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“Fifty thousand tickets sold three months before the gig? We’re going to fill San Siro up then…” The news of the high number of tickets sold in the presale for the Italian show reaches Matt Bellamy in a dreary Paris, grey light typical of the darkest winter days. The day started well, and Muse’s singer allows himself a big smile. “See? I’m not as sad, shady and lonesome as I’ve been described in the years.” He adds merrily. [Sad? Out of all adjectives you can call Matt Bellamy, sad? Stupid, idiot, crazy, weird, impeded, dangerous for children’s health, verbally challenged…]

His mood is promptly ruined by a waiter of the hotel near place Vendome he’s staying at: “Excuse me, this table is booked. Do you mind moving the interview to another room?” [Ohnoyoudidn’t.] Ice fills the room. Bellamy gets up, his eyes search around for the band manager, then he nervously slips into another hall. He sits at a table, fiddles around with the iPod of the interviewer for a few minutes [RUDE.] and eventually speaks again.

Shutting him up this time is a pneumatic drill, deafening us from the floor above us. Crossroads time: will he get up and leave, or will he skate over it, holding on to his British phlegm?

Luckily, the latter option has the upper hand. “How nice. It’s not bothering me at all, it’s got a solid, potent sound, I should suggest something like this to my drummer, really.” He laughs. We’re over the hump, and a nice cup of hot coffee wipes away any residual anger.

“I’ve only been to one concert at the La Scala of football*; Ligabue. I didn’t know any of his songs; I just went to take my Italian girlfriend, keep her some company. I didn’t get any of the lyrics, but there’s one bit that got stuck in my head. It went something along the lines of ‘Lembrusc and popcooorn’.” [I truly hope he sang that line. The multiple Os hint that he did.]
[*La Scala is probably the most important theatre of both Milan and Italy. Somehow though I highly doubt Matt Bellamy was articulated enough to come up with a sentence like that. Yes, I don’t give Mr. Bellamy any credit whatsoever.]

Despite being the leader of one of the most popular bands in the world, Bellamy maintains an obstinate low profile, almost as if a part of him refused the fame that has overwhelmed Muse.

“The couple of days that followed the release of The Resistance changed my life forever. In that week I realised this was simply something that was impossible to ignore. ‘You’re number one in Italy, UK, Canada, New Zealand and Australia.’ Two days later, another call. ‘Number one in Germany, France and Spain too; number three in the US, 128’000 copies sold in five days.’ Not to mention the public praising coming from people like Brian May, Queen’s guitarist.”

In short, a planetary explosion that defeated for good every resistance the trio had about growing up. [Or, in Dom Howard’s case, growing old and face wrinkles.] “When it’s on global scale, success is like this powerful thunder- it deafens you, makes you dizzy, it changes your perception of the world; and sometimes, it can turn someone smart into a complete idiot. It hasn’t happened to me because [you were already an idiot] after I’ve realised what was happening I started to look for shadows in that sea of blinding lights. It’s not a matter of cosmic pessimism. I’ve always believed that in life there are some balances that need to be preserved at all costs. When your career goes too fast and gives you things and gratifications you wouldn’t have thought possible to achieve the week before, you shouldn’t let your guard down. It means you’re about to pay your bills, it means that life, after giving you a lot, is going to take something back.” [What a jolly fellow.]

Prophetic words with no hints to real life? “Unfortunately it’s all very real. The moment I reached my highest professionally I was left by the woman I love. She’s an Italian girl who lives in the area of Lake Como, where I bought a house to be with her.” Her, a psychology student; him, a rock star rising at a dizzily pace: they met in Milan seven/eight years ago and have been in love since. A love full of bicycle rides, fishing trips around the lake and episodes of Lost watched on the sofa.

[And now, let the ANGST begin and the tears flow as a sad French kid plays on a guitar with broken, untuned chords a deaftoned version of the Love Story tune. The saddest tune in the history of tunes.]

“To have your heart in pieces while every other aspect of your life couldn’t go better is a traumatic experience. In appearance, life is fine. But as you put your day in focus, everything turns grey. What happened made me realise that complete, absolute happiness doesn’t exist. She has left me, but I’m not giving up. I will do anything I’m capable of to win her back.” [You go, Matt Coco.] He says it all in one go, no pauses, voice slightly choked. “I’m going to try everything.” He insists to gather up some courage, looking at nowhere. [Quick, someone get the smallest violin in the world.]

To snap him out of it it’s enough to mention the magic word: Simona Ventura. A name that in Matt’s head conjures up an episode that had consequences that went beyond any prediction. “Our visit to Quelli che il calcio… proves that during live shows the smallest thing can turn into an avalanche. When we got to the studios we were told we had to mime. We thought we could at least keep the vocals live, but that wasn’t possible either. So, since we basically only had to stand there and mock ourselves, we thought we’d jazz it up a little bit, and decided to switch roles. In UK it’s a bit of a tradition when you’re forced to mime. I went to sit behind the drum kit and Dom walked up to the microphone, as I would have done. As the song was over we thought the joke would be over too.”

But all of a sudden things took a slightly different road. “The host jumped on Dom as if he was actually the frontman of the band, and started showering him with questions. He was quick on the uptake [for once] and went along with it, turning the whole thing into a rather surreal scene. She was talking to him thinking he was me, and he answered all the questions without giving himself away once, even when she asked him to compare my house to George Clooney’s. It was brilliant. In the UK people went crazy about it, and the video was viewed around 500 thousand times on YouTube.”

“The funny thing is” Dom remembers “that I had to learn the words by heart a few minutes before the show. [Oh piss off, we all know you know every single word Matt has penned by heart and sing them in the shower every morning, keeping a stack of daisies to go through heavy “He loves me, he loves me not” sessions.] To mix it some more I grabbed Chris’ bass. So as well as singing badly, I pressed the chords at random because I have no clue how to play bass.”

The tension is long gone: awkward waiters and pneumatic drills are forgotten, and Matt is contriving again. “If you want to know just how strong our relationship with Radiohead is, ask Dom here. He’s on splendid terms with Thom Yorke.”

Nice cue, except that… “Splendid terms my arse.” Says the drummer, astonished. “I respect them musically, but the last time I met him we almost started a fight; he treated me badly, looking down on me. Matt, do you spread around this bollocks?”

But Matthew is gone. He’s already sitting in another room, stifling a laugh.