Indie-poppers are equal parts blissed out and moody
Muse: Supermassive Black Hole
Tune says party, words say die!
It’s like Beck’s house, actually. Dirty funk guitars rub saucily against a Prince-ish falsetto over a pink leather couchette, QOTSA are stuffing Marilyn Manson’s head down the lavvy for a laugh in the ‘chorus’ and it seems the world ends not with a bang but with the Day-Glo Sorority Daiquiri Party At The End Of The Universe. Only the first of the myriad surprises waiting to burst giggling from Muse’s incredible fourth album, ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ posits the theory, “Hey, we’re all being dragged toward certain obliteration in the gigantic vacuum at the core of space, so… hot tub anyone?” One small step for Matt, one giant leap for Matt-kind.
Further proof that Young Thug is jolting new life into hip-hop
A worthy heir to their last album's industry-dismissing eccentricity
Ben Stiller reprises his role as a former model in a throwaway but amusing sequel
It’s not quite the superhero film revolution we were promised, but it sure as hell is entertaining