Brian May’s fingers have created some of the most iconic guitar riffs in rock history. The soaring solos in “Bohemian Rhapsody.” The anthemic drive of “We Will Rock You.” The raw power of “Brighton Rock.” For decades, his guitar—the Red Special he built with his father—has been an extension of his soul, channeling creativity that’s moved millions.
But if you ask May what he’s most proud of today, he won’t talk about stadiums or platinum records. He’ll talk about hedgehogs.
Somewhere along the way, between world tours and recording sessions, May discovered another calling. It started small—rescuing injured hedgehogs in his Surrey garden, noticing their declining numbers, learning about the threats they faced. Roads. Pesticides. Habitat loss. These small, spiny creatures that had been part of England’s countryside for millennia were disappearing, and almost no one was paying attention.
So May did what he’s always done when something matters—he threw himself into it completely. He campaigned for animal welfare. He transformed his garden into a wildlife refuge, creating safe spaces for hedgehogs, foxes, and birds. He used his platform not to promote another album, but to advocate for creatures who had no voice of their own. He partnered with rescue organizations, funded conservation efforts, and spoke out against practices that harmed wildlife.
To some, it might seem like an odd shift—from rock legend to hedgehog advocate. But for those who’ve followed May’s career, it makes perfect sense. Because the same creative energy that fueled his music, the same passion that made him one of the greatest guitarists alive, is now channeled into saving lives. Just different lives than anyone expected.
His dedication mirrors the precision he brought to his craft. Every guitar solo was deliberate, layered, purposeful. And now, every advocacy campaign, every rescued animal, every piece of legislation he supports carries that same intentionality. May doesn’t do anything halfway. When he commits, he commits fully.
The hedgehog rescue efforts alone have saved hundreds of lives. His garden, once just a beautiful space, is now a sanctuary where injured animals recover and thrive. He’s lobbied government officials, raised awareness through social media, and inspired countless others to see wildlife not as background scenery, but as fellow inhabitants of a shared world.
May’s legacy isn’t just legendary riffs anymore. It’s written in every rescued creature, every advocacy campaign that shifts public opinion, every person who looks at a hedgehog differently because Brian May made them care. His artistry has expanded beyond music into something even more fundamental—compassion.
And perhaps that’s the most rock and roll thing of all. To reach the pinnacle of fame and success, and then use that platform not for more glory, but to protect the voiceless. To take the creative fire that built an empire and redirect it toward healing a broken world.
Brian May still plays guitar. He still performs. But when the lights go down and the crowds disperse, he returns to his garden in Surrey, where hedgehogs waddle through the undergrowth and foxes den in the quiet corners. There, surrounded by the creatures he’s fought so hard to protect, May embodies a truth more profound than any song: that true artistry includes how we care for the natural world.
His fingers still create magic. But now, that magic saves lives.