Watching Muse live somehow puts an oomph into your mid-week drag. Revolutionary/Marxist undertones, laser show and fantastic musicianship, what else can a rock fan ask for?

Then again, some of the newer songs leave much to be desired. They left me pondering some pretty heavy stuff while I was waiting for the damned song to finish. This is a condensed (and simplified) version of what was going through my head:

The rock star is a real copy of himself. He has ceased to be the rock star the minute the songs have been recorded and released as hits. The records/CDs/mp3's are true copies, duplicated in a studio. However, by going on tours, rehasing the songs life and trying to recreate the "rock star moment" on stage night after night, the rock star has ceased to be himself. He has become a copy of the real, a re-iteration of what it means to be a rock star.

The inspiration is over, the musicianship is a tedious reworking of licks and beats. The only thing real is the occasional ad lib improvisation. Then again, the improvisation was carried out with a deliberate attempt to show that the musician is able to improvise, defeating all purpose of improvisation, since improvisation comes with neither purpose nor deliberation.

Having said all that, it was a great show nonetheless. Music, kips, rock and roll. Rock fans always have it gooood.

As Cypher said in the Matrix: I know this steak doesn't exist, I know that the matrix is telling my brain that it is juicy and succulent. But after nine years, guess what? Ignorance is bliss.

Ang Heng