‘Tempus fugits don’t it?’ says Frank Sinatra to J. Edgar Hoover in Don DeLillo’s Underworld. It certainly does: way back in 1999 when Showbiz was released, Muse were an edgy indie band played on the Evening Cider Session, notably featuring a howling, anguished front man. Matt Bellamy took even more control during 2001’s Origin of Symmetry, which was harder, faster, heavier and fuller than most people expected. The bare, white cover and sparse font made it a standout package. Tracks on it such as ‘Meglomania’ were insane: Bellamy took his piano skills and played a church organ, almost tottering past Mariah Carey on the falsetto along the way. Their rock opera, like the best rock opera, like Queen even, wasn’t hollow, overblown pap. It was genuinely engaging, if a little kitsch; this single is the logical conclusion.
‘Butterflies and Hurricanes’ comes on a CD out of an Asimov novel, packed like a space age consumer snack. It has a slim-radius red circle with the music printed on it and an outer clear section just to make it look cool. The track mines the butterfly effect, the theory of amplification, of cause and effect. A butterfly flaps its precious, patterned wings; a hurricane blows across another land. What the lyrics suggest is that when you effect your change, you put into motion the same effect. Musically, pianos are buried in the mix, subdued under warm bass and a clear and metallic guitar riff. Depth is added by droves of fuzzed up power chords. There are soaring vocals – what else? – and in the middle section everything drops away so that Bellamy can play an absurd and delightful mini piano movement. Notable is the reprise, where a quieter verse gives way to a pause, a guitar slide and then a huge, full on chorus. It’s thrilling.
It’s not all great of course. Muse seem to have narrowed their emotional range as their juggernaut gains momentum. There are now two settings, ‘expectant’ and ‘apocalyptic’. This song isn’t a nuanced gem, not a ‘One’ or a ‘Never Tear Us Apart’. There’s promise they’ll get bigger, louder and more thrilling but they probably haven’t yet realised that they’ll never outdo the centrepiece of Origin of Symmetry, ‘Citizen Erased’ for pure hyperbole and ecstatic, towering heights. Also, beware that the radio edit cuts short the important piano middle section and ruins the pregnant pause before the final mad attack of chorus. It really isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, especially with the resurgence of hybrid NYC bands that smoke, but it does the job and does it well. ‘Best/ You’ve got to be the best/ You’ve got to change the world/ And use this chance/ To be heard’ screams Bellamy, and like a lot of artists, he’s talking directly at himself.
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