IF QUEEN WON'T BRIAN MAY
So here I am back in the giant Ajax can on Vine Street and waiting for Brian May. I look at my watch; the little hand and the big hand are sticking up like a peace sign; almost noon and it's hard to believe I'm up at this ungodly hour after last night's festivities, let alone the star.
IF QUEEN WON'T BRIAN MAY
by
Sylvie Simmons
So here I am back in the giant Ajax can on Vine Street and waiting for Brian May. I look at my watch; the little hand and the big hand are sticking up like a peace sign; almost noon and it's hard to believe I'm up at this ungodly hour after last night's festivities, let alone the star. (Capitol threw a party to welcome Queen into the Ajax Can family—Elektra won't be getting The Works when it comes out early next year. There were hors d'oeuvres, aperitifs, and talking of a pair of teeths, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, John Deacon and Brian May.) This is not the usual fluorescent-lit room where Duran Duran posters smirk cheekbonely from the walls. This is a cozy chamber tucked around the back somewhere, through convoluted corridors and up and down staircases—couldn't find it again even if you threatened me with a night at Plato's with Steve Perry—dark and small as a confession box...