Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

34. Roger

"That's a shit ton of people," I murmur to John and Brian as we stand in the wings about to take our places on stage. The sun has just set, and, in the rapidly fading light, we look out onto the largest audience we've ever seen. My God, the rows of bodies never seem to end.

"I heard a copper say that there are over 150,000 people here, easy," my new drum tech says, snapping his fingers to emphasize the last word.

"What? That's more than when Pink Floyd played here," I reply. "Really? There are one hundred and fifty fucking thousand people? Out there? Right now?"

"Or more," Dominique says matter-of-factly, coming up to stand next to me, her ubiquitous clipboard in hand. She looks cool as a cucumber, despite the sweltering heat.

We all stand in silence for a brief moment, taking it all in.

"Well, then let's not fuck it up, boys," Deaky says. There's a brief pause just before the operatic section of Bo Rhap booms through the speakers. "Shall we?" he gestures grandly towards the stage, yelling over the crowd, who, by now, is in an absolute tizzy.

The stage is mostly dark when I hop up on the drum riser and take a seat on the stool. I'd spent ages this afternoon tuning and re-tuning the drums, adjusting and re-adjusting the mics. Partly because I'm a perfectionist, and partly because it took my mind off wondering if Skylar would show tonight.

Mama Mia
Mama Mia
Mama Mia let me go

I adjust the wristband on my left hand and pick up the drum sticks. Orange spotlights roam the stage, which is rapidly filling with special effect smoke. I can barely hear myself think as I place my foot carefully on the drum pedal.

The music is blaring, the crowd is in a frenzy, and all I can think is, fuck, man. Hyde Park. We're playing Hyde Park. Tonight, right this very second, we're going down in history as having performed on the same stage as The Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac. Eric fucking Clapton stood on this stage.

For me
For me
For meeeeeeeeeeeeee

My recorded B-flat shriek recedes as the Red Special roars to life. Freddie bursts out on stage in his white coverall, brandishing his mic as if he owns the world. Every spotlight is on full blast, and the smoke is dense. For a moment, I'm in my own little world, barely able to see the other blokes, much less the crowd.

"Good evening, everyone!" Freddie exclaims after the song ends. You all look very beautiful, I must say. Thank you!"

The smoke begins to clear, and I sneak a quick peek over at the wings. It's unusually crowded tonight with journalists and fellow musicians. As I scan the area looking for Skylar, I see our manager chatting with the bloke from The Who whose name I can never remember. Richard is next to them, pointing out something to Kiki Dee. Finally, my eyes land on Skylar, who's standing with Mary and Chrissie. Raising my hand slightly, I give her a small wave, and what I hope looks like a genuine, I-miss-you-and-I-love-you smile.

"Thank you very much," Fred says again, fussing with his hair as he walks across the stage. It's one of his nervous tics, although not many people know that. This is by far the biggest gig of our career, and we're all on edge. Don't get me wrong, we've performed most of these songs about a billion times. We've been touring for the past year, and we're in tip-top shape, but... we're introducing a few new songs tonight, and, well, what if no one likes them?

"And now," Freddie continues his banter with the audience, "We have a softer, quieter number for all you delicate little people out there tonight."

Brian begins to play the opening chords of 'Sweet Lady,' and off we go. The show flies by quickly; before I know it, we're at the halfway point. My hair is damp with sweat, my drumsticks getting slippery. Night has fallen, so I can't see the crowd past the first few rows, but it's as if a million people are singing and screaming and dancing. I'm high on adrenaline and loving every second of it.