A leopard can change its spots, particularly if they’re only made from glitter and felt, stitched to a pair of its mam’s old curtains and tied round its neck with a velvet-substitute rope. See, Muse are prog as fuck, with bells on. Gleaming church bells at that compared to the relative Christmas cracker hand-chimes of yesteryear (as air-rattling as they may have seemed at the time). But prog ain’t the creature it used to be, which is good news for all involved. Though in amongst the current rising tide of a progressive zeitgeist Muse certainly have the pointiest figurative hat of the lot. With this record they soar and wail and crash through walls, draw pictures in the sky and probably guffaw hugely, aware of the ridiculous hoofing trail they’re finally leaving in their wake. It’s the sound of them banging their heads continuously on the roof of the Sistine Chapel. It is grand and opulent and seemingly effortless. It is not, as prog has found itself ambassador for previously, infuriatingly pointless self-aggrandisation with a lack of focus, character or credibility.
Looking back at their career timeline, it is also a victory against themselves as well as the rest. Where debut album ‘Showbiz’ earned Radiohead comparisons by the wheelbarrow and marked them out as reasonably accomplished angst-ridden teens, ‘Origin of Symmetry’ knocked that idea down stone dead, sucked out its life and took over the frame. It became awesome in its mechanical efficiency, but deficient in convincing us it was anything other than a hulking machine. But the body it seems hasn’t merely been lying dormant all this time. Fighting back with ‘Absolution’, the heart’s beating again, slowly but solidly, and it’s the epic tussle with the remaining organs that makes up the record’s chronology. This is the sound of emotions reuniting, of making sense of the power they’ve gained, of a boundless imagined reality and of them winning.
The oppressive totalitarian march of ‘Apocalypse Please’ opens the album in what becomes typically trussed-up form for them, Matt Bellamy bellowing “declaaaaare this an emergency, come on and spreeeeead a sense of urgency” like Freddie Mercury in a tightly pressed uniform. It’s still got a hold of them at this point, but the seams are beginning to burst. This is massive. ‘Time Is Running Out’ is probably the most concise routing of ideas they’ve emitted so far, but it’s at near title track ‘Sing For Absolution’ when things really begin to grow and move fluidly of their own accord. A creeping ballad with an eruption beneath, it’s Jeff Buckley praying for his soul to be saved amongst burning rubble. An idea they develop to an even greater, more serene effect on ‘Blackout’. There is Phantom of the Opera style piano tumbling all over the likes of ‘Butterflies & Hurricanes’, tense strings, subtle electronic flutterings, preposterous turns, overzealous vocals, and an unstoppable, insatiable intensity. But far from isolating you with indulgence, they’ve thrown you in the middle. Muse just went 3D.