Brian May's sonic signature (and that half-hour at Sphere Studios)

It was 2004, and I was in the lounge at Sphere Studios in London with my Burns guitar in my arms.

A black Brian May model one, not the wine-colored one like the original.

When Brian May came in and saw that instrument, he sat down next to me.

We chatted, then he picked up the guitar and improvised his signature British blues on it, using a pick that was actually a sixpence coin.

Forty-five minutes. Then he signed the guitar and gave me the pick.

Today, that guitar is jealously guarded in my studio in Taranto.

But this article isn't just about that meeting.

It's about what it means to build a sonic identity so strong it stands out from the crowd. And what we can learn from Sir Brian May when working with artists who want to make a mark, not just fill a space.

Sound as Identity

What makes Brian May instantly recognisable?

One note is all it takes.

You don't need to wait for the chorus, you don't need to see the video, you don't need to read the credits.

When you hear Brian May, you know.

But where does that instant recognition come from?

First of all, from his instrument: the Red Special, a guitar completely unlike any other on the market.

Built by him and his father in the 1960s, with materials ranging from reclaimed wood to bicycle springs used for the tremolo.

Then there's his unique sonic taste, stemmed from a physical mix between the way his fingers move on the fretboard and the amp-guitar combination.

The amp he's always used is a VOX AC30 Top Boost cranked to maximum volume.

No exotic effects. No complicated pedalboards.

Just guitar, amp, fingers. And an approach he's never changed.

This consistency isn't conservatism. It's strategy.

Choosing Consistency

Brian May made a clear choice from the beginning of his career: to always use the same instruments and develop a personal sound on them.

He didn't follow trends. He didn't change his setup for every record. He didn't give in to the temptation to experiment with different gear just because "everyone uses it".

He took his Red Special and his VOX AC30 and built an identity on them that has lasted fifty years.

From a producer's perspective, these were the smartest sonic choices he could have made.

Because when you choose an instrument and work with it until you know every nuance of it, until it becomes an extension of your body and mind, you develop a language that is uniquely yours.

Keep Yourself Alive: Modernity in 1973

If I had to single out a song where Brian May's guitar work is particularly brilliant from a production standpoint, I'd say "Keep Yourself Alive."

Queen's first song. Released in 1973.

Listen to it today and it seems absurd that it was played and conceived in that way half a century ago.

Incredibly original. Incredibly modern.

That song already contains everything Brian May would become: the harmonics, the orchestral guitar overdubs, that sound that fills the entire sonic space without drowning out anything.

It's music that serves the song, that builds Queen's identity, that tells a story.

And that, for me, is the difference between a good guitarist and a guitarist who leaves his mark.

Lessons for Contemporary Production

The Problem of Anonymity

Today, there's an overabundance of bands and artists offering their music.

But 90% of it is unrecognisable.

Because there's no sonic research behind it.

You listen to a song and it could be anyone's.

It passes without leaving a trace, without creating a connection, without generating that spark that makes you say, "This is him, I recognise him."

Research in every sense is the foundation of any artistic endeavour, including music.

Without research, there's only standardisation. And in standardisation, you disappear.

Brian May knew this fifty years ago. And he continues to know it today.

What a Contemporary Artist Can Learn

A contemporary guitarist can learn from May that personal sound is found through developing one's ear and style, almost entirely independent of academics.

I'm not saying studying isn't useful. I'm saying studying isn't enough.

You can know all the scales, all the techniques, all the tricks of the trade.

But if you don't develop your own identity, if you don't pursue your sound with the same obsession that Brian May developed his, you will always remain one of many.

You must have your sound in your head before you even bring it out with your hands. And the same goes for music.

The Role of the Producer

In the world of music production, having a recognisable sonic signature like Brian May's is very important.

Otherwise, you risk anonymity.

As a producer, my job is to facilitate this search in the artists I collaborate with.

If I were to produce an artist who wants to build a strong and lasting sonic identity, I would simply tell them to forget everything they've studied and approach the sonic research with their own mindset.

Exactly as May did.

It's not about copying. It's about understanding the method: choosing the tools that represent you, working on them until they become part of you, developing a recognisable language.

And this is the natural transition that leads me to tell you what happened in 2004, when I found myself face to face with one of the clearest examples of what it means to have a defined sonic personality.

Sphere Studios, 2004

The Context

The day before, I'd discovered that a large stack of two-inch tapes had been placed on the sofa in control room 2, where I was mixing.

The labels bore the titles of all Queen's songs.

They were the original recording tapes of Queen's albums, which someone had left there because they needed to be digitised.

Then the studio manager told me that Brian May was in control room 3, supervising the digitisation process.

I wasn't expecting to bump into him by chance, but I knew he'd be there.

The Meeting

I was in the lounge waiting for him, my Burns Brian May in my arms.

A black guitar. I had it in the studio because I often played on my productions, so I always kept a couple of my instruments there.

At the time, Burns was the only brand making a model to Sir Brian May's specifications.

When he saw me with that guitar, he sat down next to me and we started chatting.

Of course, he then took a spin on the guitar.

He improvised some of his signature British blues on it, using his famous plectrum, which is actually a sixpence coin.

He then gave me that coin. And I still have it.

We must have been chatting and playing for 45 minutes.

It's strange to say, but Sir May is an incredibly human and down-to-earth person.

We were both in a professional environment, and at that point, we were colleagues.

Before he left, I asked him if he'd like to sign the guitar. He accepted without a problem.

I should have captured the moment in a photo, but I never took photos in the studio because it seemed intrusive.

Today, that guitar is jealously guarded in my studio in Taranto.

The Symbol

For me, Brian May represents one of the most recognisable guitarists of all time.

He's a tremendous example of a personality to aspire to.

But that half hour taught me something beyond technique or sound.

I found myself in the presence of a human being splendid in kindness and professionalism.

Something rare.

And I understood that artistic greatness and humanity are not contradictory. In fact, they often go hand in hand.

Because true music, the kind that lasts, comes from people.

And you recognise people when they're authentic.

The search continues

That signature on my guitar is a daily reminder.

Not of that moment itself, but of what Brian May represents in the music scene: proof that the search for a personal sound is possible, necessary, and yields results that last decades.

When I work with an artist, the question I always ask myself is: will this project have a recognisable identity? Are we building something that can last, or are we just filling a space?

Because the music industry is full of filled spaces.

But what's really missing are identities.

Brian May knew this in 1973.

And he continues to prove it every time he plays a note.