Muse – Showbiz – Review

Muse

Showbiz (Maverick)
by Tim Den

To say I was impressed by Muse would be an understatement. To say that I liked Muse, or enjoyed their music, would be like saying rolling around in your own private mountain of thousand dollar bills is “not too shabby.” In fact, even to say that Muse is my favorite artist of the year would be a crime, because they are much more than that: They are visionaries and your next favorite band as well.

From a small town in England, three twenty-year-old boys have somehow managed to emerge as the best new band today with only five years of playing together under their belts. How these three have excelled beyond their years with just high school jams is a mystery to me. But I do know that their debut, Showbiz, will leave you dumbfounded with its elegance. Unparalleled in its cohesive, multi-dimensional brilliance, Showbiz is an album full of rippled horizons, maddening crescendos, overwhelming subtlety, and unworldly melodies. Aside from the experimentation, interesting melodies, and a plethora of instruments, there is something lurking beneath the songs that makes this album so haunting, and thus far, above-and-beyond every other record that comes to mind: It’s the mood. Beneath the carefully arranged instruments, tortured howls, and illuminating playing, an insane asylum’s worth of sinister grins lie waiting… waiting to sneak into the subconscious of the listener. A world of tragedy, of immense melancholy, waits to be unlocked by repeated spins of this disc.

At first sublime, the slither of sadness will grow massive with time. Initially unable to detect just what keeps bringing you back to the record, listeners will soon discover that the Shakespearean tragedy of it is what makes this record so passionate, so unforgiving, so unwilling to let the ears go. Like experiencing the joy of love and the inhumane death between Romeo and Juliet at once, Muse gives you the kind of solace and brooding that you love to hate. It makes you love to suffer. So painful yet healing, it haunts the back of your mind like a loved one’s passing, replaying the fond memories over and over even though it hurts like hell. It’s this characteristic that ultimately carries Muse beyond simple rock schooling. Beginning with the haunting pianos of “Sunburn,” Muse maintains that creepy yet beautiful vibe throughout. Even as the chunky bass lines and jazz guitars flesh out the rest of the song, the thundering of the instruments can’t cover up the depressed core. “Muscle Museum” comes in with its head-down sway, “Fillip” with its youthful anger, “Cave” with its apocalyptic ending, “Showbiz” with its venomous march, and “Uno” with its revenge-fueled tango, and the sadness still prevails. Transcending the heaviness of the distortion and whistfulness of the ballads, the mood transforms these songs into pure emotion. And when the transformation is flawless, such as in the unbelievable “Unintended,” you can barely keep yourself together in the face of its weight. If you’re lucky, you might be able to fight back the tears and hold on to your sanity throughout its duration. If you’re unlucky like me, well… that’s another story. And even though some critics have taken the easy way out with our British boys by cheaply comparing them to Radiohead (a flawed statement… the vocals sound more influenced by Jeff Buckely than Thom Yorke, especially on “Falling Down” and “Hate This and I’ll Love You”), enlightened listeners will be able to distinguish the unique power that this band holds – it’s blinding, and the sunspot that it leaves behind shall change the musical world’s vision forever.