Where next? Short of featuring inter-dimensional portals or
a functional greenhouse onstage, Muse have readily fulfilled what it means to
be an all-conquering stadium-slaying band. The Teignmouth trio, out in force
supporting last year’s discography-uplifting Drones, have taken their already quite fucking mental stage show to
new ceiling-punching heights.
A decade ago, the Black
Holes & Revelations show was a retina-wrecking spectacle in its own
right; the following Resistance tour
featured three blooming towers in which Matt, Dom and Chris stood; while The 2nd Law tour had a giant
ensemble of dynamic screens that gradually closed over the band. Toss in a fair
few stadium-swallowing treks and scorched-earth festival appearances and you’ve
got a seriously formidable act.
As title-track Drones
filled the Barclaycard Arena, the promised computer-controlled "swarm" of drones finally revealed itself. Only
slightly sinister (so not completely in accordance with the dark imagery of the
album and the rest of the show), they are in fact floating ping-pong balls,
gently sashaying around the arena in an almost David Copperfield-esque moment
of open-mouthed wonder.
The drones in flight, during Supermassive Black Hole.
In another Copperfield moment, the levitating ostrich eggs
line themselves up peacefully down the stage’s runways, and we realise the act
is introduction but also magical misdirection, as Muse finally emerge and swing
into the gloriously punchy Pyscho.
Eager to please, the hoary old Plug In Baby is wheeled out and administers a good arse-kicking to everyone not already moving. Slightly
irritatingly, classic notions of keeping the pacing are thrown to the wind as Dead Inside then lumbers into view, followed by The 2nd Law: Isolated System and another new'un, The Handler.
All are objectively fine, but slow the show down and stand in
the place of, say, New Born.
As if responding to this impression, Supermassive Black Hole moonwalks through the arena, bringing the
drones out with it, wafting over the crowd. Bizarrely, the orchestral prelude to Survival then precedes the irresistibly
anthemic Starlight, but the pair - now ten years old! - have become staples in their own right.
The juggernaut
that is Citizen Erased then thunders out
from Muse’s back catalogue, pacifying any old-time fans and answering desires for several classics in one go, with Bellamy taking to the grand piano for its emotional wind-down. It is a treat indeed, possibly a magnum opus and always welcome.
Note Bellamy's red 7-string guitar for Citizen Erased. The potato loved it.
While the intervals aren't as annoying as, say, the instrumental jams and guitar solos employed by Guns N' Roses in previous years, they make the fine line between presentation of art and a blast-through of songs wobble slightly. Happily, Muse are old hands at this and get the balance right, even if the more nuanced moments are nearly drowned out by mindless chatter from surrounding blithering boar-faces bores in the standing area, for no gig of this size is free of these eternal twats.
After the traditional drum-and-bass jam, Muse finally approach an uninterrupted run-through: the unashamed pop of Madness and giddying space-rock of Map of the Problematique are dealt out, only for another interlude: the John F. Kennedy speech sampled in the Drones album that precedes uplifting stomp-rocker Defector in its tracklisting - this is revealed to be another bit of misdirection when two of the old guard in Stockholm Syndrome and Time is Running Out get the crowd almost jumping high enough to knock the drones out of the sky.
A couple of after-song riffs (including Led Zeppelin's Heartbreaker) and fist-pump anthem Uprising are given well-received airings, then Muse try out their arguably proggiest undertaking since the Exogenesis symphonies: The Globalist, referenced by Bellamy as something of a sequel to Citizen Erased. A hydra-headed musical beast, it is perhaps the greatest showcase of the new stage show and its themes, not least when a slightly wanky drone plane flies over the crowd and Matt revisits his piano.
Ticker-tape tomfoolery for Mercy.
Before saying goodnight, the slow burning of Take a Bow and Muse's newest anthem, Mercy, with its accompanying ticker-tape explosions, set the stage for the immortal clarion call of Knights of Cydonia.
There are probably around five artist and bands with anything approaching Muse's statesmanship, showmanship, and absolute dominance of the arena-show in the universe right now. While it's mind-boggling to think of how they can top this, in the meantime one of the great acts of our time are still readily available for your delectation. Got your ticket yet?
