Garbage | Luca and the Best Boys
O2 Apollo, Manchester
19th July 2024
The much missed and much loved Garbage return once again to the Apollo and some serious adoration from the assembled masses. Playing material from across their storied career so far and with much to talk about, will they go over the curfew? MK Bennett passes the dutchie.
Edge, in non-sexual terms at least, is not possible to reach culturally. It exists at an ever-moving centre, a centrifugal force that spins with the power and heat of a thousand suns, destroying some, spitting out those lucky enough to balance there for a few days, a few weeks, musicians, painters, fashion designers and filmmakers, writers and television presenters. Enjoy your time in the sun or evolve your art regularly, evolve with that culture because it is not over until the angry lady sings.
80s independent movies led American audiences to believe that all British indie was cool, a little alien and exotic, sold to the sensitive souls and future musicians of the Pacific Northwest and the Californian suburbs, a dark gothic Pop. Early Simple Minds, Orange Juice, brooding Northerners singing about faded grandeur. Lucia and The Best Boys sound like an amalgamation of the good Scottish Pop from those simpler times, with Gothic afterthought and a dash of modernism. They are aware of their accidental presentation of aesthetic perfection and know that they will have to work harder to get the crowd onside which they do, with work and good songs. Singer Lucia is a Gen Z/Millennial Shirley Manson, the voice of god and the devil, it soars under the Apollo’s low ceiling and deviates the septum. Hopefully, there is much more to come from them.
Garbage know their time in the sun has fractionally moved, which results in the freedom at least to work outside the mainstream, to escape the extreme confines of the Indie Rock Pop experience. Their music has necessarily changed over the years, streamlined itself, sitting inside instead of punching out. The guitar, for instance, was once a focal point of the band, part of the engine of the early 2000s rock machine, but here in this version of events, it’s an accent, a dynamic, the sound a post-modern retelling of the Garbage story as it fully morphs into Altered States, future and simultaneous past.
Uniquely, the band have two secret weapons, who seem wildly disparate personalities who have agreed to come together in the name of science and/or Art. Shirley Manson, a force du jour of magic, spit and fuck you resilience, more assured than ever, majestic in a frock of many colours, still in perfect voice, thirty years later, talks about her love for Manchester amongst many other things, comfortable under the lights, personality to match that huge vocal, absolutely alive.
Butch Vig, a European idea of an American man, commands the music from the back, a position of quiet resolve, wisely letting his singer do the heavy work as he hits drums and triggers samples. Given his past as a 90s Uber producer of planet-sized talent and the documentary proof of his meticulousness, it’s not a push to imagine that the Electronica that the band now put forward so well is at least partly down to him. This evolution has been more public than you would expect, as the 20th anniversary of Version 2.0 (Version 2.0 of Version 2.0) which came out in 2018, was an album of remixes by well-known producers of the time, and also a sign of possible future avenues to explore, evidenced a couple of years later on 2021’s No Gods, No Masters, a good portion of which is played tonight.
They stumble onstage to a roar, it’s been a while, a burning red sun projected behind them as they enter the high ozone sky of #1 Crush while the Acolytes of Shirley rightly make a lot of noise as cries of genuine excitement jolt the crowd like cattle prods, the refrain of “ I will die for you..” reciprocated everywhere as the band positively slink through, walking bassline via Massive Attack, and oh, the sweet, beautiful volume, just the right side of piercing your ears, sub bass moving the angled floor forward.
Shirley isn’t angry, she’s just Scottish, her vocals sit wonderfully on this layer of electronic funk, breaking the occasional slabs of white noise with breathless ease, that incredible voice singing the arse out of everything she is presented with. She goes from Dietrich to Debbie Harry, Ella to Elizabeth Fraser effortlessly and with such broad swagger it’s like she’s elected Royalty, but with her subjects and not above them. Godhead grooves in slow motion and the first hit of the night I Think I’m Paranoid brings the fly by night and the fanatic alike to their feet.
Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go) and Special roll impressively by before one of the highlights of the night, The Men Who Rule The World drops in like bricks, the eviscerating and brilliant lyrics and slow march towards the chorus before release are incredible, a band hitting the peak like the fine-tuned noise of expensive cars. Similarly, Metal Heart, Run Baby Run and Hammering In My Head maintain the level, the band working like professional athletes to keep the atmosphere and momentum going. Beats come and go and Choruses knock you, surprise you and keep you warm, memories mingle with the new arrangements, familiar but sparkling with shine, The Trick Is To Keep Breathing, remade, remodelled, refashioned, a new skin for the old ceremony that is a better fit. Bleed Like Me is immense, the lyrics hit a thousand targeted hearts in wonder, while the lovely singalong of Stupid Girl melts into Wolves and No Gods, No Masters, the most recent material and ideal for playing out, the mountainous bass dropping Gold like a mugged pirate.
The band’s colossal, nerve-wrecking, tear-inducing version of The Banshees Cities In Dust is next, loud enough to demolish small children, its cavernous, tremulous beauty sits alongside the original, Shirley’s repeated affirmations to Siouxsie leaving no doubt as to her adoration and respect.
The run-in of golden oldies is magnificent, especially Vow and Push It, where they really set the controls for the heart of the sun, it is Electronica with a huge bursting heart, the pulse and beat of meaning something to yourself and your audience. Throughout the set, Shirley seemed like she had something to say she wasn’t quite saying, and there is eventually a lovely life-affirming talk about being yourself, it’s not too late, do that thing always because tomorrow is another day you might not see and fuck you to anyone who does not like it.
The encores are the much-missed and sublime, Milk, another memory pulled back from somewhere, a genius-level vocal and the realization she may be a better singer now than ever. It’s like all the Bond themes playing simultaneously, but still sounding like one, meanwhile, the projected backdrop, which started with sex education and eventually settles into a sort of Dystopian seasonal disarray, lightning, hurricanes and finally Only Happy When It Rains, where Shirley is a smiling spectator as the crowd sing the whole thing, knowing it’s the end, the curfew looming like a thick black cloud. There seemed an air of both celebration and finality, the sense of a drawing of a line but given that the most recent work is arguably the strongest, the hope is it’s a new chapter of their particular and peculiar sonic brilliance.
Please note: Use of these images in any form without permission is illegal. If you wish to contact the photographer please email: mel@mudkissphotography.co.uk
~
Garbage can be found online here: www.garbage.com. They’re also on Facebook and tweet here:
All words by MK Bennett, you can find his author’s archive here plus his Twitter and Instagram
All photos by Melanie Smith – Louder Than War | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Portfolio
We have a small favour to ask. Subscribe to Louder Than War and help keep the flame of independent music burning. Click the button below to see the extras you get!
