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Royal Concert Hall in Glasgow
The Herald - Nov 4, 1998
Outside the concert hall some people were taking pictures of a small red hatchback. "How rum," I thought. Then some more folks stopped to pop a few snaps of this motor. As I approached, all became clear. The name Brian May was emblazoned across it. These flashing photographers are such mad, crazy May fans that even his name tattooed on the side of a wheeled, scarlet box sends them into a whirling frenzy. I ain't seen nothing yet.
Inside the venue these eager beavers blind me with a dazzling display of well-worn Queen T-shirts. I ain't seen nothing yet. As an opener, Brian, dresses in an Elvis costume, quiff and all, and does the persona of his long-lost cousin, T E Conway. I still ain't seen nothing yet.
Finally, as Brian appeared on stage it came. The loudest ovation I have ever heard at a gig. Lasting at least five minutes, the sheer weight of adoration aimed at the stage was breathtaking. And Brian repaid in full. With medleys of classic anthemetic Queen, glorious cover versions, and guitar antics the like of which God himself has never seen.
The show was slick and choreographed with no space left for a breather. As surprised as I was at how good a singer Brian was, it was how little he actually needed to which had left me gawping. The audience, those May maniacs sang at top volume from start to finish. They are without parallel.
If Brian May ever returns to Glasgow my advice is to buy, beg, or steal a ticket for the front row and then turn it around to face the crowd.