#dominion theatre

[babsi-and-stella]

Marianne Faithfull performing at the Dominion Theatre, London, 8th June 1982. Photo by Michael Putland.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

🔸Mid June 2003, London, UK - An 8m Freddie Mercury statue, based on sculpture by Irena Sedlecka, installed on the front canopy of the Dominion Theatre, "We Will Rock You” The Musical

👉 This giant statue of Freddie Mercury, from 2014 resides in Queen drummer Roger Taylor's garden

[chaplinfortheages]

Charlie Chaplin with George Bernard Shaw, Lord Waldorf Astor & Lady Nancy Astor London's Dominion Theatre, Premiere of "City Lights" February 27th 1931.

In his autobiography page 337, Charlie Chaplin recalled:

"At the opening of City Lights it rained torrents, but the goodly crowd was there and the picture went over very well. I took my seat in the circle next to Bernard Shaw, which caused much laughter and applause. We were made to stand up together and bow. This caused renewed laughter."

[juleecruisearchive]

Julee Cruise at the 11th BRIT Awards

The 11th BRIT Awards were held on February 10 1991 at London's Dominion Theatre. Twin Peaks won best Soundtrack/Cast Recording. The category was presented by Rick Astley and Julee Cruise received the award.

PH Terry O'Neill

[screen1ne]

Louise Redknapp Joining The Cast Of Grease

Louise Redknapp to join the cast of @GREASEWestEnd in June 2023 all the details here #LouiseRedknapp #Grease #WestEnd #Musical @LouiseRedknapp @DominionTheatre

English singer, songwriter and presenter Louise Redknapp will play Teen Angel in Jim Jacobs & Warren Casey’s iconic musical GREASE, which returns to the Dominion Theatre in London’s West End from 2 June 2023. Redknapp will perform from 2 June until 29 July, excluding Mondays. Producers are also delighted to announce the return of 2022 cast members Dan Partridge as Danny, Olivia Moore as Sandy…

[hayleysprout13]

A Week In The Life | Squeezing In The Holiday Shows

New year, new format! Bit of a lengthy one but it's been a busy week ---> A Week In The Life | Squeezing In The Holiday Shows

Hi! Hello! Happy New Year! I’ve really struggled with the blog in the past few months, so think it’s time for a brand new format. I’ve basically turned into a very scatty theatre reviewer, where I’d only review shows if I absolutely had to. And even then, they’d go up SO late because I’d struggle to find the motivation to actually sit down and review them. So I’m hoping this new format will allow…

[jackbatchelor3]

New year, new season at Kellerman's.

🕺💃🏞️

[magstorrn]

every few years im reminded that the war of the worlds stage show exists which is never good because i always find something new to hate about it

[carlosreyeswrites]

[l9u38c4y231]

Simon Gordon and Jordan Luke gage as Strat

[babsi-and-stella]

Marianne Faithfull on stage at The Dominion Theatre in London, 8th June 1982. Photo by David Corio.

[gallierhouse]

One of my favorite things about IWTV is its critique of the patriarchal family structure through vampirism. The maker functions as both father and husband, and the maker-fledgling relationship is analogous to a parent-child relationship (the maker makes the fledging, then nurtures them and teaches them about vampirism). This is then complicated by the fact that makers are often engaged in romantic or sexual relationships with their fledglings (Lestat and Louis, Marius and Armand). So the fledgling is permanently tied to their father-husband (or if they’re lucky, just their father). So far both makers have been abusive. Lestat is violent, controlling, possessive, and also loving, dedicated, and responsible for the welfare of his two fledglings. As cruel as he is to Louis and Claudia, he fulfills his function as a father by 1) teaching them to hunt 2) protecting them from the outside world 3) enacting punishment when they defy him. I know he fails Claudia with regards to Bruce, but he doesn’t save her because he’s punishing her for leaving (he could hear Bruce’s thoughts, so he probably knew what was happening, and chose not to go). This is the classical mold of a father. Both protecter and punisher, who has dominion over his family and is justified in expecting obedience. He is a good father. Not by modern standards, but he’s a good father according to the patriarchal idea that fathers should discipline, teach, protect, and yes, control (see: daughters first belonging to their fathers then to their husbands, child abuse being implicitly sanctioned as corporal punishment, etc.). He fulfills being a father the way he fulfills being a patriarch. It’s very traditional. Similarly, Armand functions as the patriarch of the coven, which Claudia identifies as a family. He enacts his authority through violence, and demands coven members follow a strict set of rules. When coven members step out of line, he punishes them, drags them home, demands they follow coven rules, etc. (See: Lestat’s father dragging him home from the seminary, Lestat dragging Claudia home when she tries to run away, etc.) It’s not exactly 1:1 because the coven is also a cult (and I have things to say about how the coven exists to critique not only cults but the nature of theatre troupes, which are commonly abusive and hierarchical…) but Armand does function as the patriarch and acts accordingly as an enforcer. Santiago even reminds Claudia that “tender can turn to tinder,” reminding her that as while affection within the coven (or, you know, families) exists, it’s secondary to the fundamental nature of the coven, which is hierarchical, obedience demanding, and enforced by the patriarch, who, within the rules of a coven or a traditional family, is justified in enacting violence. On top of that, it’s interesting that Claudia and Louis’ crime isn’t just killing a vampire. It’s killing their maker. When Armand abuses Claudia, he reminds her about what she did to her maker, not what she did to Lestat. Claudia and Louis have committed patricide. Bad enough to commit murder, worse to commit patricide, and flout the natural order and hierarchy of the family completely. Patricide has historically been punished much more harshly than murder for this reason. It was the only crime for which a death sentence could be given in the Roman Republic, and we all know about the myths (Oedipus, Cronus overthrew his father and then got overthrew by his son, the cycles cycle, etc.) that state that patricide is the worst possible crime.

All this is to say is that a recurring idea in IWTV is that abuse within the patriarchal family structure isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. Wives and children (Louis and Claudia) are meant to submit to fathers and husbands and father-husbands (Lestat and Armand). It’s not supposed to be an equal relationship. It’s hierarchical, and if you step out of line, you “deserve” to be punished (Louis refusing Lestat sex, Louis not allowing Lestat to cheat since wives, historically, are expected to tolerate infidelity from husbands via concubines, mistresses, maids, etc., Claudia defending herself and Louis from Lestat, Claudia daring to not want to wear a stupid blue dress, Louis not going home to Armand on time, etc.). I really like the way IWTV explores this, because not only does it cue us to see Lestat’s and Armand’s actions as abhorrent and abusive, cueing us to see it doesn’t spare Louis or Claudia from the abuse. The narrative respects Louis and Claudia, but Lestat and Armand don’t, and so even as the audience roots for Louis and Claudia, they have to recognize that they’re trapped in a cycle enabled by patriarchal structures of abuse, and the tyranny of the family.

[atmostories]

Terry Silver x Reader

Tags: NSFW, Female Reader, Exhibitionism A gift for @terrence-silver 🖤🖤🖤 An Evening At The Opera

You were out like a light. Was the opera really that boring? Terry sniggered to himself as he possessively caressed your hair, fingers twirling and wrapping around the strands. You were napping on his lap while Reginald drove the limo back home to the hills. The lights of LA streamed past him in an unintelligible blur, the events of the evening still rushing through his body like two fresh hits of ketamine in his bloodstream. He could do with a cigar right now, but didn't want to disturb you with any movement. The celebration could wait. There was a growing urge to take you the moment you entered the mansion's threshold, or hell he could even fuck you right on the entranceway, smear his come and yours on the front door to mark this home as both his and yours forever. Like two king cobras marking the entrance to their den, a declaration of their mated nature, a warning to strangers to stay clear or face the consequences. Love and death all intertwined as one. However, his beloved needed to rest. He'd have you again first thing in the morning, wake you up to the sensations of his body desperately rubbing against yours. "We missed over an hour of the opera, my dear, we'll simply have to go again." He'd whisper and giggle into your ear, no doubt thinking of what transpired.

/ / / La Bohème was completely sold out. So of course, Terry had purchased the biggest box of the theatre, best seat in the house. The previous holder of the box had been outbid, much to their distress Margaret had assured him. Well, if you wanted something, you took it. Why was that so hard for people to understand? Just like he took you. Somehow you were both easier and harder to take than he thought it would be. Easier because your feelings for him were so potent even from early on. That made his toes curl just at the thought, how much you wanted him, how your devotion shone through you like a reflection of his own, more blinding than the sun itself. And it was harder because he needed to earn your trust. Trust had never been something he'd needed to foster when he was seducing someone. Usually all he'd need to do was give the right look, mutter an innuendo here or there, and his body would do the rest of the work. He never had to chase someone before. Whoever peeked Terry's interest, already wanted him. There was never any hesitation involved. He never realised how exciting the thrill of the hunt would be. Forever being thrown prey into his cage, fat and lazy from the endless offerings, until the day he spotted you beyond the threshold of his contained dominion. He couldn't just take your body, that was too easy. He needed your mind, your heart, your fucking soul cradled against him to keep for all eternity. When you both arrived at the theatre, Terry ensured you went through the staff only entrance. You simply looked too ravishing tonight, he couldn't allow the paparazzi to have up close shots of you. He guided you through the back area like he owned the place, which he of course did now, past the stage hands and technicians, past the dressing rooms of the performers. They cooed and greeted you like you were both the star lovers of the show, wishing that you enjoyed the evening.

"Break a leg." Terry announced to them. He smirked at you then, enjoying the amused but almost reprimanding expression on your face. His heart panged with desire, fuck he wanted you so badly. The waiting area was buzzing with guests and conversation, the excitement palpable in the air, but the noise noticeably quietened when the two of you came in. Many faces turned to you, Terry subconsciously tightened his grip around your white faux fur capelet-covered shoulder. Your capelet matched the white ribbon adorned on his ponytail, which you had tied yourself. Your blood red tailored dress matched his cravat and waistcoat underneath his jacket. He ensured that it was the exact shade of your blood from the cut he most definitely didn't purposefully cause by prodding your finger against a rose thorn in the east wing greenhouse almost a month ago. His mind was filled with the image of sucking your finger for almost half an hour, the heady metallic taste of you ripe in his memory. Heading to the box, he led you up the stairs, hand in hand. An announcement was made over the speakers that the performance would start shortly. Right on cue. You were shown into box by a personal butler who he immediately dismissed after you'd taken your seat. He wanted the two of you alone, undisturbed. After all, he wasn't here for the damn opera. The box was extremely luxurious, it had its own bar in the corner, its own bathroom. Rather than two separate seats, the two of you sat on an eighteenth century Chesterfield that he'd had specially procured for the evening. He asked whether you liked the box and you were gushing out compliments to him, eyes wide with excitement as you took in view of the theatre, the perfect central location with the best view of the stage and the orchestra in front of it. "Have I told you how beautiful you look, my dear?" Your cheeks reddened like he was summoning your blood to the surface like a satanic blood ritual, your skin almost splitting open upon a rose thorn. “Yes you have, Terry, thank you. And you look very handsome.” "Do I?" He feigned, his hand reaching up to rest on your neck. The lights of the theatre dimmed, his thumb rubbing along your throat. It was his explicit gesture to you that he was hard and desperately needed to be inside of you. A gasp escaped your mouth before you stuttered out a yes. His eyes flicked down to his lap, his silent command for you to place a hand on his cock, to feel how much he needed you, for you to dare question his desire for his beloved. Your motion was slow, delayed, you weren't entirely comfortable doing this here, but you obeyed, you always did. You were so good to him. You gasped again, feeling how hard he was over his slacks. You never could exactly grasp the depths of his want for you, the hardness of his cock physical proof that words couldn't quite place. La Bohème began its opening act with its star lovers rather too preoccupied, he mused before shifting his body like he was paying attention to the performance. You followed suit, though your soft, gentle hand kept up its teasing motions, fingers rubbing against his length.

His hips lazily kept raising slightly to meet your touch, the music and singing mere noise in the background. He slid an arm around your shoulder, his thumb rubbing up and down your throat, I want you, I need you, I want you, I need you, he conveyed to you over and over and over. Branding his desire onto your body. Were you wet yet? Were your thighs aching? Were you finding it impossible to take in a deep breath? Was your clit twitching? His other hand rested on your thigh, and your free hand shot out to his with surprising speed as you began urgently rubbing his inner wrist. Now this was your explicit gesture to him. I want you, I need you, I want you, I need you, you begged him, you screamed at him with your wordless gesture. He shot up from the Chesterfield, wrenching the privacy curtains closed as far as they would go. Climbing on top of you, his mouth devoured yours, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth to meet your own before he began to suck on your own tongue. He growled at the way you groaned in surprise at the sensation. He pulled away. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all, would it? He hurried you to your feet, ready to carry you out of the box and down the theatre stairs if you weren't fast enough. But you were up and being pulled by him out through the door like the box had been set on fire. “Mr. and Mrs. Silver?” The butler called out, concern heavy in his voice. Terry knew you'd want to satiate this complete stranger, purely out of the goodness of your heart. He sighed internally. "Pressing business!" Terry shouted back, pulling you around the corner. He looked back at you, inflamed by the smile on your face for him knowing just what you wanted. He immediately stopped at the top of the stairs, out of sight from any of the staff. His hand slid under your dress, cupped your cunt and squeezed, forcing a squeal out of your hot, wet mouth. "Pressing indeed." He murmured, capturing your lips for a brief moment before forcing himself to take you down the stairs. Otherwise he'd be fucking you right there and then. He told hold of your waist, taking some of your weight to keep you balanced, how could you not be weak at the knees for him? He came to a halt in the waiting area, head flicking side to side as he took in his options, body shaking in need, cock straining against his underwear, hand gripping onto yours like a lifeline, it was too far to the limo, the back area was busy with people, hmm. . .coat closet? Practically shoving a wad of cash at the attendants, he ordered for them to leave and slammed the door shut behind them. With no time to waste, he stripped off the fur capelet that was covering your bare shoulders and ripped the top part of your dress down, the sound of tearing material made his balls ache. As you stood frozen in shock, his mouth immediately attacked your nipples, he manoeuvred you against one of the coat racks, your back cushioned by real fur coats. He nipped and sucked and nibbled at you without breaking away, you were more out of breath than he was. Something had to be done about those real fur coats, he thought to himself, letting out a chuckle as he pulled back, giving you a second to take in oxygen. Taking to his knee, he wrenched up the dress to your hips, knocked apart your legs and shoved his mouth into your wet cunt like a man dying of thirst and god he felt like it. You squealed and desperately grabbed onto his shoulders for support. He played with your clit with his tongue, incensed by your constant stream of moans and cries. Working a finger inside of you, he began a relentless pace, rubbing your clit side to side, fucking you deep with one finger before working in another, and then a third. Your legs were shaking by then, your eyes kept rolling back, your hand mindlessly gripping onto his hair, undoing the meticulously neat ponytail you'd tied back earlier that evening. His white ribbon fell onto the floor.

He was too selfish to let you come first, he wanted to come with you. Pulling his mouth and fingers away from you, he rose off the floor to stand. You looked like you'd been fucked out of your mind and his cock hadn't even been inside of you yet. As he scrambled to release his cock, he lifted up one of your legs and you cried out together when he sunk into you. He growled at the wet, tight, hot sensation, relishing it for a fleeting moment before he began to move. Leaning down, his forehead pressed against yours, his tongue licking up the side of your face, his lips laying kisses on your cheeks. He could taste your come, your sweat, your skin. He fucked you hard and fast, your bodies laced together, the mated king cobras deep in the throws of heat. The two of you as one, like it was always meant to be. His hips kept thrusting into you. He knew you were close, he was close to. Weeks and weeks had been spent tuning himself to your rhythms, learning how to delay his pleasure and the effort had paid off tenfold. He upped his paced, feeling that you were about come, his body clinging onto yours. Falling silent as you climaxed together, the sound of you orgasming was music to his ears. He slowed his pace after you reached the peek, emptying himself inside of you. He looked at you then, his thumb coming up to rub against your throat. The touch made you come back to reality, you looked back at him, mouth open, expression spent, someone needed a nap, rest her head right up against his cock. Pulling out of you, he took to his knees again to admire some of his come drip down your thighs. He wiped it off your skin with his hand and wiped it on the fur coats behind you. "My dear doesn't like fur." He commented casually as you stared at him quizzically. After collecting more come leaking from you, he wiped it on another coat, and another. He was doing his part after all, ruining these horrible people's coats. The curiosity on your expression was replaced by concern, your eyebrows furrowing when he took to his feet. “Angel, your hair,” you muttered, regret on your expression, hand reaching out to tuck some of it behind his ear. He snatched onto your hand, staring at you for ten long seconds before sniggering and falling into a fit of laughter.

[world-of-wales]

The Princess of Wales and Prince William of Wales and some random kid photographed as they visited Dominion Theatre to see the musical Grease || 9 OCTOBER 1993

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV Trailer (me losing my freaking marbles - YOLO) Pt2

I'm just going frame by frame thru AMC'S BEAUTIFUL new IWTV trailer. But I had to split this into 2 parts cuz Tumblr won't let me post 30+ pics. 🙄

They transition from Louis telling Claudia "It's you and me," to BB!Dan being "disrespectful"--yelling at Louis wanting him to make him a vamp, like we heard in S01E01.

And they immediately cut to the clip we've seen before of Louis crying & being dragged off by some old dude (if that's a vampire I feel bad for him, LOL). This might be Claudia/Madeleine's execution, rather than the Trial itself, cuz Louis was wearing a different outfit. (And Claudia's wearing the YELLOW DRESS! Imma be sick! 😭)

So I wonder when the "best outfit" Jam Reiderson said Claudia wears is gonna take place--which I'm assuming is the red Flamenco dress from the posters.

It is SO incredible that we're actually gonna see The Trial, and LESTAT BEING THERE, and seeing Madeleine & Armand & Santiago.

It's interesting that they cut from Armand saying it wasn't SanFran where he failed Louis but Paris, and jump to hallucination!Lestat mocking Armand, yelling "HA!" Is Louis' outfit the same as the one where the old dude dragged him out crying? It kinda looks the same. So is Louis imagining Lestat being FURIOUS with Armand for what's about to happen to Claudia? I wonder why Les is in THAT suit, cuz it looks like the same one he wore in S1E03 the night he kicked Jelly Roll Morton out of town & ragged on Louis about not wanting to kill humans.

Good lord, here we go. #GoneTooSoonMadeleine. U_U And I LIKE THE IMAGERY of the joint/shared transformation, nodding to Claudia desperately wanting Louis to be her (blood) spouse, as they make Madeleine together.

Jfc Louis really did almost kill BB!Daniel. O_O He shattered all that plaster--that's brain damage for sure--no wonder he can't remember the interview, LOL. (I still think Armand used the Mind Gift to make him forget everything.)

A lot of paintings and canvases--art heist Armand?! Are we finally gonna see how he made all that money, going around stealing priceless treasures!? (You can see Armand's feet floating, LOL.) Or is the inside of that chateau his coven raided, "we own dominion!"?

Daniel asking Louis: "YOU BUY THAT?"

AMC thinks they're FUNNY! Cuz they cut right from Armand stealing art he didn't BUY, to lovebomber!Lestat laughing in the townhouse and Louis yelling in what looks like a train station? So he's freaking TF out in public (just like Paul).

Ooooo--then they have Lelio!WolfKiller!Lestat about to attack someone (Magnus? Nope, I double-checked it's Armand cuz ofc it is), looking like the freaking BEAST in his red cape--

--right before we get Lestat's POV of Louis and him fighting in Ep5.

Cuz yeah, Lestat had snapped, and was beating Louis like he was a DOG, like he wasn't even seeing a PERSON, let alone someone he was supposed to be protecting from vampires/monsters LIKE HIM--and OMFG Louis was in blue just like Belle was during the wolf attack--I hate this show.

And they immediately jump from Louis getting beat by Lestat to what I assume is Louis getting jumped by the Theatre--trapped in the coffin they were gonna bury him alive in.

What on earth is Claudia throwing? I swear I think these are bombed/blown-up body parts--pieces of someone's life gone cuz of the WAR. (And immediately cut to Loustat fighting.)

"Who are you, Louis? If there was no ME, if there was no HIM." So yes, the fan theory that Louis WANTS those pieces gone are correct. Or rather--Louis THOUGHT that having those pieces removed would help him. He thought he could recover the lost parts of himself if he wiped his mind of the painful memories. But something must've triggered him--likely finding Claudia's diaries after the 1970s--we are SOOOOO deep in Merrick territory. Cuz Louis wants those memories BACK now--with a vengeance.

*squints* Are they really GOING THERE with Lesmand!? O_O That's not Nickistat, right? Cuz the very next clip is Armand--using telekinesis on Louis (or Daniel?) WTF?!

And then we see the familiar clip of Armand using the Fire Gift when he first meets Louis. Just paralleling how much Armand openly flaunts his many gifts in front of Louis, while Lestat tried to hide everything he could do to not scare Louis away--until Ep5 ofc.

Doomed "happy" "family." YELLOW DRESS ALERT ☝️. The calm b4 ish hits the fan. They immediately cut to Claudia being "welcomed" by the Theatre and Santiago zooming thru the tunnel--

--DEATH to all of them! "F**k these vampires"--Claudia never lied!

Louis, you are just too dang pretty--GTFO off my dang screen. 😍

Another YELLOW dress--these images are cursed.

Loustat reunion at the Trial, if that's the same outfit Lestat wore here.

Give him hell, Armand! 😈 He wanted to be the Devil's Minion so bad--here you go! Look at all that glass shattering around him; no wonder Daniel's scared for his life, LOL! (If this is actually Louis throwing a fit I will DIE.)

Louis finna GO OFF on this BUFFOON! So THAT'S why Armand was mad! XD Louis (or Claudia?) was about to rip Santiago's whole jaw off! XDDDD

The sound of Louis just crying has me in a STATE. AMC is doing something SO freaking different from the film & the books. Louis is actively trying to make sense of things, as we see this poor man just suffering with PTSD and mental illness; with no one to HELP him but some crotchety old man who borderline hates him, and an old AF vampire who'd loves him so much that he'd rather have Louis forget everything cuz ignorance is bliss. 😩

Louis WANTS to remember everything. Armand does NOT want the interview. And Daniel is scared.

Holy freaking goodness, what an incredible trailer. 👏 May 12th can't get here fast enough!

[riaaanna]

The drummer Roger Taylor, sipping champagne on a leather sofa in his penthouse duplex overlooking Battersea Park, finds the whole situation hilarious. “Oh God, we’ve always got stick for everything,” he grins. “People say, ‘You’re mistreating the legacy’, and I think, well, thanks for your concern, but it’s my f***ing legacy.”

A random article from 2011 (in anticipation of Stormtroopers in Stilettos exhibition) I'm unpaywalling simply because of Roger's epic quote above. "It's my f***ing legacy" damn right! Full article below.

Revisiting history

Queen are 40 this year — and, to celebrate, they’re reissuing their first five albums. Brian May and Roger Taylor talk to us about Bowie and Freddie

Freddie Mercury once described his band’s songs as being like “disposable razors — use them, darling, then throw them away”. Yet, almost 40 years after Queen’s first LP, that seems an ever more unlikely scenario. Every possible attempt has been made by critics and the self-appointed guardians of musical good taste to ridicule, belittle and bedraggle their arch, explosive, overwrought, emotive, theatrical, propulsive, gargantuan records (bet­ween March 1974 and December 1992, they had 40 UK chart hits — even their successful streaks were wildly over the top), but the public voted time and time again, and the public voted, more often than not, for even more Queen, even more of the time.

Nine years ago, the band spent a reported £7.5m of their own money on a musical, part-written by Ben Elton — then, as now, easily as unfashionable as Queen — featuring their songs. It was savaged by the press (one reviewer from the American magazine The Advocate flew across the Atlantic just so they could call it “complete bollocks”), yet, nearly a decade later, the towering, if rather unflattering, statue of Mercury triumphant still towers above the entrance to London’s Dominion Theatre — and, every night, every seat in the house is full.

“Respect is a funny thing,” says the guitarist Brian May, enjoying the aubergine special at a smart Italian restaurant in Holland Park. “If you look for it, you’ll forever be disappointed.” Queen have had very little, I suggest. Does that seem fair? “It’s true,” he laughs. “But we get everything, from complete, overwhelming love to total, outright derision. I don’t take any of it on board, really. It would ruin you if you believed it. You’d go nuts. I care what people say, but both extremes are dangerous.”

The drummer Roger Taylor, sipping champagne on a leather sofa in his penthouse duplex overlooking Battersea Park, finds the whole situation hilarious. “Oh God, we’ve always got stick for everything,” he grins. “People say, ‘You’re mistreating the legacy’, and I think, well, thanks for your concern, but it’s my f***ing legacy.”

Five years ago, it was announced that the band’s Greatest Hits LP was the UK’s biggest-selling album of all time, and now Queen have signed a new record deal with Island/Universal, after almost 40 years with EMI. The band —effectively May and Taylor (Mercury died in 1991, while the bass player, John Deacon, keeps his old colleagues “at arm’s length”, according to the guitarist) — will be spending the next 12 months revisiting their history.

The anniversary celebrations begin with a photography exhibition — Stormtroopers in Stilettos — that opens this week and focuses on the band’s nascent, ultra-pouty, satin-blouse-and-nail-polish years, most of the images coming from May’s own “air-conditioned and bomb-proof” archive. “I do look at those pictures in wonderment,” he says. “I’m so strange and angular and awkward and uncomfortable-looking. I used to be embarrassed by it, but now I feel really forgiving. It’s like looking at my own children.”

There's a basic truth there - you shouldn't be ashamed to reach a lot of people. What could be better than reaching a lot of people while retaining some intelligence?

Following that will be the re­release of their first five albums, from the ultra-glam, heavy-rock debut up to the panoramically ambitious A Night at the Opera and A Day at the Races, which marked the end of Queen part one. All will arrive as deluxe sets, with a wealth of extras, and all have been remastered by May and Taylor. The pair have been closer to their early material than they have been for years, and seem genuinely amazed by what they found. “You can hear how we wanted to be intense and passionate and heavy, but still very melodic,” May says. “We were always trying to find ways to fulfil what we heard in our heads.”

“What was always thrilling to me was when people really loved the records,” Taylor smiles. “There’s a basic truth there — you shouldn’t be ashamed to reach a lot of people. What could be better than reaching a lot of people while retaining some intelligence?”

Few groups can claim members born in King’s Lynn and Zanzibar, but then few groups are quite like Queen — “the most preposterous band that ever lived”, according to Mercury. May and Taylor met at Imperial College London in 1968 and formed a band called Smile. In early 1969, their own bass player introduced them to a friend of his called Farrokh (Freddie) Bulsara (later Mercury), who was studying art in Ealing. May and he had lived less than a mile from each other in Feltham, southwest London, but had never met.

“I remember the first time I went round to his house,” May says. “He wanted to play me Jimi Hendrix on his Dansette record player — he was totally obsessed with him. Even then, Freddie was a star — very shy, but he’d com­pensate by being grand and flamboyant. He was a serious dandy.”

“We got on immediately,” laughs Taylor, who teamed up with his new friend to set up a vintage clothes and art stall in Kensington Market. “We had a dream of being in a working band, but the only way to live was to sell the sort of outlandish clothes we loved. So we ponced around in velvet capes and tight trousers, and sold the look to other people.”

Freddie had his own bands, Ibex and Wreckage — the latter even supported the psychedelic journeymen Iron Butterfly — but both came to nothing. By late 1970, after he had tried out various day jobs, including working for a bootmaker, the friends came together as Queen. Taylor remembers their first gig being arranged by his mother: they secured £50 to play for the Red Cross in Truro. Soon after, they were doing regular gigs, and rehearsing, at Imperial College. The band signed to EMI in late 1972 and were introduced to the world with a showcase gig at the Marquee. Their first single, May’s Keep Yourself Alive, flopped on release, while their ambitious debut album also failed to make an impact. Meanwhile, David Bowie, for one, was developing into a huge success with a similar mix of high camp and hard rock. “It was a traumatic time,” Taylor says. “We always feared we’d been left behind. It took us such a long time to get any success.”

“Me and Freddie would travel up and down to our management on a No 9 bus, asking why nothing was happening or why we couldn’t get back in the studio,” May says. The band used downtime at a place Bowie had hired to record. The call might not come until 3am, but when it did, they would race in and work until the sun came up. “It was a shambles,” May laughs.

Queen embarked on a bout of prolonged, intensive touring, including an infamous US trip with Mott the Hoople. A Billboard review from 1974 admonished Mercury for “leaning a little too heavily on stage dramatics”, but that never bothered the increasingly devoted crowds too much. “Mott were perfect for us,” Taylor says. “They had an open-minded, very rock’n’roll, insane audience. They were liberated, colourful — not the normal rock crowd.”

“That was when we learnt how to be rock stars,” May smiles. “Just as you thought the day was over, one of Mott would burst into your room, loaded with bottles and whatever else, and off you’d go again. It was very, very full-on and very, very exciting.”

Fred wouldn’t get out of the van some nights. He and Brian had black-and-white fingernails, and literally wore dresses

All the touring made Queen II a proper hit; then Bowie helped out again by pulling out of Top of the Pops at the last moment. Queen filled in, and Seven Seas of Rhye became their first chart smash.

“We got our hook into the mainstream,” Taylor says. “The shows got bigger, but it was rough. Fred wouldn’t get out of the van some nights. He and Brian had black-and-white fingernails, and literally wore dresses, but the tough audiences in Liverpool and Glasgow and Newcastle loved us.”

The band’s third album, Sheer Heart Attack, pushed them over the top. The most heinous excesses were reined in, in favour of a streamlined, hit-delivering monster. Taylor describes it as “grand, but not preposterously so”. The single Killer Queen became their biggest hit yet.

Queen had other problems, however. Playing two shows a night on early tours left Mercury with nodes in his throat, and the band were in a “stifling” relationship with their management. “We were penniless,” May says. “They kept all the money and spent it on swimming pools.”

A new deal with Elton John’s manager, John Reid, promised to wipe out these worries, and the band soon delivered their next single, Bo­hemian Rhapsody. EMI turned it down flat, demanding a radio edit. No such cut was made, and the six-minute song stayed at No 1 for two months. The album that followed, A Night at the Opera, went Top 10 all over the world. Taylor laughs, recalling how, when Queen came to record A Day at the Races, they realised that Opera was “bloody impossible to follow up”.

All the looking back has made May and Taylor consider the 20 years that have passed since Mercury’s death. “These days, our creative fire is more like an ember that flickers occasionally,” Taylor says. May stirs his espresso and smiles. “I just wish he was here to enjoy this with us. He would love this. It was Roger and me in the beginning, and it’s Roger and me again, but Freddie’s always with us. He’s eternal, part of the fabric of every day of our lives.”