A quarter of a century has passed, and Shirley Manson still wants to tear your little world apart — especially if you support the patriarchies and idiocracies destroying the planet. On Garbage’s seventh offering, No Gods No Masters (a slogan for anarchists and labor unions alike), Garbage’s redheaded Molotov cocktail explodes at evangelicals apathetically offering prayers after shootings, “The Men Who Rule the World,” shitty men in general (in case they don’t rule the world), and, as is often the case on a Garbage record, herself. She broods her venom with glorious vigor throughout, as her bandmates teeter between new wave and industrial stomp depending on the mood of the song, and together they command one memorable pop melody after another as if nothing has changed since 1995 in the best way possible.
On No Gods No Masters, Garbage finally have a sure footing in the sounds and sentiments that made them great originally. After Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera coaxed the spotlight away from Garbage as pop hit makers in the late Nineties, the band toyed around with their sound, which started out as a beautifully bizarre mixture of trip-hop, grunge, and synth-rock on their self-titled 1995 debut. Sometimes they’d go a little too pop (the supremely catchy “Androgyny”) or a little too punk (“Why Do You Love Me,” their last Top 100 hit). They always sounded like Garbage, but it wasn’t until 2016’s Strange Little Birds that they made an album as consistently Garbage since 1998’s Version 2.0.
That flame still burns on No Gods No Masters. Part of the fuel is Manson’s turgid contempt for injustice, but what makes the record so good is how the rest of Garbage matches her tone perfectly with keyboard glitches, buzzsaw guitar, and clever but never obtrusive rhythm loops. On “The Men Who Rule the World,” they reimagine Bowie’s Young Americans as an industro-pop funk while Manson rails against the Richie Riches funding the destruction of Earth’s environment. It’s like Nine Inch Nails’ downward spiral if Trent Reznor turned his hatred outward and used a mirror ball. Garbage summon the same power, in inverse proportion, on the quiet “Waiting for God,” a powerful Black Lives Matter–inspired elegy for black Americans who died “riding their bike or [for being] guilty of walking alone.” It’s chilling, arresting, and beautiful at the same time. “Who have we become?” Manson asks, her voice harmonizing with itself like a chorus of angels.
Manson’s personal demons present themselves on “The Creeps,” an ode to how depressing it is to see a cutout of yourself at a front-lawn yard sale set to new-wave keyboards à la Berlin’s “The Metro,” and “Wolves,” an apology for letting friends down in the past with a chorus (“No one can say that I didn’t love you”) that she sings in a quirky, instantly memorable way. On “Godhead (Dick 101),” she whispers vulgarities like, “Would you deceive me if I had a dick?/Would you know it/Would you blow it?” with the intention of skewering religious leaders who decided God is a man.
Her breakup-revenge fantasy, “A Woman Destroyed,” is set to a piercing, horror film score, and the album closer “This City Will Kill You” pairs sweetly descending guitar, Bond-theme horns, and a light trap beat as Manson wonders “Why was I the one to survive?” But those two are separated by “Flipping the Bird” and “No Gods No Masters,” a couple more new-wavey middle fingers directed at conceited men, that show how adept Garbage are at pairing sweet melodies with noisy textures. But for all of the group’s abundant signature moves on No Gods No Masters, the record never feels like a nostalgia bid. That’s because after 26 years, Garbage know who they are and are comfortable with themselves. It’s the men who rule the world who should feel uncomfortable.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
