He activates the button.

And above him - the black hole opened up.

Yes. Welcome to Muse - where every single geek sci-fi fantasy you've ever had is given the soundtrack its always dreamed of. Don't come if you're questing for a place of emotional literacy or nuanced political protest. No. Come for attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Come for clone armies annihilating the hell out of hordes of evil androids. Come for the end of the fucking world baby.

Because Muse are the Star Wars of modern pop/rock bands. All the giddy thrills that you get from watching a trailer at the cinema: someone telling someone else that they love them, some cool little ice-cold quip and then shot after shot of shock and awe explosions with front man Matthew Bellamy pulling off impossible stunt after impossible stunt. Nothing may really mean anything and you don't really know why that man is jumping off the top of that tall skyscraper and who the hell are the Knights of Cydonia? - but it all feels totally cool.

Some background: We're here to see Muse play live in front of an audience of about 40 people. If that. Most of whom are ever-so-lucky competition winners. But not me. In fact I don't really know how I got to be here at all and I keep waiting for a beefy hand to feel my shoulder or a silent comedy hooked stick to twirl round me and drag me off... But so far. So good.

The set-up is very Muse like. The room looks like an ancient television studio crossed with a top secret government hanger where they dissect the bodies of extra-terrestrials. On top of that - there are three giant old-style cameras in front of us who bob and weave like daleks- capturing things for playback on the internet later. Everything done in the name of some giant corporation (who shall – for effect - remain nameless). The only reason that us mere humans have been granted access is to provide the whoops and cheers and claps for when the songs end. To give the illusion that things are normal when obviously they’re not. And speaking of: The competition winners themselves are weird too: I was expecting a troop of glum looking white, teenage boys in hoodies but it would appear that the Church of Muse welcomes a wide breed: there are, like, old people here and everything.

After our de-briefing (no toilet breaks) we stand around for waiting for the entertainment to arrive. I'm starting to get really really excitable. I mean I’m about to witness a band that could summon hundreds of thousands and there’s hardly anyone else here. Although – typical – there’s someone standing right in front of me making it hard to see. And then – likeohmygod - through the same side door that we all stepped in through ourselves - they saunter in. All dressed in white. Bass player Chris - with unshaven face and Chewbacca style hair - looking like a muppet baby version of The Doves' Jimi Goodwin. Dominic the drummer – as always – with the wide-eyed stare of a kid on Christmas. And Matthew Bellamy in white dungarees looking like a cut-rate Clockwork Orange gang member (but then - there’s always been a thin line between looking cool and stupid). And. Yes? We're ready?

Bam.

And... Well. What should I say? They only played six songs (bastards). Plug In Baby, Stockholm Syndrome, Supermassive Black Hole and three new ones that I'd never heard before all of which sounded amazing. But not entirely different from the Muse I’ve known before. I ain’t complaining thou. It all sounded so visceral, frenetic and punchy. And you can never have too many theme songs for your own personal Buzz Lightyear moments… Saving the universe. Infinity and beyond. In regards to the new album: I wouldn't hold your breath for Muse doing a Kid A anytime soon: they know how to do the whole epic weird alternative rock thing and it sounds like they’re sticking to it (but then again – you know – production can make a lot of stuff sound completely different).

Dissatisfaction did creep in through the fact that they were basically playing for the millions who were gonna download it rather than us people standing at the back - and so the sound was nowhere near as loud as it could (should) have been. Also: I know that Muse are supernatural beings and all - but shrunk down to life-size action models of themselves they seemed (almost) human. You could hear the joins and notice the small places where things didn't work as flawlessly as you just kinda thought they would, in place of planet-sized walls of sound you could - in places - hear the bare components of bass, drums. guitar and singing/warbling. Maybe that was the shocking final twist of the story: turns out that it was just three guys in a band after all. Example: When Matt did some guitar shredding (or whatever you call it – you know – the bits when his fingers get all fiddly) it just seemed like what it was – a guy messing around with a guitar. As opposed to: an intimate glimpse of rock-god-ness.

Don’t get me wrong in anyway. The above was just minor niggles. It was – all told - a great experience. Arpeggios somersaulting over each other. Breakdowns to crush bone. Climaxes upon climaxes. In a perfect world - Muse would be sound tracking the billion dollar remake of Dune (surely if ever a film deserved to be remade). One of the new songs they played (which contained the new-album title as a lyric) opened with what sounded like the national anthem of a galaxy of beings of pure-light. Uplifting, ornate and kickass. Supermassive Black Hole sounded damn slinky – but a lot more raw out in the real world than shut inside its recording. Less Prince – more Queen (pun completely intended). The song they closed with (my favourite) had a wicked western feel to it. Except – you know – a western in outer space. Where all the cowboys have three hats for each of their heads. Some great wordless ooohhhing and aaahhhing topping over crunchy bursts of chords. And that was before it imploded into a chant of (something like) "You and me will fight for our rights. You and me will fight to survive." Like I was saying: although the conscious brain knows that its all pretty flimsy lyrically and as substantial as a character in a Philip K Dick novel (i.e. not very) – it still managed to twist my unconscious into the final scene of a film where they’re gonna blow up The Matrix, the Death Star and God all at once.

Bam.

And then. Just like that it’s over.

Pouring out on to the pavement into the bright sunshine (“It’s only 8 o’clock”) the memory already starts to blur to whiteness. Like. Wow. That was cool. But did it actually really just happen? Couldn’t they play more songs? How cool was that bit when? Etc. It feels a bit like I’ve been buzzed by one of those memory sticks that they have in Men In Black. All my thoughts keep slipping and all I know for sure is:

I want the new album.

Now.

Joel Janiurek