LIVE REVIEW + PHOTOS: Garbage in Boston, MA (09.18.25)
Thursday night’s Garbage show at Roadrunner in Boston was more than just another tour stop. For me, it was a memory looping back on itself. I can still picture being a kid in Pakistan when my mom took me on a trip to Quetta. Wandering into a little CD shop, I spotted this bright orange album cover sitting on a shelf. It was Garbage’s self-titled record, and buying it was the most expensive thing I’d ever bought at the time. But it also ended up being one of the most important moments in my introduction to the wilder, darker world of alternative rock. From that day forward, Shirley Manson’s voice was etched into my life. To stand there in 2025, camera in hand, photographing her in person with the whole band roaring behind her, felt like a gift delivered decades later. Garbage have had a strange rhythm as a band, fading into silence for chunks of the 2000s only to return sharper, darker, and more vital than before. They’ve hinted this might be their last proper tour, which makes nights like these bittersweet. But if anyone was expecting a band coasting on nostalgia, Boston got the opposite. The show was a declaration, fierce, unapologetic, and drenched in mood.
I had been tipped off before the lights went down by another photographer, who also happened to be the lighting designer for the tour. He told me to pay attention to the visuals. He wasn’t kidding. From the opening glow, it felt as though Garbage had borrowed Nine Inch Nails’ cinematic eye for light and shadow. Beams of color weren’t just flashing at random; they carved through the songs like instruments themselves, sharpening riffs, bathing Shirley in silhouette, exploding in sync with choruses. It was some of the most meticulously designed concert lighting I’ve ever seen, proof that this band doesn’t just want to sound good, they want to create an entire environment for their music.
The show opened with “There’s No Future in Optimism,” and the place instantly detonated. The crowd, a mix of lifelong fans, many who had been with Garbage since their 90s heyday, and a surprising number of younger faces, screamed the words back with the force of people who had been waiting years for this. Shirley Manson, 58, but as commanding and feral as ever, stormed across the stage with that sly grin, making it clear this would be no polite nostalgia act. She stripped off her jacket within minutes to reveal a Palestinian keffiyeh wrapped around her neck, a statement as clear as the lyrics she would later spit with venom.
That thread of activism was woven into the show itself. Next to the merch tables, fans were greeted by a stall collecting donations for victims in Gaza, alongside information about voter registration. In a political climate where many artists shy away from risk, it felt bracing to see Garbage put their values front and center. It wasn’t preachy, it was authentic, and judging by the cheers that followed Shirley’s acknowledgment of it, the crowd was right there with her.
Musically, the set kept hammering. “Hold” and “Empty” built a wave of call-and-response, with Manson’s voice slicing through like it still does on record, smoky, venomous, and defiant. Then came the gut-punch: “I Think I’m Paranoid.” Critics have long hailed the track as one of Garbage’s most perfect songs, a lesson in tension and release, whispered menace swelling into a storm of distortion and catharsis. Live, it’s a tidal wave. When the chorus broke open, Boston let loose, the floorboards of Roadrunner shaking under the weight of stomping feet and bodies moving in unison. “Run Baby Run” came with a wink from Shirley as she looked out at the crowd and teased that the song was older than half the front row. But the generational divide didn’t matter; kids and longtime fans alike shouted every word. Then “The Trick Is to Keep Breathing,” a song often cited as one of Garbage’s most emotionally fragile, turned into something cinematic under the lighting rig. Critics have described it as a track that balances vulnerability with a simmering urgency, and Boston got the fullest version of that. Shadows stretched across Shirley’s face, then broke into waves of color that pulsed like the song’s heartbeat. It was hypnotic, delicate, and devastatingly beautiful.
The setlist barreled forward a mix of old and new, each one greeted like a returning hero until the band dipped offstage before the inevitable encore. The tension in the room was thick. Everyone knew what was coming, but that anticipation only made it sweeter. Garbage returned, Shirley smirking like she had us all in her hand, and the band tore into “Stupid Girl.” If ever a song could define a band’s DNA, this was it, snarling, sarcastic, biting. The room shouted back, fists pumping, like an anthem that hadn’t aged a day.
And then came the final release. “I’m Only Happy When It Rains,” the song that crystallized Garbage’s entire ethos, a twisted celebration of gloom and desire. When the chorus hit, the Roadrunner wasn’t just singing, it was howling, jumping, moving like a single organism. For a Thursday night, it felt like the weekend had already been stolen, the celebration begun early. Garbage may be calling this their last tour, but in Boston, they proved they are still at the peak of their powers. The lighting, the message, the setlist, the voice, everything was sharper, louder, angrier, and more vital than bands half their age.
For me, standing there, camera shaking in my hands, I couldn’t help but think back to that CD store in Quetta. That orange disc, that first expensive purchase. And now, decades later, Shirley Manson and Garbage still feel like the gift that keeps giving.
Photos – Garbage at Roadrunner in Boston, MA on September 18th:
