Smoke machines flood the stage with a primordial haze. Colored lights flash, and chain-mail costumes shine in the gloom. A guitar swoops through a sonic blizzard that might have been whipped up by Led Zeppelin. Whirling at the center of this musical maelstrom is a lanky, dark-haired lout. He shouts in a girlish tenor, drops his kimono, strips to hot pants and tosses roses to adoring teenyboppers.
Could it be The Who? David Bowie, perhaps? Or a Ken Russellized version of Liberace? None of the above. "We're just Queen," says Freddie Mercury, 29, the...
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