On the band's first three albums, Garbage snuck an enlivened libertinism into the mainstream through surprisingly melodic dance-rock songs that referenced, among other things, bondage and unisex bathrooms to comment on larger issues of control, desire, love, and even personal freedoms. Alongside Polly Jean Harvey, Garbage singer Shirley Manson was one of the most complicated and charismatic women in 90s mainstream rock, balancing power and pliability, mercurial sexuality and fears and emotions.
After the commercial disappointment of the musically adventurous Beautiful Garbage, they sound like they're trying very hard to reassert themselves into our collective consciousness. Despite being billed as a guitar album, Bleed Like Me more or less reworks their successful Version 2.0 template, combining slick studio elements with ostensibly live-band instrumentation. This is, however, no comeback: The album is full of big rock guitars anchored to big rock effects, but it somehow never manages either to sound big enough or to rock hard enough.
Part of the problem is the band itself, which consists of producers Butch Vig, Doug "Duke" Erikson, and Steve Marker. Vig's drums are, as usual, pretty much redundant, buried with the bass beneath layers of programmed beats. And all the guitars are so fastidiously sculpted that they don't even sound like guitars anymore. In the past, those previous two sentences would have been mere descriptions rather than complaints, but on Bleed Like Me, the rhythms rarely lock into a formidable groove and too often the guitars-that-don't-sound-like-guitars don't sound like anything else very interesting either.
Despite its hammering riffs, "Bad Boyfriend", about a boyfriend who's bad but in a good way, is a surprisingly timid opener, and even Dave Grohl's drums can't liven up it up. Singing ostensibly in character, the most moxie Manson can muster is "I've got something special for my bad boyfriend." "Why Don't You Come Over" and "Right Between the Eyes" take shots at haters and critics, sounding defensive and distant even as Manson belts "Stay alive my love" Bono-style over a strangled guitar line. Whatever conflict she's describing remains merely an abstract notion, never an immediate reality.
That sonic blandness makes Manson the focus of Bleed Like Me, and while her vocals retain their forceful determination, her lyrics sound uninspired and awkward. "True love is like gold/ There's not enough to go around," she sings on "Sex Is Not the Enemy", a generic post-Janetgate call to arms. "But then there's god and doesn't god love everyone?" It's doubtful even the chorus-- "A revolution is the solution"-- will change anyone's mind or even preach to the perverted. The album's nadir, "Sex Is Not the Enemy" is a surprisingly naïve track, unimaginative and silly, and it works better as a parody of a protest song than as an actual protest song.
The disappointments color even some of the album's better moments. The first single, "Why Do You Love Me", is heavy and frenetic with a feverishly stomping chorus, but the verses and the whispered bridge recall Tragic Kingdom-era "Just a Girl" power and the song, despite its undeniable energy, ends up sounding dated. Likewise, Manson's catchy chorus and dancing-queen delivery on "Boys Wanna Fight" are marred by the song's predictable gender roles; with a little of the androgyny of "Androgyny", the song could easily fade into Franz Ferdinand's "Michael" on any dancefloor mix.
The saving grace of Bleed Like Me may be the band's deep knowledge of rock history, which they have gleefully plundered in the past and which gives the album its only subversive spark. "Bad Boyfriend" cribs Foreignor's "Hot Blooded" almost note for note, twisting its words into a new meaning. And the propulsive "Run Baby Run"-- the album's best track-- builds off the Crystals' "Da Do Ron Ron", adding an almost playful edge to Manson's dark lyrics.
But it's just not enough. Despite attempts at audacity, Bleed Like Me sounds overly willing to please, which is all the more damning because it so rarely does.
