Drones

The heart of the action in most of these songs is a chunky update of the guitar-bass-drums charge of Origin's "New Born" and "Stockholm Syndrome" on 2003's Absolution. It's what Muse do best; it's good to hear a lot more of it.

Amidst skyscraping Queen harmonies and portentous Pink Floyd melodrama there are sensitive touches, with some elegant, slow-unfurling lead guitar reminiscent of Dire Straits.

Muse’s seventh album is--happily--anything but diminished.

[Producer Mutt] Lange proves an excellent match. Never before have Bellamy's guitars sounded so terrific. [Jul 2015, p.110]

This absurdly overstuffed synthesis is unmistakably Muse's own, so thunderous it drowns out any good intentions the band may have had.

Unsurprisingly, they double down on Drones to satisfying effect. That means broad strokes, big beats, and expertly placed electronic filips and vocal processing as the band explores its big themes in ways both satisfyingly corrosive, such as the speedy metal riffage of “Reapers,” and oddly saccharine, as on the somewhat corny and generic uplift of “Revolt.” Muse fares better when churning out inspiring head bangers where nuance isn’t a major factor.

In summary, Drones is utterly bonkers and silly. And yet, it’s for the most part enjoyable.

It’s Bellamy’s job to prise open deeper socio-political dimensions as much as it is to comment on the times, and Muse’s music once more matches his adventurous intrigue.

Muse is one of the world's biggest rock bands, but for all its missionary zeal, Drones preaches to the converted.

The album is littered with so many clunky lines and cliched conspiracy talk it almost becomes laughable, but the main problem is with the narrative itself which makes next to no sense at all.... Luckily, a good sizeable chunk of this album is good enough to stand alone, stripped of the high-minded concepts.

Bellamy’s lyrics can be trite (“Yeah I’m free/From society,” declares The Defector) and the longer the album goes on, the more confusing the plotline becomes.

Great in parts, but flat and clumsy in others, Bellamy’s bid to become more serious appears to have stunted what he does best, which is operatic excess fuelled by volcanic emotion.

It’s the heaviest the band has sounded in some time, and exuberant enough for you to ignore Bellamy’s clunky lyrics. But Drones veers badly off target in its final third.

In spite of its melodic clarity, Drones ultimately succumbs under the weight of its narrative, which strains for political and social commentary but winds up closer to parody.

For now, Drones can be chalked up as one step forward, one step back for this British trio.

It’s a record full of fits and starts, baffling successes and giggly failures.

Drones stumbles when it strays from Muse’s self-created universe and tries to be topical; it’s like watching Superman stuck in the guise of a floundering (albeit well-intentioned) Clark Kent.

There are snatches of salvation, but every time Drones aims for dystopian profundity, it hits Styx-level goofiness. [12 Jun 2015, p.74]

Whatever pleasure can be generated from Bellamy’s admirable melodic sense and overblown hooks is negated by Muse’s insistence that they’re profound rather than fun.

This feels like production line Muse: big riffs, bass squelches, conspiratorial dialogue, but few new ideas. [Aug 2015, p.88]

Accomplished yet instantly forgettable--a most fitting curtain call for such a confused endeavour.

Unfortunately, Muse's efforts can barely get off the ground and wouldn't survive a war against a fly swatter.

Muse have always been ridiculous and overblown, but at least they used to be a ton of fun.