Archives > Absolution Era > Earls Court 20th Review
Virtual Festivals review of the amazing EC 20th gig
Author : Andrew Future | Date : 06 Mar 2005 14:32 | Submitted by Jamie | Comments : 
(9) | Rating :
7.37
(9) | Rating :
7.37
For anyone but Muse, scud-hugging aircraft hangars like Earls Court would ruin the show; thinning the atmosphere swallowing the sound and usurping the magic. Lest we forget though that this is positively small fry when you’ve spent the year headlining some of the biggest festivals in the world. And they fucking know it.
As you’d expect, everything’s turned up to infinitum, squared and pointed directly at the sun. Matt Bellamy has become a torturous soldier of Satan – commanding the underworld in a masterfully long red cloak. Out are the pixie spikes and body suits. The scissor-hands guitar solos, church-bell stomping arpeggios and train crash bass lines remain.
And while for some it’s all now rather familiar that simply increases the pleasure. It’s the way the wonderful ‘Sunburn’ continues to evolve, its sand-strewn piano riff classically sprinkled atop minimally spluttering rhythms with a few new beats for good measure. The handclaps and paranoia death disco of ‘Time Is Running Out’ follow the monstrous 'Plug In Baby' and the ecstatic ‘Bliss’ as the pit bounces is one great wall of pleasure. This is centre point of the gig and it is amazing. I have truly never witnessed this kind of euphoria at a concert before.
When a magnum bursting opus like 'Butterflies and Hurricanes’ isn’t the best single on your album, something’s not right. And the beauty of Bellamy is you actually expect him to be singing, while playing guitar and piano and conducting the rest of the band. All at once. And he does of course, many, many times.
It isn’t just that ‘Apocalypse Please’ pisses all over every album opener since ‘I Wanna Be Adored’, it’s that it really is timeless. In grave robbing from Bach, Rachmaninov and chums and molesting their legacies with the kind of technical musicianship that makes the OK Computer look like a Von Bondies album, this otherworldly demonic phenomenon can only gain greater momentum. They are positively playing out of their skins tonight. With the next Muse record you’ll be able to kiss goodbye to popular music as you know it. Like Stockholm Syndrome itself, being saved isn’t even a desire any more.
As you’d expect, everything’s turned up to infinitum, squared and pointed directly at the sun. Matt Bellamy has become a torturous soldier of Satan – commanding the underworld in a masterfully long red cloak. Out are the pixie spikes and body suits. The scissor-hands guitar solos, church-bell stomping arpeggios and train crash bass lines remain.
And while for some it’s all now rather familiar that simply increases the pleasure. It’s the way the wonderful ‘Sunburn’ continues to evolve, its sand-strewn piano riff classically sprinkled atop minimally spluttering rhythms with a few new beats for good measure. The handclaps and paranoia death disco of ‘Time Is Running Out’ follow the monstrous 'Plug In Baby' and the ecstatic ‘Bliss’ as the pit bounces is one great wall of pleasure. This is centre point of the gig and it is amazing. I have truly never witnessed this kind of euphoria at a concert before.
When a magnum bursting opus like 'Butterflies and Hurricanes’ isn’t the best single on your album, something’s not right. And the beauty of Bellamy is you actually expect him to be singing, while playing guitar and piano and conducting the rest of the band. All at once. And he does of course, many, many times.
It isn’t just that ‘Apocalypse Please’ pisses all over every album opener since ‘I Wanna Be Adored’, it’s that it really is timeless. In grave robbing from Bach, Rachmaninov and chums and molesting their legacies with the kind of technical musicianship that makes the OK Computer look like a Von Bondies album, this otherworldly demonic phenomenon can only gain greater momentum. They are positively playing out of their skins tonight. With the next Muse record you’ll be able to kiss goodbye to popular music as you know it. Like Stockholm Syndrome itself, being saved isn’t even a desire any more.