Muse are what happens when a male Christian wearing a necklace of big wooden beads strung together by taut elastic bungee imagines a cross (no pun intended) between Coldplay and Linkin’ Park, then manifests his imaginings by pissing psychic piss onto some haunted clay taken from the banks of the green river that trickles past Dracula’s castle.
The clay splits into three chunks: chunk one, Matt Bellamy, pulls his shoulders up around his ears and scuttles away like a crab whenever a wasp comes within twenty feet of his face, or whenever someone says the word ‘wasp’ within ten feet of his face; chunk two, The Bassist, has never had an erection and writes extensive notes in his diary about wanting to appear in a public information short raising awareness for testicular cancer; chunk three plays the drums in the background. All three chunks, except the drumming chunk, who plays drums in the background, set upon the Christian and stick him like a pig, justifying the slaughter by saying that he favoured the wrong James Bond film.
The clay people, or Muse, do some other stuff, eventually becoming a band and releasing a song called Uprising. Uprising is the agoraphobia sufferer’s idea of riotous, and the star trek nerd’s idea of apocalyptic. ‘We should never be afraid to die,’ Bellamy quips, jokingly. Research has revealed that this lyric was written whilst in deep eye-contact with a rubber Gromit (of Wallace and Gromit) figurine.
Whatever type of dystopian future you choose to imagine, things that wont exist there are: aviator sunglasses, hair gel, boot-cut jeans of distressed denim and white blazer jackets. Oh, and Muse.