Review: Muse - 'Drones'

The world continues to resemble an appallingly-written sci-fi movie by every passing day, so it feels especially righteous to have a fresh slab of music from popular rock's most endearing riff-wielding commentators, Muse. 

Album number seven, with the band noting a marked return to the primal guitar-bass-drums setup of their earlier works, comes with its own narrative: indeed, Matt, Dom and Chris have even expressed enthusiasm for Drones to be adapted into some form of musical.

Possibly to nix the allure of potential album leaks, Muse have pre-empted the release of Drones with not just the expected slew of singles, but approximately half the album. Psycho was the first out the gate, providing a musical home for a guitar riff that Bellamy has been throwing around for almost all of the band's history. 

The Drill Sergeant barking that precedes it is one of two interludes on the album, recalling Tool's fondness for such between-song pieces that allow the listener to breath and take a detour through disembodied planes before stumbling directly back into the album's narrative. 

Dead Inside followed, despite this Undisclosed Desires-turned-nasty stuttering disco stomper actually opening the album, possibly to allay fears of Bellamy talking a load of bells about the supposed return to Planet Rock. When received by the masses, it prompted confusion - it wasn't pureblood rock, but wasn't meat-and-potatoes either, proving Muse hadn't lost their appetite for exploration.

Next up, in both pre-album releases as well as Drones' actual running order, cometh Mercy and Reapers, which history may pinpoint as the overall album's standout tracks. Mercy proudly shows off its musical lineage, carrying several elements from past songs such as Starlight, Follow Me as well as setlist cornerstone Stockholm Syndrome, juicing the ingredients into a fantastic slice of glittercannon pop-rock.

Reapers takes the madness further with a so-so verse that gives way triumphantly to Rage Against The Machine-turned-glam guitar work, featuring a fabulously jubilant  - and dare I say it, sassy - guitar solo with the greatest chorus of the whole album. A surefire gem.

The Handler sits stubbornly at the album's core, guitar riff reaching out in several directions like a drowsy belligerent octopus. It provides the uneasiest experience amongst the tracklisting, but not without showcasing Muse's songwriting prowess.

The second of the interludes, JFK, features the great man himself blathering before Bellamy and co kick the door down with Defector, (yet) another monstrously rocking track that wields its hammerblow riffs and Queen-esque backing vocals, Matt in a pleasingly defiant mood that contrasts with the negativity preceding it over the course of some of the album's first half. 

After the usual dizzying carousel of thick-stringed riffery, bombast and epic themes, Revolt is a not entirely unpleasant prospect but its city-stomping predecessors leave such a mark that it nearly drops the baton. It may please those who wish for a simpler song, but history may consign it to the dusty corner of unloved filler tracks (see also: Explorers and Guiding Light).

Then again, it may be the intention to wind down the musical intensity as the narrative reaches its conclusion. Aftermath almost recalls the woozy sway of past tracks such as Blackout and the three-part Exogenesis Symphony, but is slightly too watery and ultimately fails to make a meaningful impression.

Ten-minute-monster The Globalist pointedly defies any notion of bringing things to a gentle halt with a heady mix of unadulterated fearlessness, albeit with slightly wobbly execution. Whilst not the greatest thing Muse have ever committed to tape, it inarguably succeeds in marking out Muse as one of the most interesting acts to tap the Top 10 on the shoulder before lending it a copy of 1984. 

Closing this chapter in Muse's history is the album's title track, in which Bellamy clones himself and forces the assembled Matts at Manson-point to all sing at the same time. It's a strange soup of the man exploring the different levels of his still-brilliant voice, but also sounds like several vocal warm-up takes being played at the same time. As album closers go, only time will have the final word on whether it truly works or not.

A cabal of longtime Musers wait, agonised, for Muse to return to the form they built their career and legend on. Drones doesn't completely hark back to those times, because nostalgia is a backwards glance and Muse have never done anything else except march into the future. For that, they cannot be criticised. 

7.5/10

Review: Muse - 'Psycho' (Single)

So. Matt Bellamy warned us (or soothed us) with tales of a stripped-back sound for the new Muse album, now absolutely, totally, properly confirmed as the blunt-sounding Drones. It's interesting to see that even the title retains the same minimalistic feeling as the music is supposed to, and the tracklisting for the impending album is almost entirely made up of equally blunt one-word song titles. So far, more blunt than a James Blunt family gathering.

It's some surprise, then, that new track Psycho is a musical long-awaited home for a guitar riff (known as the '0-3-0-5-0 riff') that Bellamy has been dicking around with for several years, Muse often launching into it by means of an outro to Stockholm Syndrome in concerts. This opens a debate: if the lead single is a queasy mixture of new and old, what can be said for the rest of the album?

Anyway, on to the single itself, which is pleasingly rocking, and feels like a spiritual successor to 2009 single Uprising in its steady fist-pumping pace. A drill sergeant features throughout, yelling at a soldier, while Bellamy yells 'Your ass belongs to me now!', a line which finely treads between being acceptable and just a bit cringeworthy - as is the swearing, which is either Muse flopping their balls on the musical table or trying slightly too hard to be edgy.

It may seem that they cannot win, as some will inevitably find Psycho's meat-and-potatoes approach boring, missing the sonic explorations of previous singles Madness and Follow Me, excellent songs that drew a collective 'Oh' from a large portion of the fanbase.

Here's hoping that Drones will be a blend of Muse's best traits; much-loved past albums such as Absolution and Black Holes & Revelations have successfully blended their ASDA-sized riffs, orchestral backings and sense of adventure immensely, while the subsequent The Resistance and The 2nd Law saw the quality barrier dip slightly. 

Muse have proven themselves as world-beaters several times over - hopefully they'll get right back where they belong, at the top of the pile.

Review: Steven Wilson - 'Hand.Cannot.Erase.'

Not one to either rest on his laurels or plough a particular musical direction ad nauseum, Steven Wilson has made a name for himself in energetically pursuing all manner of different styles and genres across various projects, spreading himself like peanut butter: a distinctive taste that is instantly recognisable against any background.

He is also keen on approaching music armed with a theme or story, as 2013’s magnificent The Raven That Refused to Sing proved: a haunting collection of musical mini-feasts, encompassing prog-rock, jazz, and based on ghost stories penned by the man himself.

2014’s Cover Version compilation was a perfect stop-gap between Raven and Wilson’s latest, being an unpretentious collection of covers (duh) and original compositions – reminding everyone of his ability to create intriguing and spellbinding music simply for the joy of doing so.

Having given his growing legion of disciples time to breathe, he returns with a concept that out-concepts most other concepts, the concept being (sorry) the story of a young woman who is swallowed up by the big city and is discovered dead in her bedsit, having tragically passed away years beforehand.

An interesting story in itself, a judder of significance permeates the proceedings when it transpires that the story is based on real events – an actual breathing, living, loving human named Joyce Carol Vincent. A documentary about Vincent, titled Dreams of a Life, had such an effect on Wilson that he took inspiration and ran with it – to the studio.  

We begin at the start of the album (where else?), the first of eleven intriguingly-titled tracks, First Regret. An instrumental piece, it sets the scene with seasick piano and electronic washes of atmosphere. Digital thumps appear underneath the piano, and more electro tomfoolery fills the space. It could have fitted on The Social Network’s soundtrack.

Sparse keyboard gently introduces 3 Years Older, a musically exhilarating rollercoaster of full-band adventures, a Rush-esque rush. As the track veers between exciting peaks and gentler troughs, it’s hard to not wish for a little more time to be spent exploring the various avenues that the piece hurtles down: it feels like a taster montage of songs from a full album. However, it is brilliantly weaved together – and tremendous fun.

The album’s title track then elbows its way to the front, with breezy pop-rock sensibilities. You can almost hear Wilson smirking as he reminds you that while he can drag the listener through twenty-minute prog epics (Raider II, from past album Grace For Drowning), he can ‘do’ pop with a flick of the wrist.

A further part of the unfolding story is illustrated with the wistful and subtle Perfect Life, where Katherine Jenkins narrates memories of the female protagonist’s former foster sister, over a gently building electronic beat that gradually reaches its full sonic height, revealing Wilson waiting in the wings to add soft vocals in the second half. The sensation of sad longing for a much-missed happy period abounds.

These first four tracks almost lull the listener into audio safety before Wilson drags you into the album’s meatier, if less hooky, core. The further you venture into the album (and thus the story), the further into madder musical territory you go. Thankfully, all those who trespass here will be rewarded.

Home Invasion takes a turn for the weird with a proper prog-out leading into alt-rock swagger, permeated by dreamy intersperses of Wilson’s distinctive layered vocals and guitar that floats along with him, before shazoomphing into Regret #9, essentially an elongated spacey guitar solo that never approaches the wrong side of indulgence.

In turn, it sets the stage for the fleeting and gentler Transcience, which simultaneously recalls the aforementioned Cover Version collection of mostly acoustic numbers, and even the wondrous past project Storm Corrosion, where Wilson teamed up with Mikael Akerfeldt and produced stunning atmospheric vistas that paid zero heed to established ideas of song structure, revelling in a tremendous sense of musical freedom.

We now come to the biggest bastard of the album, Ancestral, clocking in at thirteen minutes. Classical instrumentation shakes hands with more electronic beats, in a mixture that shouldn’t work, but Wilson bends unto his will and view. Like 3 Years Older before it, enough music is stuffed into it to fill a warehouse (or the last chunk of space on your phone’s microSD card).

Happy Returns, um, returns us to the piano melody in First Regret. This is the last we hear of Wilson’s female protagonist, and the lyrics alone are heartbreaking when thinking of the tragic Joyce Vincent’s final moments. Wilson is to be commended for helping the cause against loneliness, by imaginatively filling in the blanks for a life shared with nobody but Vincent herself. The track also recalls the slow climb and build of Perfect Life – it’s reminiscent of when non-linear films show the viewer a penultimate scene near the beginning, so when we reach that crucial moment, it is already strangely familiar.

If this is the case with Happy Returns, it works excellently. A musical sad smile shows as Wilson engages in lyric-free doo-dooing, acoustic in hand, before the whole piece dissolves into Ascendant Here On..., the album’s exeunt.  A gorgeously simplistic choir vocal is accompanied by considered piano notes, and the sound of children playing leads us out...along with the life of a young human being.  

As the world becomes more and more connected but increasingly impersonal, future generations would do well to recognize Hand.Cannot.Erase. as a commentary on our increasing social coldness, and the effects it has on our fellow selves, most of which go unseen by the absolute majority.

It’s a bewilderingly beautiful kaleidoscope with which to view the social network age; few will ever capture it so vividly. 

Review: Bumblefoot - Little Brother is Watching

Ron ‘Bumblefoot’ Thal hasn’t had a chance to properly grace us with his brand of methodical musical madness for quite some time. For those who wondered what the feck was up with Guns N’ Roses these days and investigated, you’ll be aware that Thal has spent considerable time lending his  guitar wizardry to them. Now his tenure may have reached a conclusion, and we have Little Brother is Watching, his first full-length since 2008’s Abnormal.

And boy, is it welcome. Brilliantly bright lead guitars permeate Thal’s signature flavours of slightly cartoonish modern pop-rock eccentricities, where a vocal hook takes residence in your brain and forces you to hum it, before he utilises his stunning string-melting shredtastic sorcery and tastefully kicks the door down with a good old guitar solo.

Indeed, one of Thal’s many gifts is to know exactly when to unleash his formidable ability and give a song just the right guitar solo: he also knows when not to, proving equally adept at allowing his axe to sing in its own voice that melodically duets with the music – and with Thal’s own voice, which is impressive in itself.

Abnormal was seen as the ‘evil twin’ to 2005’s bright-eyed Normal, and appeared to take on a punk edge to some of the tracks, with cuts like Piranha proving ferocious. Little Brother is Watching places itself unapologetically in the pop-rock arena, with witty and touching lyricisms duelling with tasty riffs, singalong leads and distinctive vocals that deserve to help establish Ron Thal as a force to be celebrated.

Overall, Little Brother is Watching already has the competition pinned to the wall. If there is a God, it will coax listeners away from mainstream pap and towards a multi-talented, honest and musically fearless individual who has proven himself capable of great things and worthy of your attention.

He’s far more than a Bumblefootnote. 

Incoming: Steven Wilson - 'Hand. Cannot. Erase'

In a journey that began during the touring cycle for 2013’s opus The Raven that Refused to Sing, where the forward-looking Mr. Wilson aired newer music alongside new tracks, we find ourselves facing another release from the messiah figure of prog: Hand. Cannot. Erase.

In contrast to 2014’s Cover Version collection, Wilson has gone for the jugular with a concept album that out-concepts his previous concepts. Where Raven was based on a collection of ghost stories penned by Wilson, his latest offering takes respectful inspiration from the tragic tale of Joyce Vincent, a young woman who had been dead in her London bedsit for two years before anyone found her. 

Despite being a young, attractive woman with enough family and friends, she managed to essentially disappear inside the ocean of the city. Thoroughly affected by this, and a documentary on the subject, Wilson has taken the story as inspiration, concocting something of a musical story with a similar individual as its protagonist.

There’s the concept, but what do we know of the music so far? Kate Bush has been admitted as an influence, and Wilson has cold-watered fears of an overly poppy record by reassuring that Hand. Cannot. Erase. actually encompasses every style of music that can be associated with him – prog fans rejoice.

The first slice from the album was its title track: breezy, ostensibly pop, but like past single Postcard, there is still something about the song that elevates it. Mostly, it’s the knowledge that the song will form a part of a wider tapestry, and the music itself being subtly more than a three-minute wonder. Guthrie Govan lend a gentle, passing guitar lead, further enticing those who were won over by his pitch-perfect playing on Raven, often beautifully filling space and occasionally taking free reign and painting beautiful sonic pictures. His star is in the ascent, and praise is well deserved.

More recently, another track has surfaced: Perfect Life. Fans could perhaps be forgiven for hoping for something a little more musically chunkier, after the airy lark-drama of the title-track. Instead, Perfect Life is a less-is-more statement in understatement, which will probably fall victim to the skip button in time, perhaps unfairly.

First impressions find it to be lightweight and meandering, with Katherine Jenkins as the aforementioned female protagonist reflecting on happy memories she shared with a younger sister, over a drum-machine beat.

Later on, Wilson then reminds you whose name is on the sleeve by singing “We have got the perfect life” several times, while the electronic music gently builds. The piece is starkly beautiful in a way that Wilson is proving more and more adept at, and it remains to be seen how this fits in to the mural of the story, and how it relates to the other songs on the album.

As befalls every album, Hand. Cannot. Erase has now leaked.

 If you can’t hold on until March 3^rd, you’ll know where to look. But Steven Wilson is an individual who takes extra, extra care in crystallising the mundane and presenting it as something extraordinarily beautiful. In examples such as Hand. Cannot. Erase. he presents to the world something far more than a collection of songs; it’s art, pure and far from simple.