Queen's Mercury Rising

Brian may carries a map of America with Queen's itinerary scored across it in thick black ink, timetables, stopover details and a sliding tour schedule ingeniously fashioned from cardboard and staples. As our plane banks out of New York en route to the next concert in Syracuse, he jokes that he likes to know where he is at any given time of the week. If it's Syracuse, it must be Thursday...

After gaining his B.Sc. in physics, May studied for four years for a Ph.D. in astronomy, preparing a thesis on the motions of interplanetary dust, parts of which have been published in English scientific journals. The thesis was 95% complete when May shelved it because of Queen's intense schedule. If there's a deeper perspective to be found in studio work it lies in May compositions like the elliptical morality tale,"39." May originally visualized "39" as a straightforward narrative about futuristic explorers setting off into the wide blue yonder, and then returning to their own world to find it changed beyond recognition. But a Herman Hesse story he was reading at the time seemed to illuminate the real point of the song: "Everybody has some destiny they must fulfill, but in fulfilling you must pay a price. It really applies to touring. I'm a home-loving person really; I like to have all the things that mean something to me around me, but I've had to learn to do without all that." May's voice wistfully trails into silence as the stewardess arrives with his orange juice. He reaches into his bag again and pulls out a packet of English biscuits. A taste of home.

In airport lounges May and Deacon, with their wives and Deacon's baby son, are very much the family men. Taylor hunches in a seat in front of a battery-operated portable TV or talks rock & roll with members of Thin Lizzy, support band for most of this tour. Mercury — with his retinue — remains aloof. In the evenings, while the others visit a club or drink in the hotel bar, Mercury disappears for dinner. By day he is secluded in his room or out shopping — his favorite hobby. It is a hobby which has become part of the folklore of Queen, with stories of Mercury in Japan arriving breathless at the hotel minutes before departure with a caravan of porters bearing antique furniture, objets d'art, trunks full of clothes and the traditional wooden dolls which he collects, with Mercury screaming, "Freight it..." at a harassed tour manager.

"The Japanese call it 'crazy shopping,'" says Mercury. "I walk around like the Pied Piper with hordes of people following me shouting out, 'You crazee shopping.' I'd go with the wife of the promoter. She'd have a department store left open for me after hours; all these assistants standing there and the place is entirely empty except for me. Can you imagine...?"

Everyone says that Mercury is mellower now than he used to be; less extreme. In the early days of Queen it was Mercury who would blow a fuse if the lights were out of sync or the PA system malfunctioned; who would camp it up for the benefit of journalists (wise to the news value of a few carefully dropped "my dears" or "darlings"). Brian May suggests that Mercury has gone through the height of enjoying being a star and living the part accordingly; that he's less volatile and flamboyant than he once was. In the next breath May admits that even after five years he still doesn't know the singer that well.