Shirley Manson doesn’t do things by halves. When the Garbage frontwoman talks about her band’s new album, Let All That We Imagine Be the Light, she isn’t just discussing another rock record — she’s laying bare a personal reckoning, a creative rebirth, and a spiritual awakening forged through pain, resistance, and a fierce will to survive.
“I was recovering from hip surgery,” she recalls. “I was supposed to be in the studio with the band, and I just couldn’t face it… I was battling crippling brain fog.” It wasn’t until a melody arrived unannounced — during a rehab session on an elliptical machine — that Manson found herself back in the saddle. That melody became “Sisyphus”, a deeply personal turning point in the making of the record.
“I knew exactly what I wanted it to be about, this Sisyphean idea of forever feeling like you’re starting from the bottom,” she explains. “It became a sort of incantation, a prayer of healing… and once I grabbed hold of that song, I felt like I could go back into the studio with the band. I was in touch with my own resilience.”
She doesn’t stop there. “I think of it as sort of a prayer or a witches spell, trying to master all the forces of good to help me in my journey,” she says. “And in doing so, it becomes also a sort of prayer of healing for everyone… and anything, pretty much.”
That blend of vulnerability and strength runs through Let All That We Imagine Be the Light, which Garbage released on May 30th. It’s an album shaped not just by personal recovery, but by global unrest, existential anxiety, and Manson’s hard-won faith in imagination as a survival tool. As she succinctly puts it: “This record was a searchlight, a way out of the cave.”
“There’s not a day gone by in the last two years that I haven’t woken up and cried looking at my phone,” Manson admits. “The horror in Gaza, the war in Ukraine, young troops losing their lives… this record was an attempt to send something beautiful out into the world. To pour all my love, hope and resistance into something creative.”
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One of the album’s most haunting tracks, the closer “The Day That I Met God”, was recorded while Manson was still convalescing and relearning how to walk. The vocals you hear on the album? That was the very first take.
“I had this strange sort of visitation. I came off the treadmill and said to my husband, ‘You need to set up a mic.’ I sang the song from top to bottom… I never went back and changed it.”
There’s a rawness to her performance, a quiet, almost trembling quality rarely heard in Manson’s famously commanding voice. “It’s something quite unusual where I allow myself to sound that vulnerable,” she says. “And I love the way it sounded.”
The track, with its sweeping cinematic structure and spiritual reflection, pushed the band into new territory. “When the band sent me the music, I was like, ‘What the fuck am I going to do with that?’” Manson laughs. But once the lyrics arrived, they landed with unexpected clarity. “This is a little bit of my faith here… it just arrived. It felt like a gift.”
Much of the album was made with the band (many limbs, one brain) working remotely — an unusual approach that proved both creatively fruitful and emotionally isolating. “It worked beautifully for this record,” she says, “but it was also a very lonely, isolating experience.” That duality is captured in the album’s striking cover: a solitary octopus floating in the deep.
“To me, it looks really lonely,” Manson says. “But also powerful, poetic, beautiful. The octopus is allegedly older than the dinosaurs — the most ancient creature on the planet. It felt like a statement of intent.”
That image isn’t just aesthetic — it reflects Garbage’s growing concern for the planet and frustration with global leaders. “We are fully aware of how under duress the planet is,” she says. “And we have governments unwilling to tackle this impending crisis. It’s distressing.”
Now approaching 60, Manson has absolutely no time for the suggestion that women should fade quietly into the background . The track “Chinese Fire Horse” was her fiery response to being asked if she was ready to retire.
“I’m extremely outspoken and opinionated and loud… I’m aggressive, I’m not passive,” she admits. “These are not necessarily traits I’m proud of or ashamed of, they’re just who I am.”
And while those qualities have fuelled her long-standing career, they’ve also sharpened her commitment to the next generation of women, who might not have the same defences.
“The sexism and misogyny can be really damaging,” she says. “I have a young niece and goddaughters, I want to make the world better for them, and young women like them, and that’s my absolute focus… I will be damned if they have to endure a harder society than I did.”
She sees the same urgency in the next generation, and it gives her hope. “When I emerged in the ’90s, I was one of a handful of outspoken women. We were considered loud, angry feminists, and that made people uncomfortable. But now, even the biggest female pop stars are speaking out.”
She name checks artists like Chappell Roan and Selena Gomez, applauding their openness and courage. “That never happened when I was coming up,” she says. “It’s so exciting and defiant and disobedient. I love it.”
Manson knows she didn’t emerge from a vacuum. “My generation learned from women like Grace Jones, Chaka Khan, Chrissy Amphlett, Patti Smith, Stevie Nicks, Debbie Harry, Siouxsie Sioux…” she reels off. “Now my generation’s switched on the one behind us. And it’s gorgeous to be part of that whole tapestry.”
Despite rejecting organised religion, Manson says she’s begun reconnecting with a more personal sense of spirituality.
“My relationship with spirituality has been fractured,” she says. “But I’m starting to formulate it again… neural pathways that are getting easier to move through.”
At this stage of her life and career, she’s embraced the role of “community elder” — a term she uses with a mix of pride and mischief. She’s also more conscious of time, mortality, and the need to find peace.
“Imagination has always been my tool of survival,” she reflects. “But now I find myself developing a kind of spiritual activity I didn’t have before. It’s not religious, but it’s meaningful.”
While no dates have been confirmed, the band’s long-awaited return to Australia seems not just likely but imminent.
Garbage have not been to Australia since before the COVID-19 pandemic. They were meant to return in 2023 — including a show at the Sydney Opera House, which Manson says was a bucket list goal about to be ticked — but the tour was cancelled due to her injury. The disappointment was palpable.
“I was devastated,” she says. “Australia is where our career began. It’s a priority for us.”
It’s also deeply personal. The death of Mushroom Group founder Michael Gudinski in 2021 left a hole in the Garbage camp that’s still felt.
“He was like the godfather of our band,” she says. “He treated everyone — whether it was our management, agents, crew, or the band — exactly the same, with so much love. He was always waiting for us. When we would fly in from all over the world, Michael would be there at the airport to greet us in Australia.”
She pauses. “The idea of coming to Australia and not having him there is painful. But we’ll be there. Not just for the fans. For Michael. And we know his beautiful widow Sue and his kids will be there waiting for us next time we land. That means a lot.”
When Let All That We Imagine Be the Light launched in late May, it was a reminder that imagination, vulnerability, and persistence are acts of defiance in a world that often feels cruel and chaotic.
“I just want people to feel comforted when they play it,” Manson says. “To know there’s somebody else out there struggling too, but trying to fill the void with love instead of hate.”
Garbage’s Let All That We Imagine Be the Light is out now.
