So here we have it, a self-professed return to the basics that also just so happens to be a conceptual piece about modern warfare and the dehumanizing effect it has on those who partake in it, and a conceptual piece with Broadway aspirations at that. Musically, to be sure, this is miles removed from the overcooked electronics of previous album (and, IMHO, major misstep) The 2nd Law. True to the nature of war, much of Drones is cold and aggressive.
Take Psycho, a furious glam stomper that re-positions the groove of past hit Uprising into a silly, profane ode to transferring ownership of your ass to a barking drill sergeant. It rocks hard, which is a welcome turn of events for those of us who feared the worst after The 2nd Law; it just happens to be undermined by its ham-handed message and its contrived, laughable pageantry ("Are you a psycho killer? Say 'I'm a psycho killer!' Scream it! SHOW ME YOUR WAR FACE!").
The biggest negative in regards to Drones has to be in the way it tells its story. When a concept album is done properly, there's room for interpretation and/or a way to apply the narrative to ourselves. Drones lacks subtlety and fails to invite interpretation, instead forcing listeners to take its trite, slightly outdated message at face value and alienating those who would look to draw parallels between the lyrics and their own lives.
That said, it does admittedly mark a drastic improvement over recent Muse records from a musical standpoint. While its concept fails it, the music does everything in its power to make up for it; lead track Dead Inside, this album's first verified smash hit, expertly ties together a huge groove (made all the beefier by first-time Muse producer John "Mutt" Lange) with an epic stadium rock crescendo; this one's sure to kill on the festival circuit.
For the next half hour, we're treated to most of the album's most explicitly rock-minded moments, from the aforementioned Psycho through to the new wave infused Revolt. The best of this run of tracks has to be Reapers, a swaggering and thunderous rocker that features Bellamy's best operatic guitar work on the record. That's not to belittle the tunes that surround it, and the music for this majority stretch of the record is consistently engaging.
Sadly, the air comes out toward the end, as the last three tracks go full on rock opera schmaltz. Bellamy puts forth his best tin foil hat-wearing Freddie Mercury as the strings and pianos come out of the woodwork on Aftermath. There's a glorious rock payoff to be had on penultimate track The Globalist, but to get there you have to endure a 4½-minute slow burn of whistling and mournful balladry. Meanwhile, the closing title track is a morose, overwrought dénouement wherein Bellamy laments the loss of his entire family to drones; he even punctuates the song, and the record with an "amen". Yikes.
So yes, Drones packs plenty of big rock moments to thrill and delight, albeit at the expense of its incessant need for drama. Maybe with a cast of dozens and some connective narrative tissue, there is some quality storytelling to be salvaged. Until then, I'm calling it as I see it: a solid enough rock record that thinks it's way more important and provocative than it is.
June 9, 2015 • Helium-3/Warner Bros.
Highlights Dead Inside • Revolt • Reapers
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