Select (February 2000) - Devon can wait

Muse, Bercy, Paris and the Lemon Grove Exeter University: before their mayorally-diapproved homecoming, a night of boozy abandon in France with David Grohl! You might not be able to understand French, but when Muse wander around the backstage area of Paris's colossal Bercy arena, you can guess what all the bouncers are muttering. "What's that funny smell? It's a bit like....petrol." "Our bus is fucked, it's just spewing out the stuff." explains Dominic Howard. "We got stuck in the middle of Germany the other night. It was snowing and there was nothing around. It was a bit Blair Witch." Maybe it's a karmic thing. Muse have been supporting the Red Hot Chili Peppers across Europe and one night they accidentally disrupted Flea's psychic aura. "They've got their own individual dressing rooms, so we decided we'd say hello to each of them," says singer Matthew Bellamy, twitchilly nervous as usual before the gig, 'We walked in and there was Flea with his eyes closedmeditating in the lotus position. He said it was fine, but we're a bit worried that we've wrecked his sense of calm." Meditation is a funny luxury Muse can ill afford. They've sold 35.000 copies of their debut LP 'Showbiz' in France -a number which is coincidentally, around twice that of the expected capacity for tonight's show. headlined by the Chili Peppers and -for one night only- the Foo Fighters. So there's endless promo duties for them to squeeze in before they play, mainly of the 'So 'ow long 'ave you been sounding like Radiohead? variety. Still, where they've been turned down by likes of Later With Jools Holland here, French TV is favourably psyched for Muse's dramatic angst rock. Their average age might be 20, but they sound slightly older, disclaiming the anthemiscism of the likes of Stereophonics for an ar tier approach, born of their almost obsessive adoration of Sonic Youth and Pavement. Which means that, while getting on cd:uk next to Thunderbugs might be a bit of a problem, in France they've been embraced for filling the aching vacuum between Nirvana, Radiohead and Placebo. So tonight the voluminous hall is rammed for a band who are essentially appearing third on the bill. Opener 'Uno' is greeted with ecstatic cheers, lighters and bizarrely, flashing devil horns. With its Matt Bianco esque cha-cha-cha beat, the song can be heard as a slightly jokey take on music biz failure ('You could have been number one) but somewhere along the line it's been transformed into a wonderful testament to their own self-belief. But still there's something not quite 100 per cent about Muse tonight. Rooted to the spot because of some problem with wires they're forced to abandon a lot of the instrumental subtleties they've developed while touring with Pavement. On record, 'Muscle Museum' is as baroquely inticate as (whisper it) Procul Harum's 'A whiter Shade of Pale', but here it's given a pared-down metallic treatment, more Primus than prog. And they even miss the chance to pick up some easy French cheers by throwing out the odd phrase like "Merc-ee boo-coo!" For Muse, the real highlight of the night (and indeed their young adult lives) happens about ten minutes after they leave the stage. "Hey, you guys were great, 'Says Dave Grohl after they pluck up the courage to enter the 'Foos' dressing-room. 'you realise that now i'm going to have to get fucking drunk to be as good as you were." Later on, it gets even better when the trio have a few drinks with their new pal. In fact they have so many that Muse go AWOL, much to the horror of a TV crew who've come from London to film them by the Eiffel Tower. By the time Muse turn up four hours later, Matt's stopped speaking, bassist Chris Wolstenholme keeps falling asleep on his feet and Dom's swigging a bottle of Jack Daniels. And tomorrow they have another gloriously entertaining day of promo- 'So, 'ow long 'ave you been sounding like Nirvana?" It's not the kind of welcome home you'd expect. Seven ays later, Muse have returned to Exeter for a special hometown gig, but the front page of the local paper makes them wish they'd just stayed drinking in Paris. There's a picture of their irate looking town mayor chucking their LP into the bin. Apparently he's taken offence at some comments the band made about their hometown of Teignmouth being so dull that some of the town's population are in a permanent chemical haze. "God, it's boring in Teignmouth," reiterates Chris. "It's OK until you're about 13 and then you start loosing your mind." The band politely decline a request from the major to meet up, but it seems the rest of Exeter has finally woken up to Muse and everyone wants their little sounbites. "We did a promo interview today on this radio station that was aimed at OAPs, "shivers Matt, chewing a pre gig kebab. "We got these people in retirement homes ringing us up to ask questions. I've no idea why we were there - even the DJ hated our music." As homecoming gigs go, The Lemon Grove isn't the most glamorous location. Though only a fifth of the size of the venue in Bercy it's still the biggest gig in Exeter, but simple things like soundchecks are held up as uni groups have their soc meetings. Plus the stress of playing to their family and friends is getting to them.Matt's got a throbbing headache that's not improved by Chris' terrible remedy suggestions: "Hold down one of your nostrils and blow out the other one, and then do the same thing on the other side." "Maybe I should try meditation," grumbles Matt. An hour later, that same bag of nerves is posing onstage, cracking himself up as he throws the most extravagant rock-star shapes he can think of. The security blanket of knowing so many people in the crowd means they can indulge themselves a bit more than in Paris, playing a Nirvana-esque instrumental in tribute to their new pal Dave and even the odd, B-side that the crowd cheer more than 'Muscle Museum'. The closing 'Showbiz' is astonishing, Matt's falsetto sounding even more sweetly desolate than a chance meeting between Thom Yorke and Jeff Archer. "I'm very proud but I don't see enough of him." beams Dom's mum afterwards as her son is busily signing autograghs. "I'm sure he won't come home tonight - he'll want to meet up with his friends." Let's hope that Jack Daniels isn't among them... John Mullen

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