Muse - The Riverstage
Muse - The Riverstage, Brisbane
Sunday September 12, 2004
When people tell you that the band you're going to see slew the audience at Glastonbury, you tend to go in with high expectations.
The problem with high expectations though, is that more often than not, they go unfulfilled. The bass player has a dog of a night; the sound is all muddy and wrong for some reason; or the atmosphere simply sucks and you can't but help feel like you got jilted at the altar.
Muse, I can happily report, was nothing like that.
Originally, this gig was scheduled to go ahead at the Arena - a small, intimate Brisbane venue - over two nights. But after both gigs sold out, the promoters switched it to the Riverstage - a larger, outdoor bowl-like venue that can accommodate 10,000 people or more.
I had reservations that the open-air of the Riverstage would dissipate the sound. In the end I can only say that I was totally stunned - Muse were outstanding, the sound was fantastic right down at the front, and it truly was a night to remember.
Warm-up band Neon have the toughest task of any band playing in Brisbane tonight. I'd like to say they were up to it, but their four-piece straight-laced guitar rock seems strangely out of place for a gig like this.
Halfway through their set, I move down to the pit in front of the stage. The crowd is no more appreciative, but the sound is much more solid. As are Neon: a solid band, but not outstanding - nothing in their set reaches out, grabs me by the throat and says 'you must listen to me right now'.
After Neon finish and take their bows, a sense of restlessness pervades the crowd. Several times drunks strike up a 'We want Muse' chant. More people pack into the moshpit as expectation builds. Back throughout the amphitheatre I can barely see grass for all the people standing around waiting.
A chopper flies low overhead.
Are they descending from the heavens?
Maybe, because only a few minutes later the thunderous drums of Dominic Howard begin a throbbing, repetitive beat.
The crowd screams as one and begins clapping and stamping feet in time. The screams reach a crescendo as Matthew Bellamy and Chris Wolstenholme suddenly appear on raised platforms and kick in the opening strains of Apocalypse Please. A wall of glorious sound envelopes us all.
Is it space rock? Rock opera? Whatever classification, it's an unstoppable juggernaut of heavy drums and bass, exquisitely counterpointed by Bellamy's frenzied guitar, unique throaty falsetto and truly gorgeous piano.
The crowd laps it up.
The band drive through Apocalypse Please, Hysteria and New Born; the crowd is in complete ecstasy. The transition from each song to the next is flawless; the execution perfect.
Bellamy's falsetto soars through Sing for Absolution and it seems as though the entire crowd is joining in - we're all falling from grace together.
Part way through, I note Wolstenholme's lower arm and part of his hand is still encased in a purple cast - the recent legacy of a broken wrist that that forced him to concede the bass spot to The Streets' Morgan Nicholls for several US gigs.
It's no impairment to his bass playing. Just as well, because the pace is truly relentless. Muscle Museum, Citizen Erased, and Sunburn whip the crowd into a frenzy. In the moshpit, it's hot, sweaty and fierce.
Howard's wrists and arms are like rubber as he contorts his body around his drum kit, while Bellamy seems to be having his own personal orgasm on keyboards and guitar. His cascading piano solo during Butterflies and Hurricanes - projected onto the backdrop behind the band for all to see close-up - brings everyone to a standstill.
Similarly, relentless ranks of marching jackbooted soldiers are the highlight of the chorus of The Small Print.
Blackout and Ruled by Secrecy provide slower moments, and when confetti showers everyone as Muse close out the night with an awesome rendition Stockholm Syndrome, it's impossible to say this hasn't been one of the gigs of the year.
Yet, these rock gods seem loathe to share more than their music with the enthusiastic audience. Audience interaction that's limited to a few 'hellos' inserts a discordant note into an otherwise flawless night.
However, I doubt the thousands worshipping at the altar minded in the slightest.
Sunday September 12, 2004
When people tell you that the band you're going to see slew the audience at Glastonbury, you tend to go in with high expectations.
The problem with high expectations though, is that more often than not, they go unfulfilled. The bass player has a dog of a night; the sound is all muddy and wrong for some reason; or the atmosphere simply sucks and you can't but help feel like you got jilted at the altar.
Muse, I can happily report, was nothing like that.
Originally, this gig was scheduled to go ahead at the Arena - a small, intimate Brisbane venue - over two nights. But after both gigs sold out, the promoters switched it to the Riverstage - a larger, outdoor bowl-like venue that can accommodate 10,000 people or more.
I had reservations that the open-air of the Riverstage would dissipate the sound. In the end I can only say that I was totally stunned - Muse were outstanding, the sound was fantastic right down at the front, and it truly was a night to remember.
Warm-up band Neon have the toughest task of any band playing in Brisbane tonight. I'd like to say they were up to it, but their four-piece straight-laced guitar rock seems strangely out of place for a gig like this.
Halfway through their set, I move down to the pit in front of the stage. The crowd is no more appreciative, but the sound is much more solid. As are Neon: a solid band, but not outstanding - nothing in their set reaches out, grabs me by the throat and says 'you must listen to me right now'.
After Neon finish and take their bows, a sense of restlessness pervades the crowd. Several times drunks strike up a 'We want Muse' chant. More people pack into the moshpit as expectation builds. Back throughout the amphitheatre I can barely see grass for all the people standing around waiting.
A chopper flies low overhead.
Are they descending from the heavens?
Maybe, because only a few minutes later the thunderous drums of Dominic Howard begin a throbbing, repetitive beat.
The crowd screams as one and begins clapping and stamping feet in time. The screams reach a crescendo as Matthew Bellamy and Chris Wolstenholme suddenly appear on raised platforms and kick in the opening strains of Apocalypse Please. A wall of glorious sound envelopes us all.
Is it space rock? Rock opera? Whatever classification, it's an unstoppable juggernaut of heavy drums and bass, exquisitely counterpointed by Bellamy's frenzied guitar, unique throaty falsetto and truly gorgeous piano.
The crowd laps it up.
The band drive through Apocalypse Please, Hysteria and New Born; the crowd is in complete ecstasy. The transition from each song to the next is flawless; the execution perfect.
Bellamy's falsetto soars through Sing for Absolution and it seems as though the entire crowd is joining in - we're all falling from grace together.
Part way through, I note Wolstenholme's lower arm and part of his hand is still encased in a purple cast - the recent legacy of a broken wrist that that forced him to concede the bass spot to The Streets' Morgan Nicholls for several US gigs.
It's no impairment to his bass playing. Just as well, because the pace is truly relentless. Muscle Museum, Citizen Erased, and Sunburn whip the crowd into a frenzy. In the moshpit, it's hot, sweaty and fierce.
Howard's wrists and arms are like rubber as he contorts his body around his drum kit, while Bellamy seems to be having his own personal orgasm on keyboards and guitar. His cascading piano solo during Butterflies and Hurricanes - projected onto the backdrop behind the band for all to see close-up - brings everyone to a standstill.
Similarly, relentless ranks of marching jackbooted soldiers are the highlight of the chorus of The Small Print.
Blackout and Ruled by Secrecy provide slower moments, and when confetti showers everyone as Muse close out the night with an awesome rendition Stockholm Syndrome, it's impossible to say this hasn't been one of the gigs of the year.
Yet, these rock gods seem loathe to share more than their music with the enthusiastic audience. Audience interaction that's limited to a few 'hellos' inserts a discordant note into an otherwise flawless night.
However, I doubt the thousands worshipping at the altar minded in the slightest.