"Um, no," Bellamy admits bashfully, "It's actually, well, 15,000
people is the population of the town where we're from. Seaside
towns are not great places to grow up in. They're very nice places
where you can leave your doors open and all that, but it's just got
a small town vibe about it. I think some of the song was actually
about wanting to blow it up!"
Bellamy, drummer Dominic Howard and guitarist Chris Wolstenholme
know a bit about blowing up. They began their rock odyssey when
they were twelve, knocking around in a variety of rival bands in
their sleepy seaside town of Teignmouth, 250 miles south of London.
By their late teens, when the dust settled and their peers opted
for university life or a future plowing the lush fields of their
town, the three joined forces. Bellamy, then a pianist, learned to
play guitar and began to sing; Wolstenholme, then a drummer and
vocalist, switched to bass and back-up vocals and the three began
cranking out material.
Despite the collaboration, Muse's muse primarily pursues Bellamy.
He's the one responsible for creating the intriguing blend of
sophisticated fretwork, pointed lyrics, charged vocals and moody
piano enhancements that give the band their sound. "I write a hell
of a lot of songs and [Chris and Dominic] sort of work as my
filter, do you know what I mean?" he asks, generously adding,
"[But] it wouldn't sound the same without the aggression of those
two because it's the arrangements and the way they're translated
that make it work."
Indeed, their sound is unusually lavish for a trio: South American
and Spanish guitar influences appear on tracks like "Muscle Museum"
("That flamenco style is the kind of guitar I really love trying to
play," enthuses Bellamy); riveting bass arcs carry the melody in
"Sunburn;" and then there's the bombastic bottom end in "Overdue."
"The magic is there between the three of us and there's a lot more
power live than there is on the record," says Bellamy of the
group's rich energy.
In fact, this brazen marriage of tumbling piano riffs, bravely
evocative vocals and well-matched bass and drums is what first
caught the attention of U.S. labels. Shortly after dazzling the
jaded industry folks with their performance at the 1998 CMJ
Convention in New York, the band of twenty-year-olds was snatched
up by Maverick and sent into the studio with Radiohead producer
John Leckie, who was as much a fan of theirs as they were of
him.
Their early inspirations were Nirvana and Radiohead, the latter
moreso because of their innovative sensibility and willingness to
bare their souls lyrically and musically. Even so, any comparison
rankles them, eliciting a "we're not 'Radiohead lite'"
response.
In fact, though there is a distinctive likeness, Leckie's work with
them was built solely around the Muse sound, encouraging them to
experiment with Wurlitzers and Mellotrons when recording. "He
taught us the importance of getting a really good live performance
sound in the studio," says Wolstenholme. "When you go into the
studio, you don't have 10,000 watts of P.A. blasting in your face.
You're playing into a dead room. So you've got to put the energy in
there somehow and being able to fiddle around with things makes the
difference."
Live, of course, is when the band truly shines. Recently playing
for 10,000 people at a festival in France, Wolstenholme came to a
profound realization: "Sometimes you go around to all these little
venues and play to twenty people and think, 'Well, what's the point
of playing to twenty people?' But then you go to a festival and
realize that if you played to twenty people in every city or every
town, then you've got, like, 3,000 or 4,000 people watching you.
And you realize how important twenty people are.'"
ADRIANNE STONE
(October 1, 1999)
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