"A PORNOGRAPHIC, AREA 51 VIBE" - SPEND OUR CASH, $848 WITH MUSE.

Blender Magazine

March 2007

GIVEN A BUCKET OF BLENDER’S DOUGH, ALIEN-OBSESSED U.K. ROCKERS MUSE CREATE A PSYCHEDELIC THEME PARK IN THE DESERT

HOW THEY SPENT IT

LAS VEGAS, SEPTEMBER 21, 2006

COSTUMES $348

INFLATABLE CASTLE $500

TOTAL $848

Curious about the traces of alien architecture on Mars? About the intergalactic message hidden in the Egyptian pyramids? How about the secret government's ongoing machinations to lead us into a police state? If so, Matt Bellamy, Muse’s conspiracy-theory-obsessed singer and guitarist, is your man. He can expound on brain surveillance: “You can get through airport X-rays, go to a restaurant. put a knife in your pocket and bring it on board. It’s clear that they don’t really care about security. It’s just a way to wear people down, to make them afraid and to prepare them for microchipping. They'll say, ‘Put a chip in your brain and you can glide right through the searches.” Or celestial beings: “Look at how so many religions refer to the heavens, to gods descending from above. It’s logical to me that we have some connection to outer space.”

 Sitting down to dinner shortly before Muse perform at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas, Bellamy makes an urgent argument for all-encompassing skepticism—especially where matters of governmental mind control and/or Martian rectal probing are concerned. His preoccupations should come as little surprise to anyone familiar with his music. For nearly 10 years, the Teignmouth, England, trio—Bellamy, bassist Chris Wolstenholme and drummer Dom Howard—have been cranking out bombastic rock about impending apocalypse, lost civilizations and more impending apocalypse.

 Bellamy’s extraterrestrial interests also help explain why, when offered S848 of Blender’s cash to spend however they please, Muse decide to buy a bunch of alien costumes and a giant inflatable castle and throw a concert after-party in the middle of the Mojave Desert. At 2:30 Ac. For 15 people. What might better explain this decision, though, is the $150 worth of psychedelic mushrooms—not Blender-financed, in case the secret government is curious—that the band will ingest shortly before arriving at their helium chateau. They aim to create as mind-blowing a trip as they can: “You wanna see something you've never seen before,” Bellamy explains.

 Muse, who are touring to support their acclaimed concept album Black Holes & Revelations, insist that they don’t do hallucinogenic drugs very often. Howard says that since mushrooms grow in the forests of Muse's native southwest England, they've “done quite a bit” but “not for years.” Anyone who has seen the fantastic six-minute video for their single “Knights of Cydonia,” though, could be forgiven for suspecting otherwise: The clip juxtaposes kung fu fighting, laser guns, hotties on unicorns and Wild West showdowns (and proves in the process that for all their weighty preoccupations, Muse have a damn good sense of humor, too).

 The first stop of the night is Halloween Mart, a costume emporium. “We're going for a soft-core pornographic, Area 51 vibe” Bellamy says as he and his bandmates fan through the aisles. Highest on the shopping list: bug-eyed-alien masks and—for the ladies they've invited to join their desert party—saucer-shaped sparkly miniskirts that Judy Jetson might wear for a night of turning tricks.

 The purity of Bellamy’s futuristic vision is lost, however, once the band sets eyes on the variety of costumes for sale: medieval wenches, evil clowns, a giant hand that fits over one’s torso ... "I didn't realize this place was going to be so extensive,” Wolstenholme says, thumbing a French-maid getup. He scoops up a litter of fake mustaches while Howard snags a Spider-Man costume—“l've always wanted one of these’"—and Bellamy slides on a glittering pirate mask, a bit Jack Sparrow, a bit Liberace. Amply stocked, they race back to the Hard Rock for their show.

 The shroomstravaganza reconvenes at 2 4.m, in the Hard Rock lobby. We're joined by two chatty raven-haired girls whom no one in the band seems to know particularly well and by the girls of the Like, the L.A. trio that’s touring with Muse. Muse's publicist informs us that everyone is “totally tripping,” and indeed, the spirits are high. “The mushrooms are like an old friend,” Howard says. “Haven't seen ‘em in a while, but they're always welcome.” Beaming a permanent smile, Wolstenholme chugs from a beer, hoists his bottle high and shouts, "Let's go!"

 The bouncy castle—red, yellow and blue—has been installed a half-hour drive out from Vegas, illuminated by giant lights and surrounded by boulders, tumbleweeds and, in the distance, a red-rock formation barely perceptible in the dark. Any trucker whizzing past on nearby Route 15 who sees the squad of revelers—dressed in Barbarella suits, Kill Bill suits, alien suits, clown suits, giant hand suits and, for raven-haired girl No. 1, a revealing Little Bo Peep-style getup—might think he's seen a mirage. 

 Everyone kicks off their shoes, scampers into the castle and proceeds to jump up and down and shriek with glee for about 15 minutes nonstop. The air is thick with streamers, Silly String and tripper-speak. “It’s like space in here,” Howard says. “There's no ... no ... no concept of gravity.” 'Taking a break from jumping, he stares out into the black, lost in deep concentration. Finally he announces, “I'm going to go run in those bushes,” and disappears. Bellamy says something about how “situational psychology is so much more important than people think.” Wolstenholme just grins and tries, unsuccessfully, to keep his balance.

 Things only get less coherent. Bellamy and the Like’s Charlotte Froom run around the castle with sheets of paper towel rolling out behind them. Bo Peep keeps flashing her thong. Howard, back from his bush run, materializes on top of a giant rusty tractor waving two road flares in the air. “Are these going to explode?” he asks.

 By 5 a.m., we've reached the mellow I-love-you-man stage of the party. People circle slowly, searching for their shoes. A note of reflection creeps into Bellamy's voice as he looks back on the night—a dinner full of conspiracy theories, a concert devoted to the theme of impending doom, an after-party of ‘shrooms. “We take lite seriously,” he says, picking prickly tumbleweed bits from his palms. “But life's too short to take too seriously, That's where bouncy castles come in.”