Brian May, Queen guitarist and astrophysicist: ‘To be a complete human being, you need art and science’

He was destined to become one of the greatest guitarists in history, but as a teenager, Brian May could not afford to buy a guitar. So, at the age of 16, he built one himself with his father: the Red Special. With it, he composed some of the most memorable songs in rock history, including We Will Rock You, Who Wants to Live Forever?, I Want It All and The Show Must Go On. Queen revolutionized popular music. Freddie Mercury was a rock frontman with the vocal range of a tenor. May did something similar with his guitar: at times it sounded raw and powerful; at others, he could coax from it sounds resembling a violin or a cello.

The story of the Red Special is well known. What is less widely known is that, at the age of 24, May also built his own spectroscope. He did so in Tenerife, where he had travelled to observe the interstellar dust that was the subject of his doctoral research. These anecdotes speak to the two great passions that have shaped Brian May’s life, but they also shed light on his philosophy: the idea of creating things from scratch, of inventing and experimenting like a mad tinkerer.

May left his thesis unfinished because he was rather busy becoming a star. He would not return to it until 30 years later, by which point he had already made history with Queen. Mercury had died, May’s musical career had slowed down, and, in his sixties, he was enjoying a well-earned respite. It was then that a professor at Imperial College London read an interview in which the guitarist mentioned the unfinished thesis. He got in touch and offered to supervise it. May accepted.

Knight of the British Empire, rock star and astrophysicist: more than a résumé, May’s achievements seem like something out of a childhood wish list. He explains it all with a humility that contrasts with the excitement he generates wherever he goes and with the rock-star aura that has never left him.

At 79, he sports the mane of a messianic guru, fingers laden with rings and an enviable energy. May is the organizer and public face of Starmus, a festival that combines music with talks by astronauts, philosophers, anthropologists and Nobel laureates. This year it took place in Tenerife and La Palma, in Spain’s Canary Islands, and it was in Tenerife, where it all began, that he met with EL PAÍS, ready to talk about music, eclipse chasers, rivalries within Queen and why, in his view, there is no such thing as a decent billionaire.

Question. This was the eighth edition of Starmus.

Answer. Yes, we’ve been all over the world. In Armenia, in Switzerland… Now we’ve returned to where it all began; it’s a bit like closing the circle.

Q. And in the Canary Islands too. Your connection to the islands goes back a long way...

A. I did my PhD here: I studied zodiacal dust with a spectroscope I built myself in Izaña, on the volcanic ridge near Teide. It was one of the most formative periods of my life, not only for the science but for the people I met. It was in the 1970s. So my heart is here, in many ways; especially in the La Esperanza forest, halfway up to Izaña. I’ve always felt it’s the place closest to God, and that’s coming from someone who is not religious. Now my children have fallen in love with this place, and last night my grandchildren went up there. I have a very strong spiritual connection to it, and it’s also where it all started for me in astronomy.

Q. Zodiacal dust… why did you become interested in something so small and specific?

A. Like so many things in life, it was partly accidental: I joined an astronomy department as a postgraduate, and it was one of the subjects they studied. I thought it sounded good, something I could get fired up about, and the more I got into it, the more I fell in love with the idea. Strangely enough, it became a neglected field: in the 30 years I was away playing guitar, almost nobody was doing experiments with interplanetary dust. But when I wanted to return to finish my PhD, suddenly everyone wanted to know about it, because we had discovered exoplanets and their dust clouds. The study of zodiacal dust became very current and interesting to astronomers looking for the origins of the solar system and of life. I’ve been very lucky in life: everything fell into place in strange ways.

Q. You’ve been lucky, but also very persistent. How does one go from being a rock star, touring with Queen and filling stadiums, to studying in the lab and library?

A. It was great. I feel I was able to make sense of my life. I’ve always wanted that synergy, that merging, because I feel like to be a complete human being you need art and science, music and astronomy, to understand what life is really about. You can’t limit yourself to a little corner. Most people here at Starmus think the same: being a scientist in your own field is not enough; you have to be aware of life in general.

Q. In space exploration, there are beautiful examples of cooperation, like the International Space Station, and competition, like the space race that ended with man on the Moon or the current rivalry between the United States and China. What drives progress more: cooperation or competition?

A. One of the best experiences I had at Starmus was in the first edition, when we invited Alexei Leonov and the American astronauts. They all had dinner together, and I watched Leonov and Neil Armstrong sitting and discussing their experiences in the space race; they had never done that before. You could tell they related so closely: they had been in fierce competition, and yet they shared so much, and they had a wonderful time. Leonov would have been the first man on the Moon if the Russians had won; instead, he was the first man to walk in space. He nearly didn’t get back into the capsule because his suit inflated almost to bursting. He came very close to death. But, trying to answer your question: I think both. Competition fires you up, but cooperation benefits us all enormously. And I think they benefited each other, even at a distance. I know Russian astronauts sent messages to Americans, despite the enmity, warning them of certain dangers. There was cooperation behind the scenes, a kind of hidden brotherhood.

Q. And in music? You were in a band for 30 years; I imagine you also had rivalries with other guitarists. What made you evolve most as an artist?

A. Both things. I remember at school seeing what others could play on guitar, and back then it was almost illegal: you couldn’t play electric guitar; it was not kosher. But I thought, “They can do this and I can’t; I need to learn it.” Competition makes you grow and fires you up. But camaraderie, what you share, is what makes you strong. And within a band… my God, there was a lot of conflict, because we were four artists with different-colored brushes trying to paint on the same canvas. It can be very tough. But at the same time you realize that, as a unit, you are much stronger than the sum of your parts. It’s a balance. Roger [Taylor] and I are a classic example: we’re like brothers and at the same time in fierce competition. But we are very conscious that when we come together, the chemistry makes us something bigger than what we could be individually.

Q. Now there’s another competition in space between Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos. It’s no longer a matter of nations and science, but private companies and billionaires.

A. I wish I could find a billionaire who was a decent human being. They all seem to be fostering their own selfish interests while the world falls apart: they’re destroying it, people are suffering. That’s more important than going to space. The first time I gave a speech about why we should be in space, I said: “Why do we feel confident, worthy, to be putting our seed into space when we’ve made such a mess of our own planet?” In the audience were Neil Armstrong and five other men who first walked on the Moon. I was petrified, terrified: I thought I might be saying maybe we shouldn’t go to space, in front of those who pioneered it, and that they would hate me. But Armstrong came up to me after I left the stage and said: “You said the right thing.”

Q. This summer you came to Spain to see the eclipse. How was the experience?

A. I was lucky to be at a beautiful observatory, right on the centerline of totality, with lots of people who felt the same as I did. We are nerds; we love this spectacle. And this moment changes your life. Suddenly you’re standing on Earth looking at the Sun, which gives us life and holds us with its gravity, and you see its light being blocked. You can see everything around: the Sun’s atmosphere, its surroundings, the inner planets, maybe a star if you’re lucky... and the world darkens, the world holds its breath and the animals start to think it’s night…

Q. Have you seen many? Are you an eclipse-chaser?

A. I’ve tried to see about 10, and I think six of them went well, because very often you do all the travel and preparation and run into clouds or, as in Mongolia, a snowstorm. Seeing an eclipse is a bit like being on stage: you always leave thinking, “I need to do that again,” because you missed something, you weren’t focused enough. The big mistake with eclipses is getting technical and trying to capture too much, because you miss it. Most people were recording videos. That doesn’t capture the magic; it doesn’t capture the pulse or the feeling.

Q. Speaking of cameras and photos, you’re also a photographer. I’m impressed by how many hobbies you have…

A. And my grandchildren, they are my great hobby. We’re not here for long: you have to enjoy as much as you can. Time is short. I’m already towards the end of the road, so I value every moment I can.

Q. Do you regret anything you didn’t do?

A. I have regrets, but I don’t think anything was avoidable. I have the strange feeling that, if I went back, I couldn’t do it differently, because the constraints were always there. There are things in my life I do regret: great sadnesses, great missed opportunities. But I don’t know if I could have done it another way. I’ve been very, very lucky.

Q. This might be a silly question, but why haven’t you changed your hairstyle all these years?

A. It’s not that I do much to style it; it just stays like that [laughs]. And well, gradually it’s thinning and changing color.

Q. What I mean is that you’ve stayed true to a style. The same goes for your music: you keep composing and collaborating with contemporary artists like Lady Gaga or My Chemical Romance. Yet you’ve remained faithful to your style, without following trends.

A. I don’t like trends or fashion. People always seem to be following something. I’d rather be what I am; I’m happy with what I am. I always try to improve, but I’m comfortable with the mold I’ve been put in, and I use it to explore all the avenues I can. I don’t see the need to change. I just want to improve.

Q. Even if that means selling less?

A. I’m not worried about selling. I’ve done that already. I’m just worried about doing good things. It’s not easy: when you contemplate the enormity of how bad things are, how many problems there are... But I’m content to do the small things I can to make the world better.

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