Guardian - Muse Manchester University Students' Union **** (February 23, 2000 )

There is something inevitable about the progress of Muse. In contrast to those other epic balladeers, Radiohead - whose OK, Computer has become a somewhat jaded coffee-table classic - Muse offer a raucous vitality, an uncompromising urgency which is all the more remarkable considering they're a three-piece with an average age of 20. This is their first headline tour, and their vigorous set hitched post-adolescent pinings to a histrionic guitar, an intelligent bass, and drums which were by turns stomping or spasmodic. Over these convulsive arrangements, Matt Bellamy's tremulous vocals aspired to operatic intensity. His full-throated warbles belied his slim-fit frame and proved more than a match for his wailing guitar which he played as if trying to break every string. Sunburn, their new single, exemplified the band's style. A lugubrious bass held together a melody which travelled from intimacy to brashness as Bellamy's exaggerated gasping ended such despairing lines as "I can't face this pain". In spite of the lyrics, Muse are far from maudlin. Their thrashing energy and huge sound overcome the introspection. Indeed, at times they approach the fury of Rage Against the Machine. Elsewhere, there's a defiant jauntiness to their melancholy. Uno's cheeky Latinate rhythm mocks both the screaming guitar and Bellamy's hysteria, while the insidious last single, Muscle Museum, has a feedback intro followed by a melody that wouldn't be out of place at a Greek wedding. Both were successful live, and they revealed a band confident enough to strip down a verse to a slow and simple arrangement, before building up towards extended, hard-rocking choruses. This versatility was taken further when they transformed themselves into a folksy-blues bar-room outfit. The singer reached for a stool and an acoustic guitar, an electric double-bass appeared, and, at one point, the drummer was happily shaking a maraca. In this set-within-a-set, Bellamy's calmer, more delicate voice aimed for the ethereal tones of Jeff Buckley, especially in Falling Down. In Unintended, the Thom Yorke comparison was inescapable. But Muse are more convincing when playing songs with all the nervous clamour and charge of Showbiz, the title track of their debut album. A sinister bass-line and uptight riff combined with another rallying chorus to provide a blistering, strobe-lit finale to a three-song en core. On this form there'll be no stopping them James Hopkin

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