Brooklyn’s Paramount Theater has been many things in its near century of existence: a church, a jazz palace, a boxing ring, a neglected relic. On Saturday, September 20th, it became something else entirely—a living, breathing witness.
The theater wasn’t just a venue; it was a fan with cracked plaster lungs and gilded bones, pulsing in sync with every scream as Garbage brought their Happy Endings Tour to a sold-out night in Brooklyn. The Paramount is one of those rare rooms that feels alive.
Built in 1928, it once trembled with Louis Armstrong’s trumpet and Duke Ellington’s band. Joe Louis fought here under those lights as well. Then came decades of silence: dust, ghosts, and neglect. With another night down in its recent rebirth, The Paramount seemed to lean in, hungry, finally getting the show it had waited decades to witness.
The crowd, an army of “Darklings,” Garbage’s black-clad legion, pressed toward the stage like a tide of shadow.
Even the photo pit felt like a warzone—photographers jostling, ducking, cameras swinging, straps tangling in a frenzy of adrenaline. It was every man, woman, and lens for themselves: a mosh pit of sweat, shutters, and chaos, all clawing for proof of a band on its farewell run. The energy was thrumming in the air, in every chest and every heartbeat.
Starcrawler lit the fuse and ignited the night. Their lead singer, Arrow de Wilde stalked the stage like a deranged punk-rock kaiju in heat, spitting glitter and sneer, her body twisting and contorting into chaos. The band’s sound was a volatile cocktail: Sabbath riffs lashed to bubblegum hooks, Iggy Pop feral sharpened with glam venom. They didn’t just warm up the room, they rattled its bones with a mercurial blend from a band clearly on the rise.
Then the lights dropped. Garbage didn’t walk onstage; they appeared. Shirley Manson in black and gold, eyes piercing with predator-like focus. Duke Erikson and Steve Marker’s guitars bit at the dark, Nicole Fiorentino’s bass growled low, and behind them, Butch Vig kept time like a heartbeat.
Vig is not just a drummer, but a legendary record producer and an architect of the rock genre itself, putting bands like Nirvana, Soul Asylum, Smashing Pumpkins, and Sonic Youth on the map and into headphones. His sticks carried decades of history.
They opened with “There’s No Future in Optimism,” a synth storm from Let All That We Imagine Be the Light. It didn’t introduce them; it announced them. “I Think I’m Paranoid” detonated immediately after, the chorus ricocheting through the walls like broken glass. The crowd screamed every word back in a show of devotion and release.
“No Gods No Masters” turned the theater into a neon-drenched cathedral of defiance. The flashing lights seizure-inducing, the guitars screaming, Manson commanding the room with effortless precision.
Then came a quiet, almost fragile moment amid the chaos. Manson spotted Mike, her “first ever fan,” standing front and center with his daughter. He had given her a necklace more than thirty years ago, one she was still wearing.
Her voice caught for a second, raw and human—a reminder that Garbage’s history isn’t just in records or tours. It’s in the people they’ve touched, in the threads woven over decades. The crowd roared for him, for her, for the human heartbeat beneath the music.
The main set barreled to its finale: “The Day That I Met God,” brooding and heavy, smoke curling around every note, leaving the room drenched in tension. Silence fell like a held breath until the encore tore through.
“Stupid Girl” hit first, sharp, sarcastic, and urgent, coils of tension snapping in every riff. And then came the final bow: “Only Happy When It Rains.” Garbage’s biggest hit, the ultimate anthem, became the room’s exorcism. Every voice in the room—whether Darklings, newcomers, or photographers still dripping with sweat—screamed it into the rafters.
For some in the crowd, it may have been the last time they would hear Garbage live. It was every line of irony, every note of defiance, every drop of attitude distilled into a single, unified moment. The room vibrated as one. A chorus of memory, loss, joy, and rebellion.
Then it ended. Garbage left Brooklyn not quietly but burned into memory. The Paramount will hold those echoes for decades, a ghostly witness to the night when walls, fans, and band became one entity, burning together in noise and devotion.
If this is truly the end of the road, Garbage didn’t fade. They went out jagged, unapologetic, raw, and alive leaving their legend inside that building.
Setlist: There’s No Future In Optimism, Hold, Empty, I Think I’m Paranoid, Vow, Run Baby Run, The Trick Is To Keep Breathing, Not MY Idea, Hammering In My Head, Wolves, Parade, No Gods No Monsters, Bleed Like Me, Godhead, Chinese Fire Horse, Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go), Push It, Why Do You Love Me, The Day I Met God
Encore: Stupid Girl, Only Happy When It Rains
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