Matthew Bellamy's voice, as it penetrated and caressed the thousands of collected bones and souls at Madison Square Garden, remained impossibly, ethereally beautiful. His band, Muse, is opera and classical composition and rock thrown together with a tinge of urgency. And this is the key element: urgency.
And to hear, cascading over the dire and poignant immediacy of the music, this otherworldly keening is preternatural and strangely comforting. This hermaphroditic voice pierces through the intensity and offers a way out of the maelstrom.
Its swelling, meaningful grandiosity compels me to call it "epic rock." Which Kath assures me has already been said. FUCK!