And yet, claims guitarist Brian May, "being in Queen is painful for all of us."

The pain to which May refers is not the wincing that occurs every year around tax time, but creative compromises which must be made in a band that singer Freddie Mercury once called "the bitchiest in the world." It's a group in which all four members are songwriters vying for space on each LP, leading drummer Roger Taylor recently to release his second solo album, Strange Frontier; May to issue a solo mini-LP earlier this year, Star Fleet Project (also on Capitol), and Mercury to contribute to the Giorgio Moroder soundtrack for Metropolis. With those outlets at their disposal, why would Queen continue to subject themselves to further arguments and sublimated egos?

"Because," answers May, "in spite of--or maybe because of--all the arguments that go with it, we feel that a Queen album is a little more special than anything any one of us could do."

There's also the hard fact that neither May's nor Taylor's project was well received. In his case, says May, "my problem is that I tend to direct myself toward things that are very non-commercial--and then wonder why they don't sell!"

Queen were forced to ponder similar thoughts after their last album, 1982's Hot Space. With such dance-oriented tracks as the single "Body Language"--a sound that has since over-saturated MTV and the Top 100--the LP elicited accusations that Queen had forsaken rock & roll. Growing disenchantment between the band and its label, Elektra Records, also hurt the album's chances, and though it went gold, Hot Space was the group's poorest-charting record since 1974's Queen II. As for why, the serious, soft-spoken May and the convivial, puckish Taylor have their own opinions.

"It's quite simple, really," says Roger. "It wasn't what people wanted to hear from us. It was a good six months ahead of it's time." Taylor lets out a rueful chuckle. "The record company thought so too."

"We didn't really think Hot Space was so different," offers May, "which shows there's a limit to how objective you can be about your own work. We were used to people going along with the different directions we took, and when they held up their hands in horror and said, "This doesn't sound like Queen,' we thought, 'but it is us.'

"Having said all that," the tall, reed-thin guitarist adds, "I didn't like it terribly much either."

Following a summer '82 U.S. tour with Billy Squier and a tour of Japan, Queen decided that a sabbatical was necessary, "to recharge ourselves," in may's words. The evidence provided on The Works (Capitol) indicates that they've done just that. While it retains several Queen trademarks--the choirlike harmonies on "It's a Hard Life," the primitive stomp on "Tear It Up" that recalls one of their biggest hits, "We Will Rock You"--the LP pulses with vitality. And The Works contains a lyrical depth foreign to the group's earlier albums, addressing such concerns as nuclear peril on "Hammer to Fall."

"We went through a time where we seemed to be writing songs for the sake of writing songs," says May. "But for this album, we found when we sat down to write that we actually had something to say about things that worry us."

"We've always had some songs with semi-serious content," puts in Taylor, "but they've usually been tucked away on the albums."

Taylor's contribution to The Works is "Radio GaGa," his first worldwide A-side. The song advances the theme of the Buggles' 1979 hit "Video Killed the Radio Star," only here it's the medium itself being rendered obsolete by the video boom.

"Of course, " notes Taylor, mindful of the irony, "in order to promote the single we had to make a big video to go with it. So you go around in circles." Though "Radio GaGa" is not so much anti-video as it is pro-radio, Taylor does feel that "there's too much reliance on videos these days, and because of that, some of the records on the charts are very average, like Quiet Riot's 'Cum On Feel the Noize.'

"And most of these videos," he continues, "are these Steven Spielberg-style mini-epics that mean absolutely fuck-all! These hugely unintelligible storylines, with the band dressed up as Mongolian horses, or something like that. They're just pretty pictures that are pretty meaningless."

One of the earliest conceptual videos was Queen's own "Bohemian Rhapsody," made in 1976, "when it didn't cost alot of money to produce one."

Back then Queen were part of the waning glitter-rock movement, and, along with David Bowie, were one of the few to outlast it. Most infatuated with the period's dress-to-kill credo was singer Mercury, born Frederick Bulsara in Zanzibar 37 years ago. "It was still a British Protectorate; my father worked for the British Civil Service," he once explained. Mercury would preen on stage in short-shorts or leotards stretched to the bursting point, the nails of one hand painted black. And of course there was the name, intended to convey regality, not sexual ambiguity, but which was often mistaken for the latter.

While their image drew much media attention, Queen were quietly advancing the possibilities of the recording studio. For "Bohemian Rhapsody," their six-minute mini-opera, they multitracked their voices so many times that "the recording tape became transparent."

There were other noteworthy singles: "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" (1979) predated the rockabilly revival by three years ("We play it better than the Stray Cats," Taylor boasts playfully). And "Another one Bites the Dust," composed by bassist John Deacon, shocked even the band ("I never liked it much," admits Taylor) when it became one of the few white dance records to cross over to the disco chart and back, going #1.

Because Queen have generally drawn some of the most vitriolic criticism ever targeted at one band, however, many of those accomplishments have gone under-recognized. In the past Taylor may have flippantly called the group's music disposable, but now concedes that the lack of recognition does rankle him. "Yeah, I do think a lot of things we've done have been overlooked--the recording techniques, Brian's harmony guitar parts.

"But," he adds acridly, "we're not the sort of band that people like to refer to as being at all seminal."

Cynics are probably now scoffing that the primary reason for Queen's perseverance is monetary; such charges were especially loud in the late '70s punk era, when Queen were often exemplified as the epitome of mercenary, jaded corporate rockers.

"You don't get jaded," Taylor insists. "In fact, the biggest kick we've had in ages is that 'Radio GaGa' is doing so well. And it's a great kick every time: 'Shit, we can still do it!'