GARBAGE: WORST LIVE EVER

I wouldn’t say it’s one of my favorite bands, but seeing Shirley on stage after so many years (20, 25?) must have been a delightful experience.

Why play at the Grand Rex, one of the most beautiful movie theaters in Paris (in the world)? With its Art Deco façade, decorations mimicking a Mediterranean exterior, and an incredible celestial vault illuminated by stars with scrolling clouds, is it truly the place to perform « I am only happy when it’s rain » or « Queer »?

Except if you think you are a rock band coming to play for a conference gathering the top executives of a large real estate investment fund who will then go to dine on the rooftop of the grand hotel that is reserved for them…

This live was the worst in my life…

First of all, you have to wait for a hostess to seat you (!) and then it is forbidden to move around. The wait is interminable amidst a crowd where most people are in high heels, evening dresses, and business attire. Something is definitely off…

Me wearing a Bikini Kill t-shirt, and that guy walking by in his Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, felt a bit out of place!

It’s nothing compare with Shirley’s stage outfit. Far from allowing the provocative attitudes of the early days. Gone were the flashy outfits of the nineties or the sequined « culotte » from « I Think I’m Paranoid, » replaced by a stage costume resembling a giant chicken… no style, no irony.

Where has all of this gone?

The concert was a disaster. Shirley spending five minutes between each song telling us about her family life (husband and children…) and to sound « rock, » she added « shit » or « fuck » in every sentence…

The performance was sluggish, breathless, with no energy conveyed.

The band, soulless, put together 30 years ago with its calibrated hits, failed to produce more than two albums. That night Garbage just managed « to get the job done » as its debut. No revival that night and probably never again; this return to the stage showed the limitations of the Garbage concept, an old rock band start-up.

Old punk-rock never died, so rather than ruining my evening and die of despair, I prefered leaving the show after 30 minutes.

Garbage trash it forever (click to see the giant chicken)