of work, doubt and turmoil — suddenly tipped the other way. It was as though he’d landed where he’d been trying to get to all along.

I remember a real change in him then. When I think of that time, I see someone centered and happy. He was joyful, of course, but more than that he seemed newly assured — as though he’d found a space he hadn’t quite been in before, and knew he belonged there.

Austin’s book, A Life in Lyrics: The Official Creative Legacy of Freddie Mercury, will hit shelves on Tuesday, Sept. 1.