Music Review: The rock band Garbage are defiant on new album, 'Let All That We Imagine Be the Light'
Buzz-saw guitars, dense synthesizers and throbbing percussion can sometimes brighten the mood.
That's the goal of the new album from the American rock band Garbage, 'Let All That We Imagine Be the Light.' Due for release Friday, it's the sound of frontwoman Shirley Manson pushed to the brink by health issues and the fury of our times.
The band's familiar sonic mix provides a pathway out of the darkness, with heavy riffing and dramatic atmospherics accompanying Manson's alluring alto.
'This is a cold cruel world,' she sings on the crunchy 'Love to Give.' 'You've gotta find the love where you can get it.'
The album is Garbage's eighth and the first since 2021's 'No Gods No Masters.' The genesis came last August, when Manson aggravated an old hip injury, abruptly ending the band's world tour.
The other members of the group – Butch Vig, Duke Erikson and Steve Marker – retreated to the studio and began work on new music. Manson added lyrics that lament fatalism, ageism and sexism, acknowledge vulnerability and mortality, and seek to embrace joy, love and empowerment.
That's a lot, which may be why there's a song titled 'Sisyphus.' The sonics are formidable, too. A mix that echoes the Shangri-Las,Patti Smith and Evanescence helps to leaven the occasional overripe lyric, such as, 'There is no future that can't be designed/With imagination and a beautiful mind,' in the title track.
Most of the material is less New Age-y, and there's a fascinating desperation in Manson's positivity. 'Chinese Fire Horse,' for example, becomes a punky, Gen X, age-defying fist-pumper.
'But I've still got the power in my brain and my body/I'll take no (expletive) from you,' she sings.
Manson sounds just as defiant singing about a love triangle on 'Have We Met (The Void),' or mourning in America on 'There's No Future in Optimism.' The album peaks on the backside with the back-to-back cuts 'Get Out My Face AKA Bad Kitty,' a battle cry in the gender war, and 'R U Happy Now,' a ferocious post-election rant.
Then comes the closer, 'The Day That I Met God,' a weird and whimsical benedictory mix of horns, strings, faith, pain management and more. Hope and uplift can sound good loud.
___
For more AP reviews of recent music releases, visit: https://apnews.com/hub/music-reviews
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


WebMD
17 minutes ago
- WebMD
When Life Throws a Curve Ball: Managing Diabetes with an Injury
It may sound strange for me to connect a pulled back muscle with blood sugar regulation, but let me explain. About two weeks ago, I began to experience this sharp pain in my lower back every time I turned in a certain direction. Whether I sat or stood, after about five minutes it would be there. I couldn't sleep and it became almost unbearable. This lasted for two days until I decided that it was time for me to seek medical attention. I visited an urgent care center down the street from where I live to find out what was going on. My first idea about the pain was that it could be my kidneys, so I checked my blood sugar levels to see if they were elevated and they were not. Also, the pain was more in the middle of my lower back on the right, and I know that my kidneys are not located there. While at the care center, the doctor asked me to move in certain positions by stretching, and we discovered that I must have pulled a muscle in my back. I wasn't sure how this happened, because I work out daily for about 30 minutes. I didn't think I was doing anything too strenuous that would result in pulling a muscle, but here we are. The doctor told me that I had to postpone both weight and HIIT workouts. This startled me, because I know that the exercise has been helping my blood sugar levels to stay in range. At this point, I was trying to think about what type of physical activity I could do that would help me to maintain a fitness level at which my body could still benefit from blood sugar regulation. I asked the doctor what exercises I could do to maintain my fitness and blood sugar levels. The doctor told me not to do too much movement and to allow my back to heal, but that I could do light walking and some moving around in a swimming pool. The water will support my joints and keep me from putting any strain on my back muscles. To make a long story short, he said that it may take anywhere from 2 to 8 weeks for me to heal. I knew exactly what I needed to do. Since I wasn't doing any high-intensity workouts, I needed to take in fewer carbohydrates so that I can maintain a decent blood sugar level in the coming weeks. So over the past two weeks I have been eating fewer carbohydrates. I'm taking my prescribed muscle relaxers and an anti-inflammatory medication. I've actually done some marching in place inside my apartment and have even visited the pool to exercise once. I am proud to report that two weeks later, my back is feeling much better and I haven't had to deal with any hyperglycemia even though I'm doing less exercise. The moral of this story is that life can throw curveballs, but it doesn't mean that you can't get around them. Diabetes self management is a marathon and never a sprint, so you just have to take one day at a time because anything can happen. Learning how to deal with tough circumstances can help you learn how to adapt in any situation.


Medscape
28 minutes ago
- Medscape
ICML 2025
Please confirm that you would like to log out of Medscape. If you log out, you will be required to enter your username and password the next time you visit. Log out


Washington Post
32 minutes ago
- Washington Post
‘The Berlin Diaries' is a twisting and resonant search for lost family
Playwright Andrea Stolowitz is a central character in her own 'The Berlin Diaries.' She is played by Dina Thomas in a delicately moving production at D.C.'s Theater J — except when she's played by actor Lawrence Redmond, who also inhabits the long-dead grandfather whose inherited journals set the show's affairs in motion. Except when Redmond is stepping into the role of the playwright's Uncle David. Or one of a dozen other characters, based everywhere from Brazil to South Africa to New York to the Pacific Northwest. With me? Fret not: If the play's structural quirkiness initially feels adventurous to the point of mild madness, it quickly reveals a method, even as its novelty settles into something like normalcy. In fact the dialogue-juggling — in which the two actors often divide a thought mid-phrase while inhabiting the same character — deftly suggests the sort of wait-who-was-that? conundrums that any genealogist grappling with a knotty ancestral puzzle might get tangled in. For instance, I bear the same name as both my father and my grandfather, and there's another handful perched a few generations back in the family tree. This means that 'No, the Thomas who was killed when a branch fell on him in 1762 was a farmer; his son Thomas was the Presbyterian minister,' is the kind of thing I find myself clarifying mid-story, as if anyone other than a desperate family-history nerd could possibly follow. One intriguing dynamic with 'Berlin Diaries' is precisely that Andrea Stolowitz, or at least the character with her name, doesn't seem that sort of nerd at all. She's a mildly jaded playwright and teaching artist whose family isn't all that large or all that close, and who's not particularly interested in the diary her mother has been saving all this time. Yes, they're Jewish, and yes, they emigrated from Germany — but as Uncle David shrugs, 'Everyone made it here alive. … There's nothing to find out.' Unconvinced, but also under-inspired, and entirely uncertain what she's actually looking for, Andrea does what teaching artists do when confronted with things like old diaries: She writes a grant proposal and takes off for Europe. Unsurprisingly, she'll uncover rather more than Uncle David's shrug suggests, and in its clean 90 minutes 'Berlin Diaries' chronicles developments as concrete as confusion about a street address and as esoteric as the singular frisson that comes with stumbling across a headstone and knowing that a faded name on a dusty page really lived and died in this actual place, at that actual time. And its protagonist will confront the reality that even now, even after decades of diligent documentation, even given the famously meticulous recordkeeping that accompanied the Holocaust, it's possible for people — for whole swaths of whole families — simply to be verschollen, lost. Theater J's handsome production, steered with a light touch and admirable clarity by director Elizabeth Dinkova, deploys warm woods (in a set by Sarah Beth Hall) and plenty of papers (props are from Pamela Weiner), along with one of the most quietly lyrical visual vocabularies I've seen in a theater lately. (Colin K. Bills is responsible for the lighting, and Deja Collins the subtle and exquisite suite of projections.) Redmond and Thomas navigate a tricky script with the ease of veterans and a wry, low-key charm that helps find an appropriate unifying tone for a narrative that involves the soberest of considerations — but also at least one anatomical joke and (rather boldly) the employment of mild sarcasm in the vicinity of the words 'never forget.' And Stolowitz manages, without belaboring or dwelling on grim specifics, to convey the quiet horror of discovering the name of a lost relative in the same moment you realizing that that person's story is largely and irremediably lost. 'He who forgets what he cannot change is happy,' muses Andrea at one point, echoing a line from her grandfather's journal, though it's not clear she can bring herself to agree. 'The Berlin Diaries' will resonate, and vividly, with audiences who caught Tom Stoppard's similarly aching family chronicle 'Leopoldstadt' at the Shakespeare Theatre Company late last year – and I should imagine with any member of a Jewish American generation whose parents and grandparents simply couldn't bear to pass on the stories of the lost. The Berlin Diaries, through June 29 at Theater J. About 90 minutes without intermission.