Muse
Live @ Datch Forum - Assago 04-12-2006

Quickly. God move, move, let me through, it's really late, the city is a jungle and I see no vines, but I'm in such a rush that I overtake on the right and dart into the parking lot. How much is left, uncle banana, it's already started two minutes ago. I don't even lock the car, I run to the destination, climb monkey-like up the stairs, reach the third floor, press the bell—is it already started...?

17:53 on the TV screen, the theme song plays—just in time! The first episode of Ratman is an event no person with some sense could miss. The rat immediately captures the heart of Mr. Ant, the ant colony's owner, and his naive companion, yes, yes, not bad for a first episode... the afternoon starts well, no doubt about it; but the main course, the Big Dish, is saved for tonight: the much-anticipated concert of the gentlemen Miùs, of course. Will they descend from the top of Helicon swinging everywhere, or will they prefer to watch Boeotian grazing herds dancing around the dark fountain? The answer to this and many other questions (who framed Peter Pan? Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Gnigo or Gnago?), obviously, in another more decent review than this. Ha ha ha, I'm such a prankster. But... hey, reader... where are you going? What? Too bad, I didn't hear... what did he mean with that finger?

Now, after having squeezed your nipples with my scathing irony, let's move on to the concert itself with itself without ifs or buts. After an exhausting journey of about two and a half hours due to various wrong turns (if arriving from Novara you amusingly find yourself in front of a Gallarate sign, something's wrong) amidst various pricks, at the crack of 21:02 your lovely brigade secures the last parking spot of a crowded Datch Forum. Everything seems finally to go well when right before turning off the car, the right front window decides not to roll up. Damn. Steal my car, scatter my ashes at sea, and let’s not talk about it anymore. Swearing, I play the couldn't-care-less card and we quickly approach the enjoyable place, revelation: they have yet to start. Right, all right, we roll up to the left side of the stage and wait while our ears are delighted by the notes of Rage Against the Machine and the Buddhist paradises: phainòn estí the immense mass of people present around us, people mostly consisting of coquettish twenty-five-year-olds à la Jo Squillo to be clear (even though we're not on the metro). The icing on the cake, a few soft banners hanging like "Matthew, you're an angel fallen to Earth" or "Matt, I want to lick your big toe" to make it clear.

Perhaps it's this foot appeal that causes the aforementioned to turn off the lights (cosmic roar) and climb on stage, health T-shirt and doe eyes—the usual funny bloke—accompanied by faithful Chris, known as Suppaman to friends, and a rat-faced Dominic. They kick off thick with "Take A Bow", and immediately two things are clear:

1-The last album live is something entirely different;

2-They are Musicians with a capital M.

I mean, wow. Any phallic reference wouldn’t quite capture the essence. I already knew the guy handles his equipment well (what did you think? Naughty!), but the performance displayed (again...) was nothing short of phenomenal. After an initial routine based on the big singles like Starlight and Supermassive Black Hole (and the girl next to me bursts into tears as if she were at a Joy Division concert hahaha), neither praiseworthy nor disgraceful, it is hits like "New Born", "Butterfly & Hurricanes" and "Invincible" that make us understand how good the three are (plus a fourth unknown to me on trumpet and keyboards). When he takes to the piano, he dazzles a good part of the audience, launching into virtuosity worthy of a classic musician, scales upon scales at a breathtaking and impressive speed. Well, bravo the Miùs are. But, yum yum, latent bitter taste in the mouth, I'm not a coprophage, so what is it? Well, it was sad to see the public actively participate mainly in the usual famous songs like the time that runs away for Mr. Ant’s joy or the girl who gets plugged in or what I feel well knows what I mean, come on, as per script okaaay, and no one complains, but the little gems they pull out from the lesser-known tracks of the last album are, allow me the vulgar and obscene term that will cost me censorship, rather mal-perceived yes indeed.

On the album, they perhaps can’t express themselves at their best, but live it's clear the three have an enviable energy, and it's this that makes tracks like "invincible" or a monumental and delirious "Knights Of Cydonia" in the end astonish and move and kill, also helped by a series of intriguing visual effects. Enough not to (almost) miss anthems like "Muscle Museum" or "Citizen Erased", or the completely overlooked first album if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, the focal point of the band, sine qua non, is Matt, who enjoys blurting out a few words in funny Italian and writhing like a scurvy-stricken prostitute with his guitar, shooting hallucin(a)ting solos and rolling on the ground looking for mud. Annoying when, after "Bliss", he waits for all the inflated balloons dancing over our heads to be destroyed before resuming the journey (a stubborn balloon will take a good five minutes to pop, arousing general ire).

But like mom’s lasagna, everything has to end, and so does the show, alas. We all look a bit bewildered, myself, Mr. Ant, and the naive girl, half-dazed (was it the rabdoi we got hit with?), so much so that I’d stand there rooted until they kick me out, but damn I had forgotten quickly, quickly avoiding, jumping, skirting, rushing, sliding, and falling into the grass, but it's better to run for it, just in case, there it is, it's there, Christ, a knot in my stomach, right, all right, hoping not.