Adam Lambert, best known for his second-place finish on the eighth season of Fox megahit "American Idol," is a far cry from Freddie Mercury. Yet when he takes the stage alongside Queen, Lambert aspires to fill the shoes, or sneakers rather, of the long-deceased frontman and rock superstar.
This, of course, isn't Lambert's first pairing with Queen nor is it Queen's first tour sans Mercury. Since Mercury's death in 1991 of complications from AIDS, surviving members Brian May and Roger Taylor have performed with a plethora of vocal talents under the name "Queen +." In 2014, a few years after he first shared the spotlight with May and Taylor on "American Idol," Lambert, 35, became the latest Mercury stand-in, traveling North America and then Europe and Asia with Queen as Queen + Adam Lambert.
Now, Lambert is back at it again for what Queen's site describes as a quasi-reunion tour. Though it's hard to imagine Queen die-hards, a group composed primarily of baby boomers and Gen X-ers, clamoring to see the oh-so millennial Lambert feign Mercury-esque transgressive grit, Queen nonetheless seems intent upon keeping its wheels spinning.
And it's hard to blame them for doing so. Queen's struggle is a familiar one. In the ever-shifting music industry, bands _ Journey, New Edition, even the Barenaked Ladies _ have frequently been placed in the uncomfortable position of deciding how to proceed after the departure or death of a beloved member. Some groups, like Queen, have sought replacements, while others have formed new coalitions (Joy Division became New Order) or hung up their guitars altogether (Led Zeppelin, Nirvana). Not every retooling has ended in disaster, but for every Phil Collins (Genesis), there's a misfire like the weird and woeful Heads (the David Byrne-less Talking Heads).
Queen + Lambert, it seems, belongs to the latter crowd. Despite a curated look that deliberately calls to mind his predecessor's panache _ gone are the pop-punk bangs, replaced by an Elvis pompadour and a seemingly unlimited wardrobe of leather suits _ Lambert still feels, to quote former "American Idol" judge Simon Cowell, "theatrical," or staged. Lambert, with his tear-your-hair-out angst (on full display in his debut album "For Your Entertainment"), has more in common with Chris Daughtry or Panic! at the Disco's Brendon Urie than he does with Mercury, the ecstatic "lover of life, singer of songs."
Yet to give credit where credit is due, the poetry of Lambert preserving Mercury's legacy is not lost on me. His camp is a flawed tribute to Mercury's own, but a tribute remains preferable to cheap appropriation.
