murder, who confronts hisimminent execution (the first two verses). To save his own life he signs a
Faustian pact with the devil, and is then tortured in the fires of hell by various mythical characters
(operetta section) before managing to “get right out of here” (rock-out section), and finally achieving
repose and inner peace ("nothing really matters” outro). Lee Abe’s arrangement represents perhaps
the biggest technical and artistic challenge of the whole show for our cast-it's a faithful and full-scale
interpretation of the original recording. True to the band’s live interpretation, lead vocalist Miguel Soto
covers parts of the piano accompaniment (watch out for the flamboyant Freddie-esque crossed-hands
as he hits the two high notes in the intro riff), and seizes center stage as the song’s drama unfolds.

Bicycle Race

Album: Jazz (1978)

Bicycle Race, perhaps more than any other Queen song, shows off the band's oh-so-British tendency
towards lyric silliness, delivered deadpan. The concept is simple—our narrator scorns everything life has
to offer, because he wants to ride his bicycle. This framework carries references to pop culture, literary
works, fictional characters, and political events. The backing vocals are part of the conversation too,
providing suggestions for Freddie's character to dismiss (“black-white/bark-bite/Lord-Peter Pan/Smile -
Watergate”). The excitement mounts throughout as the "bicycle” harmonies become more intense, with
even the studio production contributing to the narrative, when the vocal harmony on the chorus's
high-pitched second "bi-cycle” is extra-reverbed and doubled with a cycle bell sound effect. Berklee's
staging of the song is inspired by West Side Story; our two “gangs” of lead vocalists face off against
each other and duke it out. We suggest you just go with the flow here and lose yourself in the cheerful
daftness of the song. Bicycle races are coming your way, so forget all your duties. Oh yeah.

It's A Hard Life

Album: The Works (1984)

"| don't want my freedom/There's no reason for living with a broken heart.” The overwrought operatic
introduction to this singalong ballad is taken from Ruggero Leoncavallo's 1892 opera Pagliacci-which
was itself based on a tragic clown character who believed (coincidentally?) that "the show must go on.”
By Queen's standards, the original recording is fairly straightforward—piano, drums, bass, and guitar,
albeit with heavy voice and guitar layering as the arrangement develops. Lead vocalist Aida Frantzen
self-accompanies on piano for the understated verses, carrying the mic to center stage as the texture
builds. In the original recording, Brian May's guitar emulates strings; Berklee's arrangement has gone
in the opposite direction, scoring the song for 10-piece string section, replacing the guitar solo with
Emily Gelineau’s commanding and strident violin solo.

These Are the Days of Our Lives

Album: Innuendo (1991)

For most people, this reflective song of farewell was the last they would see of Freddie; the video was
shot in May 1991, when his health was weak, and the single was released on his 45th birthday, just
weeks before he passed away. The song is unremittingly positive throughout; our storyteller reflects on
a life well lived, and is at peace with his journey, leaving no regrets as he passes life’s mantle to the next
generation: "No use in sitting and thinkin’ on what you did/When you can lay back and enjoy it through
your kids." As in the 1991 version, our vocal harmonies are modest; Laufey Lin and Marlon Solomon
take the verses separately, splitting into simple parallel thirds in the first chorus. Our arrangement
adapts many of the original's synthesizer lines for more organic instruments, including flugelhom

and five-string bass.