Review: Muse - The 2nd Law

Courtesy of Muse

Few would accuse Muse's newest studio offering--released October 1st--as being their most groundbreaking work. Yet it surely continues the successful formula which they've ridden to the top: kicking serious ass. 

The gut-busting begins in earnest with Supremacy, a fitting choice for an opener with its guitar scratching, earth-scorching bombast. The stakes are raised almost immediately upon the introduction of a full orchestral accompaniment.  Cue the choir and it's clear that England's favorite hard rock act is setting the controls for the heart of the sun. All of the usual suspects that we've come to associate with the band are on full display, from frontman Matthew Bellamy's operatic falsetto, to the deep, dark riffs  that he so often whips into a frenetic crescendo. It concludes with a twang of whimsical arpeggio, summoning the listener on the aural odyssey to follow.

The voyage veers off-path in a hurry with Madness, their most recent single, and an obvious departure from their tried and true stylings. Decidedly more Pop than Prog, the track finds Bellamy crooning in a sorta futuristic R+ B manner. While not at all what I have come to expect from the power trio, the song is undeniably catchy, beginning with rhythmic electro-bass pulses and building upon itself with purpose as it unfolds. Slowly it gives way to a brief-yet-blistering solo where we find Bellamy channeling his inner May before culminating in a triumphant, emotional climax. It somehow becomes more profound upon sequential encounters. 

Courtesy of Will Ireland/Getty Images

Next up is a dirty little wallop known as Panic Station, featuring a full-on horn section (from the same folks  that brought you the legendary hook in Stevie Wonder's "Superstition"). Bassist Chris Wolstenholme slaps out a driving groove that provides a firm foundation for the intoxicating funk that Bellamy layers on top.  The brass, riffing repeatedly throughout the chorus, melds itself effortlessly into the sonic landscape.  

The mood shifts drastically as the album explores the symphonic grandeur necessary to prelude an olympic anthem. A swinging piano riff emerges, accompanied by the metered cadence of an extended choir and an occasional sopranic flight of fancy. Such is the pomp and circumstance that defines Survival. The official song of London's 2012 games is wrought with such over-the-top delivery that--if  the lead singer's heritage was anything aside from Anglican--we'd have to question wether or not he was putting us on. 

Chris Wolstenholme, Matthew Bellamy and Dominic Howard

The remainder of the album tinkers with the more common trappings of contemporary music, like the dubstep-minded hook in the otherwise pedestrian Follow Me, or the Radiohead-inspired polyrhythms of the melancholic Animals.

Save Me and Liquid State are notable entries. Penned by Wolstenholme and chronicling his struggle with alcoholism, they showcase a surprisingly infectious timbre. As impassioned as his delivery is, the songs are as memorable for what they aren't. Bellamy's trademark wailing has become such a fixture of the Muse sound that these numbers could be mistakenly attributed to another band altogether. 

The chaotic immensity more familiar to the band reemerges in spades for the conclusion of their sixth studio album. The title track is broken down into a two-part suite, as ominous as it is ultramodern. Unleashing a salvo against the insatiable desires of man, Muse continues to weave the thread of social commentary into the core of their music, as they have from the beginning. "A species set on endless growth is unsustainable," we are warned. Begging the question, 'where do we go from here?' If the melodic finale of The 2nd Law serves as any indicator, a rendezvous with post-apocalyptic minimalism is unavoidable. It's not a groundbreaking notion, but that doesn't make it any less provocative.

Barbereggae

"I hate how much I love this clip..."

Life Would Suck Without Pink Floyd

That is all...

Concert Review: Radiohead at Coachella

It is said that Hipsters love irony. Perhaps this is why one of the most universally-embraced bands in that all-too-easily loathsome community is the ever-venerable Radiohead. After a particularly revealing 90 minutes with them in the hot California desert, it became increasingly apparent to me that the World's Greatest Rock Act regards many of their concert-goers with a certain, thinly-veiled disdain. Maybe it's because Thom Yorke and company are so hellbent on promoting some vestige of social awareness in this markedly apathetic world into which we have grown. In return, many of the attendees at a typical Radiohead show--especially at the unforgivably scene-y Coachella Music and Arts Festival--could give two shits about changing the world for the better. They're much more concerned with capturing this live event on their smartphones so they can post incontrovertible proof by way of Instagram and Youtube that they were here--LOOK AT ME! How very fantastic for them, and indeed the world.

On the road promoting their most recent LP, The King of Limbs, most sets from this tour kick-off with the unsettling melancholy of that album's first track, Bloom. In the opening lines, Yorke advises all those that would listen to "open your mouth up wide" in a "universal sigh." This phrase has torn at the tendrils of my soul since the very first time it entered my ear canals. In the bleakly-aware landscape of our times we have traded in our desire to coagulate into meaningful masses in exchange for falsely elevating ourselves onto meaningless pedestals of self-diluted grandeur. Radiohead's frontman Thom Yorke suggests that the obligatory response is a billowing sigh.

In the 60s, hundreds of thousands of socially-conscious spirits would descend upon the streets and parks of our cities with minimal amounts of premeditation. Today we have the "social media" at our disposal to facilitate rallies ten times larger, yet instead we all sit at home in front of our screens to post pictures of our latest vacation to Facebook. As Yorke asks in his next number, the techno-rhythmic 15 Step: "You used to be alright, what happened?"

After he's done prancing around the stage in his trademarked maniacal manner, Yorke wonders aloud if the crowd of some 75,000 people are "drinking enough water?" It's a reasonable inquiry for a drug-addled mass of humanity that has been baking in 100+ degree temperatures for much of the day. Yet his sarcastic din implies that he doesn't really give a shit. You can't help but wonder if the sea of cellphones and MDMA is really attune to such nuance. 

The band fearlessly plods forward, offering an enchanting array of new B-sides that didn't make it onto the latest record. Only with Radiohead am I able to feel the same level of inspiration regardless of what era of their catalogue is being showcased. In fact, one of the most transcendent moments of the show came during Staircase. A song that can't be more than a year old, yet offers so much in the way of mesmerizing melody that you can't help but be drawn in upon first listen. Of course the elaborate stage setup helps to up the ante, with a series of large monitors--each displaying a different band member--slowly ascending in a staggered pattern high above.

After a hearty assortment of newer material, Radiohead digs slightly deeper into their repertoire--to the obvious enjoyment of the crowd. Busting out standards like Kid A, steeped in eery post-apocalyptic musings, There There, a heavily percussive piece that always starts off with the guitarists accompanying the drummer's beat with large toms hanging from their necks, and the anthemic Karma Police, which culminates in a (somewhat-forced) sing-along: "phew, for a minute there I lost myself. I lost myself." To me, this is always the most redemptive quality of a Radiohead show--or any great concert--the transcendence of losing yourself to another spiritual plane. These guys can bring you there like no other and for that I am eternally grateful. 

Radiohead's live experience typically features two separate encores, which were somewhat truncated on this late Saturday night/Sunday morning to accomodate the strict cut-off time of Coachella which I assume to be 1AM. As the concert is winding down they decide to break out a few tracks from 2007's In Rainbows. The first of which, Reckoner, is a supremely haunting number warning that you "can't take it with you." A fitting admonishment for this uber-materialistic menagerie of Southern Californians. The tune ultimately arrives at a crescendoing finale of spiritually-uplifting falsetto that I wish would just have the decency to extend into infinity. 

Unfortunately that's not possible and upon the angelic conclusion, Thom takes a moment to tell the horde about why the band chose to play large festivals this summer. Essentially: togetherness. Yet I have to question if there's anything to be gained in the collective process of passive listening; are we really all sharing the wonder or are we just hopelessly quarantined within our own respective bubbles of isolation? Goddamn, somebody's breath smells just downright rank! At any rate, they end the first encore with the gutbusting guitar-driven frenzy of Bodysnatchers, a gritty number that you can tell guitarist/mad scientist Jonny Greenwood just loves sinking his fiery fangs into.

For the grand finale, they decide to unearth a couple of classics from their seminal work, 1997's critical darling, OK Computer. Nobody's going to argue with a decision like that. The spine-tingling, Floyd-esque Exit Music (For a Film) never disappoints. And when Yorke commands us to "wake from your sleep," you have to wonder if anyone is really paying attention, or are they too busy trying to capture his mischievous mug on a million little smartphones speckled high above the landscape. When the drums kick-in halfway through this jarring masterpiece, it marks one of the most visceral moments of the entire show. 

Thom busts out the acoustic guitar for the final number, signaling the inevitable: a performance of their quintessential composition, Paranoid Android. No surprises here; played note-for-note with every iota of its arena-rocking grandeur. Many songs throughout history have hinted at an impending apocalypse and some paint the grim sketches of a dreary, post-apocalyptic world. But no other piece of art captures the end of days--as it unravels in real time--with such compelling vigor as this: "the dust and the screaming...the panic, the vomit." And everything comes to an end with that most classic of ironic lines: "God loves his children." A tidal wave of applause erupts into the desert night. Perhaps a universal sigh would be a more appropriate response.

The Aftermath

Governors Ball 2012

Governors Ball--New York City's premiere summer music festival--heads into its second year this June with some notable improvements.  For starters, the location has moved from Governors Island to the more accessible Randall's Island Park.  This will create much smoother transportation to and from the venue and will also provide an unrivaled view of the Manhattan skyline.  Furthermore, this year's lineup boasts some of the biggest names in music today--artists like Beck, Passion Pit, Modest Mouse and Fiona Apple among many others--will perform over 2 unforgettable days without any overlapping sets.  This is almost unheard of, as most festivals involve the dreaded process of having to decide between bands you love playing concurrently.  Governors Ball has eliminated this annoying tradition so that you can see every band you paid to see.  On top of that, they have also extended the sales of advance tickets for two more days so you can save $20 by ordering yours between now and this Friday (4/20).  Last year's GB was one of the most entertaining events of the summer and 2012's is shaping up to be even better.  Don't miss out.

Click here for tickets.

**Daily Face Melt**

Shred...

**Pearl Jam Tribute To Lin**

Fallon does it again...

**Drive Soundtrack**

Just saw the movie Drive last night for the first time. Not sure exactly how I feel about it. Definitely captivating to watch, with a few scenes that will certainly stick out--particularly for their pronounced gruesomeness--but overall I thought there were some serious pitfalls in the story-telling and a few elements that just didn't make any sense at all. But there was some solid acting from usual standouts like Bryan Cranston and Albert Brooks (quite creepy sans eyebrows). From a technical standpoint, it's nice how the filmmakers often eschewed dialogue in favor of creating visceral moods through lighting, expressions and, most notably: music. I was a big fan of the heady beats that permeated the score. It at once felt nostalgic and somehow futuristic. Although I need more time to process my thoughts on the film itself, the undeniable impact of the soundtrack is immediate. Listen for yourself...

**Have a Happy and Healthy 2012**

From all of us here at the Revolting Blog: may you find health, joy and inspiration in the upcoming year...and let's all hope that those Mayans are full of shit, man.

The Lunatics Have Taken Over

NO MORE TURNING AWAY!

Today, more than any other day before, the words of this epic tune beckon us to care for one another and not to simply ignore the pain and suffering of our fellow humans. We all share this world and this existence--it's only together that we are able to instill meaning into any of it. The gutbusting crescendos of David Gilmour's guitar virtuosity sure doesn't hurt in hammering this message home...

**Your Daily Dosage of Goosebumps**

**Daily Apocalypse Reminder**

Commentators chuckle as man falls to his death on national television:

In other uplifting news, a Colorado woman is in police custody after allegedly killing her cat to death with brown heroine until it died. Sound's like a party!

But at least things are looking up for the struggling Recording Industry, who just persuaded major internet service providers to ramp up efforts to punish the scourge of our earth: Illegal music downloaders.

Whoopeee! We're SAVED! That was close...Although there's always those pesky supernovae.