we've ever done [is]. You can go on writing traditional pop-rock songs and get stale or try something new. There are risks either way." Howard cheerfully says, "I love the excessiveness of the whole thing. I love Survival for that. You could say the choir's too much but you know what? It makes it. I like pushing it as far as we can." It's always an achievement for a band to retain its original line-up on the long and tricky path from youth clubs to stadiums. It's especially remarkable when one band member trod most of that path as an alcoholic. If you had to guess which one you'd choose the neurotic singer or hard-partying drummer over Wolstenholme, an affable family man who has the names of his wife and four of his six children tattooed in various languages on his arms and, until recently, still lived in Teignmouth. He is so untouched by fame that the other dads at school only found out he was in Muse while talking in the pub after playing football and went home to google him to check he wasn't making it up. But there's a genetic precedent: his father, a pub landlord, drank himself to death when he was 40. Wolstenholme combines rock-solid blokiness with the compulsive candour of someone who has undergone rehab. Only his nervous hand-rubbing betrays the weirdness of discussing the worst experience of his life with a stranger. His drinking began in earnest when Muse's career first took off