Queen played a run of shows at Sun City, the entertainment complex located in Bophutswana, one of 10 South African Bantustans: tracts of low-quality land supposedly enshrined as independent black homelands that were in fact one of the struts of the apartheid regime. They amounted to parched rural ghettoes; the fact that the Sun City complex - a casino-and-golf resort, akin to an Afrikaner's Las Vegas - was located in one of them only underlined their cynically conceived place in the apartheid scheme.
"We've thought a lot about the morals of it a lot," claimed Brian May at the time, long alleged to be one of the cleverest men in rock, "and it is something we've decided to do. The band is not political - we play to anybody who wants to come and listen." "Throughout our career we've been a very non-political group," said bassist John Deacon (aka The Other One). "We enjoy going to new places. We've toured America and Europe so many times that it's nice to go somewhere different ... I know there can be a bit of fuss, but apparently we're very popular down there ... Basically, we want to play wherever fans want to see us."
The cloth-headed, deluded, impossibly arrogant nature of these pronouncements hardly needed mentioning. Queen were swiftly fined by the British Musicians' Union, and briefly turned into music press pariahs. They were not alone: the likes of Rod Stewart and Status Quo also played Sun City, easing their consciences by making donations to local charities. Queen were no exception: they attempted to make up for the breaking of the cultural boycott by handing some spare royalties to a school for the deaf and blind. It didn't wash: the UN stuck them on its list of blacklisted artists, where they remained until apartheid was finally dismantled.
In these washed-out, relativist, non-ideological times, bearing a grudge based on all this might look rather churlish, but what the hell: in the wake of their Sun City season, I have always found Queen's alliance with rock's liberal bleeding hearts a little too much to take. Towards the end of Live Aid, for example, Mercury and May played a recently written song called Is This the World We Created?, which took issue with disease, suffering and human evil in general. I waited in vain for a specific reference to the heart-stopping wrongs they had witnessed in Bophutswana, but none came. And what about the utopian sentiments of One Vision, released a year after their South African trip? "No wrong, no right," sang Freddie. "I want to tell you, there's no black and no white." Well, phooey, frankly.
